"Tighter. Tighter," Lena Vale snapped, staring at herself in the mirror while the stylist pulled the corset strings.
"Any more, Lena, and I don't think you'll be able to breathe," the stylist said carefully.
"Hey, do I pay you for your opinion?" Lena cut in sharply, turning her head just enough for her curled blond hair to spill across one shoulder.
"Lena…"
"Answer the question."
"No…"
"Then fucking do what I tell you to do," she hissed. "Fucking incompetent."
She shoved the stylist aside with a careless flick of her wrist and stalked toward the marble counter where her kale juice sat sweating in its glass. The heels she wore clicked against the polished floor in impatient, irritated beats. "Everyone is so fucking incompetent," she muttered, taking a small sip and grimacing at the bitterness.
The stylist hovered behind her, frowning, clearly frightened but pretending not to be. Lena didn't notice or didn't care. She was too used to people shrinking around her.
