TANGLED WITH MR BLACKWOOD

By the time Lexi stepped out of Ava Sinclair's office, the weight of the week still clung to her shoulders—but something else was rising in her chest.

Resolve.

This wasn't over. It was just the beginning.

Back at her desk, Maya was waiting like a cat with a secret, two steaming cups in hand and a sly grin stretched across her glossy lips.

"Truce offering," she said, handing Lexi the one labeled Boss Energy.

Lexi raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like this is a bribe?"

Maya feigned innocence. "Because it is. You're not allowed to bail on tomorrow."

Lexi groaned. "Maya, no—"

"Yes," Maya cut in, wagging her finger. "You promised. Shasha and I have curated an entire glow-up experience, and you, Lexi Thompson, are the main event."

Lexi blinked. "Wait. You and Shasha? How... do you two even know each other?"

Maya smirked, clearly enjoying the moment. "You mentioned her once during lunch. Said she worked at that cute uptown café. So I found her on Insta. Followed her. She followed back. Turns out, we both love clean brows, snatched ponytails, and dragging bad red carpet looks. We vibed. Met up twice after work. She's a vibe."

Lexi shook her head, torn between horror and amusement. "Oh my God."

"She made me swear I wouldn't let you cancel. Said, and I quote, 'Drag her by her raggedy edges if you have to.' Her words. Not mine."

Lexi laughed despite herself. "That sounds like her."

"So you're coming," Maya said firmly. "End of story. No spreadsheets. No excuses."

Lexi raised both hands. "Fine. But I'm not promising full compliance. You know I'm not exactly built for glam squads."

"You're built for chaos. That's why this makeover is a public service."

---

Saturday Morning

Lexi woke to the soft beams of morning light filtering through the blinds—and the buzzing vibration of her phone lighting up beside her.

Maya [7:05 AM]:

Rise and slay, Miss Messy Bun. Spa opens at 9. Meet us at Chrome Beauty, Brooklyn. Don't be late.

Shasha [7:09 AM]:

We're getting facials, mani-pedis, brow lifts, and hair revivals. No escape. I brought lashes.

Lexi rolled onto her back and groaned. "What kind of sadistic joy do they get from this?"

She sat up, glancing around her tiny apartment — with its mismatched chairs, off-center curtain rod, and a kitchen that had not seen a proper meal in days. Her laundry basket glared at her like it had feelings.

No room for excuses now

Spa, Curls, Nails & Brows: Girls' Day Out

The day unfolded like a chaotic, sparkling movie montage.

First stop — facials. Cooling masks, heated towels, and a diffuser that made the air smell like cucumber cocktails. Shasha got scolded for laughing too hard during the mask session, and Maya declared she was being "exfoliated into enlightenment."

Next — brows. Maya dragged Lexi into the threading station for a "snatch and snatch again" treatment. Lexi yelped through every tug and claimed they took off part of her soul with each pluck. Shasha live-streamed it on her story with the caption: "Lexi vs. the Brow Lady: Round 3."

Then came mani-pedis. Lexi asked for "something subtle." Maya gasped in horror and handed the technician a shimmering champagne gold instead. "Clear polish is for broken souls," she declared.

By the time they reached the hair station, Lexi had mentally surrendered. Her curls were deep-conditioned, steam-treated, and coaxed back to life. Shasha's baby hairs were slicked into oblivion, and Maya emerged with a glossy, shoulder-length silk press that looked like she walked off a Vogue shoot.

They took group mirror selfies, posed dramatically, and almost caused a scene when Maya tried to Vogue in the hallway.

"I actually look like someone who doesn't eat cereal for dinner," Lexi whispered as she admired her reflection.

"You look like someone who books five-figure contracts and hangs up on men," Maya added.

Shasha grinned. "We did that. Beyoncé could never."

---

That Evening – Maya's Apartment

By sundown, the trio curled up in Maya's plush living room wearing satin robes and fuzzy socks. The coffee table held a half-demolished charcuterie board, half a dozen lip glosses, and three oversized wine glasses.

"Alright, enough glam," Maya said, topping off their drinks. "Confessions. Funniest date ever. Who's going first?"

Shasha snorted. "Easy. A guy took me to an 'escape room.' Except he got so scared of the dark that he tried to climb into a fake vent and broke the prop. Security had to escort us out."

Lexi choked on her wine.

Maya waved her glass. "Okay, I once dated a guy who called himself a 'crypto visionary'—turns out he was reselling used iPhones from his mom's basement. Told me we were going Dutch at dinner, then asked me to spot him."

Shasha howled. "Lexi, beat that."

Lexi took a sip, grinning. "I once planned a 'Parisian-themed' birthday party at a rooftop bar. The bar double-booked us with a children's karate class. So we had champagne next to screaming seven-year-olds in headbands. Also, the Eiffel Tower balloon collapsed onto the cake. The birthday girl cried. I cried. A waiter cried."

The girls collapsed in laughter.

"Oh my God," Maya wheezed, wiping tears. "You're a walking sitcom."

But slowly, the laughter faded. The room settled into something softer.

The next round of confessions carried a different weight.

"I joke a lot," Maya whispered, "but sometimes, I don't even recognize the version of me I've built for people."

Shasha stared into her glass. "Sometimes I feel like I'm always performing. Like, if I'm not 'on,' people get bored of me."

Lexi bit her lip. "I feel... stuck. Like I'm running hard just to stay behind. I'm not caught up on rent. I still owe my school. And sometimes I wonder if I really belong in that office."

Shasha reached over. "You belong. You're the only one who survived a glitter cake disaster and still got five-star reviews."

Maya added, "And Mr. Blackwood literally rearranged a pitch meeting for you. That man doesn't even blink unless he wants to."

Lexi smiled faintly. "Thanks, guys."

Shasha lifted her glass. "To chaos. And curls."

Maya raised hers. "And sisterhood."

Lexi clinked. "And confessions."

Later That Night

Lexi was nestled under a cozy throw blanket, her bonnet on, skin dewy with serum and moisturizer.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

Miss Thompson, there's been a change to the Gala pitch schedule. I'd like to speak with you—Monday. 10AM. My office.

—Mr. Blackwood

Lexi blinked. Monday? Why was her heart skipping?

She stared at the message for a long second, then locked her phone and exhaled.

For tonight, at least, she had wine, lashes, l

aughter… and no spreadsheets.

Tomorrow could wait.