“Surprisingly well, actually.” I smile with genuine satisfaction. I feel more confident about the future than I have in ages. “I really think I’m going to be good at this. I mean, shopping and helping people? It’s like the equivalent of calorie-free chocolate mousse. There’s absolutely no downside.”
Maybe I’ve finally found my thing. I’ve been kind of floating around for years, if I’m being honest with myself, trying to figure out where I fit. Clothes are my jam, and I’ve got an instinctive eye for design, but finding a place for myself in the fashion industry has eluded me for so long, I was starting to wonder if it was really where I was meant to be.
“Ooh, you’ll have to tell me all about it!” Then her eyes widen in alarm. “Some other time.”
I twist around to see what she’s looking at. To my surprise, Blake is striding through the door, with Henry at his heels.
My heart gives the same little flutter it always does when he’s near, but my brain knows better. I look away quickly.
“Why is he here?” Ariel whimpers. “He never comes here.”
“Don’t look it in the eye,” I advise Ariel in a low voice. “That’s how it steals your soul.”
She lets out an hysterical little giggle. Then she backs away. “I just remembered I have half a yogurt in the fridge upstairs. From last week. Or the week before. Did I ever tell you I talk too much when I’m nervous? I get nervous a lot, too. Yes, I did already tell you that, I remember now. Oh God, he’s headed this way. I’m going to run for my life now. Save yourself! Women and children first!” And she dashes off without looking back.
Blake and Henry make their way through the crowd and slide into line right behind me.
“Oh, go ahead and cut in line.” I smile with just the slightest hint of mockery – as much as I think I can get away with. “You know you want to.”
I make a big point of stepping out of the way and gesturing at my place in line with a big, dramatic flourish. Blake sighs impatiently, and he and Henry move in front of me.
The employees behind the counter snap to attention like soldiers about to endure a general’s inspection. Conversation around us dies down and everyone glances at each other nervously.
“Mingling with the common folk? I thought you’d be upstairs dining on filet de employee.”
He answers me with a smile that holds a hint of menace. “I like to visit every department in the store on a regular basis. Quality control. You never know where I’ll turn up.”
“Great.” I shudder with dramatic emphasis. “Now I’m picturing you popping out from behind racks of clothes or leaping out of bathroom stalls.”
He arches one perfect brow. “Guilty conscience? Something to hide?”
I snort indelicately. “Yes, sir, I’m a repository of dark secrets.” I turn and wait as the line moves towards the counter. I’m not going to let him ruin my day. I am great at my job, and he’s going to be eating his words soon enough.
“You look awfully smug,” he observes.
Ha. I earned my smug-face. “Well, I survived my first day working for a megalomaniac.”
“The day is young. A megalomaniac? What happened to Dove-Gray-Dickweasel?”
“I’d never use such language in a place like Hudson’s.” I give him an innocent eye-blink.
“How very professional of you.” He places his order with the girl behind the counter. “And put whatever she’s having on the house,” he says, gesturing at me. “You should try the peach tart. They’re second to none.”
I stifle an involuntary shudder. “I don’t like peaches.”
Blake looks at me with interest. “That’s different. You’re from Georgia and you don’t like peaches? In fact, aren’t you from a town called Peach Pit?”
Uh-oh. Have I just handed him ammunition? I shake my head with a mock-chiding expression. “Blake. Mr. Hudson? I think I’ll stick with Blake. Anyway, I didn’t take you for the kind of man who’d stereotype.”
“I didn’t take you for the kind of woman who’d fail so epically at trying to change the subject. You seem like the type who’d throw a grenade, or at least set something on fire, when she doesn’t want to talk about something. Anyway, who doesn’t like peaches? They’re the best. In fact, Pamela, put two peach tarts on my plate.”
“Please.” The spirit of my mother channels through me, and the word slips out before I can stop myself.
“What?” He stares at me, baffled.
I sigh heavily. “Some people like to say please when they make a request.”
“You don’t say!” Blake’s eyes widen in faux astonishment. He turns to his minion. “Henry, quick, write that down. Make sure you get it word for word. Some. People. Like…”
“I’ve got it,” Henry says drily. He is actually writing in a little notepad.
Blake returns his attention to me. “So, did you have some kind of tragic peach-related incident when you were young that scarred you for life?”
“Yes. I don’t like to talk about it. It haunts me.” I turn away from him and grab a bottle of iced tea.
“She likes iced tea, but not peaches,” Blake observes to Henry. “So she isn’t completely cutting herself off from her roots.” I can hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.
Seriously. Now that I work for him, he can needle me and I can’t even accidentally drop hot coffee on his crotch. How is that fair?
“I see that, sir,” Henry observes. I pick up the faintest hint of dry sarcasm. I look at Henry, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in an almost-smile that vanishes instantly. I decide I like Henry.
Then we stand there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes until our food is served up. Blake reaches for the tray.
“Say thank you,” I whisper, sotto voce.
Blake ignores me and takes his food without thanking the cashier, but he does drop a fifty-dollar bill in her tip jar. Then he looks at me.
“Miss Manners is weeping in her grave?” he suggests.
“She’s still alive, in her eighties, and writing columns. You should read them sometime. Really. Seriously. I’ll email you some of them. Emily Post, however, is six feet under and just did several rotations in her coffin.” I accept my sandwich and iced tea from the cashier.
“You might as well eat lunch with us, so you can tell me all about my shortcomings. You know you want to.” Blake’s perma-smirk slides into a charming smile as he throws my words back at me, and my heart does a little two-step jig before I remind myself that he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend he just spent six figures on.
Why do the pretty ones have to be so awful? Because they can, of course. Nobody ever says no to them. Well, that changes today. I bend my mouth up into an insincere smile. “Thank you for the offer, and for lunch, but I’m afraid my day is absolutely packed and I’m going to have to eat at my desk.”
I am rewarded by the sight of the smile sliding off Blake’s face. His eyes widen in surprise. His mouth opens. No sound emerges. It closes. Henry stares off into the distance, his lips pressed together, the corners twitching up as if in a desperate struggle not to smile.