“I am not entirely sure about this outfit,” Emily tugged at the bodice of her top, though it was a losing battle. The amount of fabric involved meant that tugging in one direction, revealed more skin in the other.
“Uh-ah, no touching,” Peter the stylist batted her hands away. “No yanking, no tugging, no touching.” He tossed his dead straight, long bleached and perfectly toned white-blonde locks over his shoulder. She suspected it was a lace-weave wig expertly applied, but no amount of discreet scrutiny revealed his hair secrets to her less-than-expert eyes. If it wasn’t a wig, she thought, the man had the best head of hair that she had ever seen.