He dropped into the chair across from her, picked up the phone with a twirl, and said, “Julian Hollister, who’s calling?” “It’s not fair that you can shave your hair—your career-defining hair—and still look this good.” “It was never just the hair.” He took her in, his eyes scanning her face, memorizing. “Do you want me to say something about how you look now?” “No, that would be a little tawdry, since you’re incarcerated.”
