MELANIE TRIDENT
"Pick me up a mocha latte with extra whip, will you?"
Melanie Trident stopped tapping numbers into the computer and looked at her step-sister, the luscious Venus Montgomery, head honcho of Viva Venus, the West Coast's premiere spa. And in California, where spas were as numerous as celebrity sex tapes, being booked six months in advance was no small feat.
Venus was the spa's best advertisement. She leaned casually against the desk, looking thin, blonde, and gorgeous. They were the same height, five feet, five inches, and yet Venus always looked taller. Her sis never had a bad hair day. Her body had no flaws—no fat, no scars, no pimples.
Melanie had all the above. Her curly hair could never be tamed, her eyes were the color of dirt, and—due to a childhood accident—she had a scar that curled from the top of her right cheek to her eye. She fought the war on acne every day, and nearly always lost.
"Hel-lo, Mel?"
"Are your other minions busy?"
