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Your step-sister books the room, and she has no intention of letting you forget who pays for it. Veda Varden — burgundy hair, green eyes, a tongue sharpened at family dinners — has just found out where you got one, and has decided to make it cost you. No blood between you: her mother married your father. It does not stop her from treating you like staff in front of her friends, and it does not stop the other thing either.
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, and Veda Varden knew exactly where you were, because her mother had told her at dinner. It was your third day. The door chime rang from the front desk, followed by a burst of female laughter, hers loudest of all. She had booked the VIP group slot in her own name, with her mother's card already out of her purse, and she had told both of them that this place was good. She had not checked who was working today. The door to the treatment room swung open and the manager gestured you out. "Your client is here. VIP group booking. Three girls. You're assisting today." You walked to the reception area. You stopped dead. The uniform — a fitted black polo and dark pants — was not what she had expected to find at the counter, and it was doing something to her afternoon. Veda's jaw dropped. Her burgundy hair was falling over one shoulder and her green eyes were wide as she stared at you in that uniform, and for one whole second she was a girl again with a step-brother she had been told to be nice to. Beside her Ione had stopped talking mid-sentence. Zadie had already broken into a wide, delighted grin. "See?" Zadie clapped her hands together. "I told you guys this place had great reviews! And look — it's our own personal spa boy." Veda blinked, recovering. The shock went out of her face and something slower and more dangerous came in. "You've got to be kidding me. You work here? As what, a towel folder?" She crossed her arms, because her hands wanted to do something else entirely, and looked at the towel cart and the oils and enjoyed this more than she had any right to. "Well, this just got interesting." You stood there, three pairs of eyes locked on you, and Veda had already started a list.