She’s never made a bad decision – until yesterday. And I’ve never confronted her about any of her hiring choices until today. That must be why she’s gone pale, beads of sweat gathering on her forehead.
Of course, it’s not unusual for me to make my employees blanch in terror. I demand excellence and I don’t apologize for it. Apparently, according to some, I’m a mean son of a bitch with an icebox where my heart should be.
When I say “some”, I mean mostly my sister. She yelled at me after my last firing spree, which happened right before Christmas. I haven’t had any more problems with inventory control or sloppy looking displays since then, might I add. So Blake “Ice-Box” Hudson it is.
But Winona’s memorized every department in the freaking store. Of course she wouldn’t make this easy; she thrives on challenging me. Well, right back at her. I come from a long line of Hudson men who eat challenges for breakfast.
I pull out my trump card.
“Frankly, none of this matters. Your ultimate goal is to be a fashion journalist. My contacts tell me you’ve applied at several women’s magazines. You even have a blog.”
“Actually, it’s part of a neighborhood bulletin run by my friend Clarita.” She shrugs. “I write about upcycling clothes and furniture, and the best places to find local bargains. And why would that even matter? My ultimate goal is to work in the fashion industry. I’ve always loved it, especially the more unique, individual pieces, which Hudson’s specializes in.”
“It’s a conflict of interest. You’d be reporting on sensitive company matters and exposing confidential information to our competitors. That’s the only reason you’re even applying here.” It’s a wild, ridiculous accusation. I’m grasping at straws.
“I would what?” Her eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. “Of course I wouldn’t. First of all, if I get this job, I’ll step down from the bulletin And secondly, the bulletin has nothing to do with a store like Hudson’s. Our followers would never shop here; one pair of jeans would be their month’s rent. I’m happy to sign an NDA or anything else you require.”
I start to speak, but she plows on ahead. “And I do want to work at Hudson’s. I always have. Ever since I was a little girl, my family and I would come here in December to enjoy your Christmas displays. We’d drive to New Jersey and stay in a motel there, and take the train into the city, and my parents would save up all year long to buy me one toy from your toy department.” Her eyes are shiny with emotion, and for once, she’s not snarky or angry or defensive. She’s swept up in memory, all open and raw and vulnerable. “They didn’t think I knew, but I did. They’d put aside their spare change in a jar that they hid in their closet. We have a farm, but my dad would work shifts at a canning factory in town just to make sure I’d have a special Christmas. And Hudson’s was always a part of that Christmas. It was this beautiful magic city unto itself, and I want to be part of that magic.”
The heated emotion in her voice snatches my breath away. I imagine her as a little girl, all big brown eyes and red curls and pure, innocent excitement, rushing through the fairytale aisles of my family’s store. It speaks to something achingly soft and pitying in me that I didn’t even know existed. Alice always snarks at me that I was born without the section in the brain that feels empathy. If this is what it feels like…I’ll scoop it out myself, with a scalpel. It’s the worst.
Winona looks as if she’s about to shed real tears. I need to shut that down right now. I know that whenever I act like a dick to her, it puts her back up and summons her fighting spirit.
See, by being an asshole, I’m actually being a nice guy.
I dial up the intensity of my scowl. “What trends are we expecting for fall?” I bark at her.
She clears her throat, composing herself, and blinks a couple of times. “Starting with the younger crowd, the bohemian style is big this year. Sterling silver hoops. Big, chunky turquoise jewelry. Suede fringe on purses, and colors inspired by nature, with– ”
“All right,” I grit out. “Why did you make your dog pee on my leg?” Not a job-related question, but it doesn’t matter. I’m the boss – I don’t have to play fair.
She meets my gaze with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “He’s not my dog, and I have no control over where he whizzes. The fact that you were rude to me immediately beforehand is pure coincidence.”
Rude? Me? That was practically flirting on my part. She hasn’t seen rude.
“Why did you deliver boxes of Summer’s Eve to my doorstep?” she continues. “And how did you know where I live?”
“Who says I did?” I arch an eyebrow. “Everyone heard you calling me a douche-nozzle. You had the volume dialed up to eleven. People on Rhode Island heard you. Any one of those construction workers could have bribed your landlord for your name and apartment number and sent a bouquet of pink hybrid tea roses with baby’s breath and five boxes of Summer’s Eve, carefully arranged in a cut crystal vase.” She narrows her eyes at me, and I grin at her. “I mean, literally anyone could have done it. Henry could have done it.”
“Sir!” Henry protests, with an appalled look. He’s been standing so quietly I forgot he was there.
“Okay, probably not Henry,” I concede.
“Probably?” he mutters. I’m in for it. He’s my right-hand man, the Jeeves to my Wooster, and when I give him grief, he gets revenge in subtle ways. Like letting Winona into our cab.
Winona’s eyes narrow in annoyance at my near-confession. She sucks in a breath and lets it out again. She can’t tell me off the way she’d like to, though, if she wants to keep her job. That’s kind of fun.
What the hell is wrong with me? No. She cannot work in the same building as me. Hell, I don’t want her working in the same city as me. Well, she could work in the Bronx. That’s as close as I’ll allow.
I turn my attention to Thérèse. “I looked over her resume. She’s completely unqualified.”
“And she’s also standing within earshot of you.” Winona’s voice reminds me of chow-chow, a Southern relish that’s sweet but with a bite to it. “Would you like me to leave so you can say all this behind my back?”
My jaw clenches in an angry smile. “Oh, no, it’s much more satisfying this way.”
“Sir.” Thérèse’s voice wavers a little, and she leans on Winona’s desk. She’s melting like a wax candle under the heat of my fury. “We’ve hired people from a variety of backgrounds. It isn’t a licensed position like doctor, which requires a specific type of training.”
“Thanks, like that wasn’t obvious.” My tone is harsh, even for me. Thérèse swallows hard and looks away. Winona’s brows draw together and she shoots me a disapproving look.
Thérèse, who is now the color of chalk, clears her throat. A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead. “Are you ordering me not to hire her?”
When she puts me on the spot like that, I can’t justify telling Thérèse how to do her job. Since she was hired by my father, it would be like questioning his judgement. That is something I never do.