I have to admit, every picture I saw of her made me dislike her. She had a smug, territorial look on her face that reminded me of the mean girls in high school. Still, I’m probably going to have to deal with her quite a lot, if she’s dating Blake, so I should try to cultivate a more positive attitude.
“Well, she is pretty.”
“Pshht.” Ingrid blows a scornful raspberry. “So’s deadly nightshade.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Unfortunately, this deadly nightshade is about to get a very nice birthday present.”
Ingrid leads me over to the glass counters and stands by while I look through tray after tray of ice-white diamonds in every conceivable style. Modern, classic, art deco, avant-garde. Based on what I saw on Sloane’s social media feed, she likes things big, flashy and traditional. I select diamond earrings and a tennis bracelet. For Christmas, according to Ingrid, Blake bought Sloane a necklace worth six figures.
Ingrid shrugs. “He never skimps.” She doesn’t look particularly impressed as she says it. Something about Blake leaves his employees cold, apparently.
I wish I could say he had the same effect on me. I wish all the heat that he sends blazing through me was pure rage. There’s nothing pure about the way he makes me feel, though. I’ve had dreams about him so dirty that I shocked myself.
Ingrid steps behind the counter and does some wrapping magic, then holds up two boxes for my approval. They’re wrapped in shiny silver paper with curlicues of ribbon and little sprigs of artificial flowers twined onto them.
I accept them and balance them in my hands, admiring her handiwork. “This is amazing, thank you kindly. I imagine he’ll want to write the note that goes with the gift?”
She shakes her head. “No, he leaves that to Thérèse.”
I make a sour face. “Not much of a romantic, is he?”
“The Terminator? A romantic?” Ingrid throws back her head and laughs. Two other salesgirls who’ve wandered over join her.
“Oh my God,” I giggle. “I called him Mr. Robot – among other things. The Terminator is so much better.”
They laugh even harder.
Then I feel a little bad, although I have absolutely no reason to. “He does love his niece,” I concede. “He can’t be entirely evil. Do you know if he likes dogs?”
When I was doing my dog-walking gig, he gave my muttley crew a dirty look, but maybe it was because I was the one walking them.
Why am I even asking that? I chide myself. What a dumb question. It’s not as if he and I are ever going to be a thing.
“Dogs?” Ingrid looks puzzled. “Who knows? Other than his sister and niece, as far as we can tell, the only thing he likes is his planner and the sound of quiet sobbing.”
“Loud sobbing would be too disruptive?” I guess.
“Nailed it.”
Who am I working for? I think back to yesterday afternoon when I signed my employment contract. Was there a faint whiff of brimstone wafting up from the paper?
“All right. I have to put something on the note.” I frown in thought. “I’d better stick to something neutral. I guess, ‘Enjoy your special day’.”
I’m a little sad to leave the jewelry department. It’s like walking out of a fairytale garden for grownups. Once I’m out in the hallway, I blink, shake myself, and take a deep breath.
Then I dive back into work. I manage to get almost everything on the rest of the list taken care of by noon. I send a sterling silver rattle to a famous wedding dress designer who’s just had a little boy, I send hand-painted silk neck ties to a Hudson’s COO who has been with the company for five years, and I accompany both gifts with gracious hand-written notes. I pick out a dozen pairs of silk boxer shorts for Blake and send them off to be messengered to his house. And I hardly spare a single thought for the image of him in those boxers and how nicely he’ll fill them out.
I’m almost done, but I’m stymied by two items on the list. Blake’s assistant Henry has his own assistant, Shanice. Shanice has a twentieth wedding anniversary coming up. Shanice is from Trinidad, and she loves Trinidadian food. Last year, for Christmas, Thérèse sent her a gift box of Trinidadian spices and sauces, and the year before that it was dinner for two at a Trinidadian restaurant. Those are nice gifts, but a fancy dinner hardly seems sufficient for a twentieth wedding anniversary.
I’m also having trouble with the doll for Blake’s niece. When I called the toy department to order one, they laughed at me and hung up. So I guess that means no? Weird. But the Sunni Sunni line of toys is a popular one. I’ll track down one of the dolls by this afternoon. If I have to find it at another store, I will.
I manage to solve my second-to-last problem in the elevator as I head down to lunch. I run into Shanice there, congratulate her on her twentieth wedding anniversary, and impulsively say, “It’s such a special occasion that Blake wanted you to pick your own gift. On the house.”
“Blake said that?” she says, eyes widening. “That’s…different.”
I bob my head in an emphatic yes. “Yep, that’s what he wants.”
“Wow!” She beams. “Thank you. You must be a good influence on him. Maybe someday he’ll grow up to be a real boy.” Then she looks around nervously. “I never said that. Anyway, I’ve got an idea, but I’d need to see if my in-laws can babysit.”
She’s probably planning a weekend away with the hubby. Good for her. Working for Blake, I’m more than positive she’s earned it. “Think big!” I urge her. “Twentieth anniversary level of big!”
She nods emphatically. “Oh, I will!”
We step off the elevator, and she’s practically floating, she’s so happy. And so am I. I took care of almost all of Blake’s list before lunch, and I made someone’s day.
I pause in the hallway to call the personnel department and ask after Thérèse. She’s apparently going to have to spend the night at the hospital, but they think it’s just a particularly nasty stomach bug, and she should be back to work in a few days.
As soon as I find the doll this afternoon, I’ll cheer her up by texting her that I’ve finished everything on her list. Not bad for my first day.
I’m smiling and humming to myself as I head to the café. “I’ve totally got this in the bag,” I say to myself.
I should learn not to tempt fate like that.
Chapter Nine
Winona
The employees have a café’ in the basement, safely tucked away from the fancy folk who shop at Hudson’s. My fridge was completely bare this morning, and I haven’t had time to shop, so I’m going to treat myself to a coffee and their cheapest pastry for lunch.
“Winona? Is that you?” Ariel’s light, sweet voice floats in my direction. “I can’t believe that happened to Thérèse!”
I peer around and see her making her way towards me through the lunchtime crowd.
“Heck of a first day, huh?” she says wryly when she reaches me. “One of the other senior shoppers will start your training tomorrow. Other than this morning’s catastrophe, how’s your day going?”