"In the bustling world of the service industry, it's a given that you'll cross paths with a few oddballs throughout the year. I had grown accustomed to it. If you're not interested in getting dolled up, I kindly ask you to make your exit. I have other patrons to attend to.
Daisy must have invited you in with the best of intentions, not for you to throw a wrench in the works," said the stylist, her smile unwavering, which only served to unsettle Imogen.
Imogen slapped the back of Madeline’s hand in a sharp, sudden gesture. "You think you're still at home, don't you? I've warned you about overstepping your bounds."
Then, turning back, she offered an apologetic grin. "I'm terribly sorry about that. My daughter here has been a bit spoiled by me, hence the temper. Please don't take it to heart. She's just overly eager to look stunning for tonight’s gala. Plus, there’s been quite the buzz about Talon’s handiwork, so she's got her heart set on having him in charge. Of course, we trust you completely! After all, you are Daisy’s personal stylist, and I know full well you wouldn’t be in that position without some serious talent."
Madeline stood behind her mother, the picture of frustration. Upon reflection, her earlier comments had indeed been a slight to Daisy.
Today, she would have to make do with this stylist handling her makeup.
It was a shame, really.
Regina didn’t seem to realize her own place; how could she be fit for Talon's touch?
Each stylist at Talon’s studio had studied abroad, honing their unique aesthetic and skills. That was why, when faced with the likes of Imogen and Madeline, they exuded such confidence, unshaken by any provocations.
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