Christian Bale Hairstyles Novels & Stories

I worked out religiously, maintaining a silhouette I constantly tried to hide from the world. My damp, wavy ginger hair clung to my shoulders, cascading all the way down to my hips. Outside of this bathroom, this hair was always locked away. I kept it scraped back into a severe, flawless bun because in my line of work, looking "inviting" was a corporate death sentence.

I waited three full seconds before I dropped my hand from the counter and turned around. Christian. Our eyes met—no, collided—and this time, I didn’t look away. His pale blue eyes weren’t cold or furious like they usually were. They were unreadable… calm. A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it slightly tousled. He wore a plain white shirt, one that probably cost a million dollars, the shirt stretched tight over his chest and arms. A few beads of sweat clung to his skin. Gym time, clearly. If he wasn’t buried in the study or buried in someone else, he was usually working out.

“There’s just something shady about her. And I don’t typically trust anyone who has such weird hair.” I almost laughed at that because I wasn’t sure what her hair had to do with anything, and my dad sounded like an old man, but I needed to be on his side. “I totally agree,” I said. “You know, Christian seemed a little odd to me, too,” I continued. “I know he does all the website maintenance and whatnot for their business, but he just seemed a little… creepy. Is he a lot older than he looks, too, like Aaron?”