Operation Cinderella Read Online Free PDF

America got.
    “It’s prime Bible Belt territory. My folks were—are—thumpers from the old school. Living under their roof by their rules was the closest thing to doing time in a dungeon.”
    He paused in securing the last of the hair sections with a metal clip. “However did you escape?”
    She rolled her shoulders, which suddenly felt as stiff as her neck. “I finally convinced them to give up on me.”
    He pulled the clip from a long swathe of hair and slid the comb through, stopping just below chin level. “Here?”
    She swallowed hard, held her breath, and nodded. The scissors made their definitive cut, sealing the deal and sending a lock of wet hair sliding down the front of her smock like a tear.
    He worked for several minutes in silent concentration. Macie tried to relax as a year’s worth of hair growth fell to the tiled floor. Snipping away, Franc finally said, “I gather your parents don’t approve of your lifestyle?”
    She blew out a breath, amazed that after all this time it still hurt so much. “They don’t approve of me period. New York City is just one big Sodom and Gomorrah as far as they’re concerned, not that they’d ever venture out of the Heartland to come and see for themselves.”
    “That’s too bad.” He switched on the blow dryer, and she felt the bristles of the big rounded brush moving soothingly against her scalp.
    Trying to relax, she closed her eyes while he rolled and unrolled chunks of her shorn hair to achieve maximum volume. Adieu to the days of letting her long locks dry naturally! The shorter, stylized cut would involve more upkeep, another sacrifice in the “line of duty.”
    Turning off the dryer, he said, “Snap to, Cinderella, and consider the magic wand waved.”
    She opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. “Oh, Jesus!” Even with her makeup unchanged, the woman who stared back didn’t remotely resemble the one who’d first sat down mere hours earlier.
    He set aside the styling tools. “I believe the appropriate exclamation in this case is bibbity boppity boo.”
    Biting her bottom lip, she reached up and touched her hair, which fell just below chin-level, a face-framing glossy cap. “I look like Martha Stewart.”
    Franc’s flawless features relaxed into a grin. “I’ve always rather fancied the old girl. And you do have a certain country club vibe going on. With the right clothes and makeup, you can pull it off, love. You always do.”
    She gave her new ’do a test head shake. The precision-cut blond hair fell flawlessly back into place the moment the movement stopped. “It’s a great cut, no doubt about that.” She ran a hand through her hair and let it slide through her fingers. Despite all the chemicals, it felt remarkably silky, a testimony to the high-end products Franc used. “As long as a certain person approves, that’s all that matters.”
    Franc held a hand over his heart. “Please, please tell me you’re not speaking of Zachary.”
    She shook her head, noticing how the blond strands caught the light. “I meant Mannon, actually, but since you keep bringing him up, Zach does have his good points, you know.”
    Making a face, Franc reached for the open bottle of pinot set on the counter of the adjacent salon station and refilled their glasses. “And those would be fabulous abs and okay, a really tight butt, not that I was checking him out—I wasn’t. I don’t do grunge. But honestly, love, I wish you’d stop settling.”
    Accepting the glass, Macie snorted. “And hold out for Prince Charming?”
    During her five years on the Manhattan singles’ scene, Macie had become convinced that romance was the opiate of single women everywhere. Mr. Right simply didn’t exist outside of fairy-tale fantasies. Anyone deluded enough to be waiting on Prince Charming had better get herself a vibrator and put herself on a Disney channel diet.
    “You mock,” Franc said, “but great guys are out there, I know they are. Take me for