The Hair Job
Robert leaned back in the creaky chair of his small, dimly lit apartment, the glow of his laptop reflecting in his eyes. The screen showed Kira Kosarin’s Instagram profile—millions of followers, curated photos, and her unmistakable brunette waves cascading down her back in every other post.
“Look at that hair,” Robert murmured to himself, zooming in on a picture of her at a recent red carpet event. “That’s a masterpiece waiting to be touched.”
This wasn’t some creepy obsession. No, Robert saw himself as an artist—someone who appreciated beauty and had the skill to enhance it. The world had Michelangelo for marble. Kira Kosarin? She was his Sistine Chapel of hair.
The plan had been brewing for weeks, sparked by an innocuous Instagram story where Kira mentioned an upcoming trip to a particular high-end salon. A quick dive into the salon’s tagged posts confirmed the location: the chic corner spot on Fifth and Maple. It was perfect—exclusive but busy enough that no one would question a “new hire” stepping in during the chaos.
Robert pulled up the salon’s website. “Open floor plan,” he muttered, studying the photos. “Washing stations along the left wall, styling chairs in the center, reception desk by the door. Security cameras… here and here.” He scribbled notes on a legal pad, sketching a rough layout.
Next, he dug deeper into Kira’s schedule. Her social media offered more than enough breadcrumbs: an event on Friday night, followed by a Saturday “self-care” post. That meant she’d likely visit the salon Saturday afternoon, just as he’d guessed.
He sat back, tapping a pen against his chin. The plan needed to be airtight. There would be no second chances.
Phase 1: The Disguise
The following week, Robert made a trip downtown to an industrial supply store. He bought a simple black button-up shirt, neatly pressed slacks, and a pair of stylish but practical black shoes—clothes that said “professional stylist.” He also picked up a set of hair shears, a round brush, and a blow dryer, just in case anyone asked him to prove his “credentials.”
He practiced in front of his bathroom mirror, tying an apron around his neck and mimicking the way stylists greeted their clients. “Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he said, flashing a polite but confident smile.
Phase 2: The Recon
Robert spent the next few days scouting the salon. He sat at the café across the street, sipping overpriced lattes while watching the comings and goings of staff and clients.
“Three stylists working the floor,” he muttered one afternoon, jotting down notes. “Receptionist barely looks up when people walk in. They’re too busy on the phone half the time.”
By Thursday, he’d memorized the salon’s rhythm. Mornings were slower, with stylists catching up on gossip. Afternoons? A frenzy of appointments, walk-ins, and last-minute requests. It was the perfect cover for his plan.
Phase 3: The Execution
Saturday arrived, and Robert woke early, his stomach tight with a mix of nerves and excitement. He put on his carefully chosen outfit, making sure every detail was perfect. He pocketed his brush and blow-dryer, not because he needed them, but because they completed the illusion.
Before leaving, he double-checked his notes one last time. Timing, layout, escape route—everything was accounted for.
Showtime
The salon buzzed with activity when Robert walked through the door. The receptionist barely glanced at him as he grabbed an apron from the hook by the wall. Perfect.
He moved with purpose, scanning the room until he spotted her. Kira Kosarin, sitting near the front, scrolling on her phone. Her long, dark hair gleamed under the salon lights.
Robert took a deep breath, steadying himself. “This is it,” he whispered under his breath.
He approached her with the confidence of someone who’d been doing this for years. “Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he said, flashing his rehearsed smile.
Kira glanced up, smiled back, and followed him to the washing station without a second thought.
As he worked, his hands moving through her hair like he’d always dreamed, Robert felt an odd sense of calm. It was like pulling off a high-stakes heist, but instead of stealing money, he was stealing a moment.
The Escape
When the last strand of Kira’s hair fell into place, Robert stepped back, admiring his work. “All done,” he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
“Wow, this is amazing, Robert. Thank you so much!” Kira said, beaming at her reflection.
He smiled, nodded, and then—without hesitation—walked straight out the front door.
No one stopped him. No one questioned him. And as he turned the corner onto Maple Street, he couldn’t help but grin. He’d done it. The perfect “hair heist.”
The Aftermath
Back at the salon, chaos ensued as Marcia and the stylists pieced together what had happened. Meanwhile, Robert sat in his apartment, a contented smile on his face as he scrolled through social media.
There it was—Kira’s latest Instagram post. A photo of her flawless hair with the caption: “Self-care Saturdays. Thanks, Robert!”
Robert chuckled, setting his phone down. “You’re welcome, Kira.”
And with that, he leaned back in his chair, already thinking about his next “job.”
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