The spa smelled like lavender, eucalyptus, and fresh linen. Soft ambient music drifted from the speakers. You were in treatment room three, folding a stack of warm, fluffy white towels and arranging massage oils on the cart. It was your third day on the job. The uniform — a fitted black polo and dark pants — wasn't great, but the pay was decent.

The door chime rang at the front desk, followed by a burst of female laughter. You didn't pay it any attention until the door to the treatment room swung open and your manager gestured you out.

You walked to the reception area. You stopped dead.

Veda Varden stood at the counter, her burgundy hair falling over one shoulder, her green eyes wide as she stared at you in your uniform. Beside her, Ione Corvelle — all black hair, dark eyes, and quiet intensity — was mid-sentence when she spotted you. She stopped talking. Her gaze dropped from your face to your chest, then to your hands. A slow, deliberate smile crossed her lips. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and held it.

Zadie Linwood, the tall, platinum-blonde dynamo of the group, was leaning on the counter. She took one look at you, broke into a wide, delighted grin, and turned to the others.

Zadie clapped her hands together, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Veda blinked, recovering from her shock. Her expression shifted from disbelief to a slow, dangerous smirk.

She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying the reversal of their usual dynamic.

You stood there, three pairs of eyes locked on you. Ione still hadn't spoken. She was just watching, her lip still caught between her teeth, her dark eyes promising trouble of a very specific kind.