Marco funnels customers around the floor to avoid intersecting with the GM's and buyers, while Maria and Jason keep shoppers moving and registers ringing. Overall, the scene is exactly as it should be—a busy store with happy shoppers.
As Nate finally disentangles himself from a customer who grabbed his attention, I push Patsy and the others toward the rest of the displays, especially the large Christmas tree in the corner. Nate's creative use of cookie cutters and small kitchen tools looks like some culinary Mad Hatter's dream. Even the music mimics the mood as some pop singer warbles “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.”
Glancing at Nate, I raise my eyebrows in a non-verbal high five. We've got this.
"Josie, the tree is adorable," she gushes. "What a fantastic idea! We should do this in all the stores."
"That's all Nate. He's the genius behind everything visual. I don't know what I'd do without him. I just moved merchandise around according to the planograms and set up the holiday playlists." I smile.
As if I conjured it with my thoughts, loud base and whining guitars start throbbing through the speakers. My eye twitches as I recognize The Ramones and wince when I realize what's coming. Marco's stricken face meets mine from his place at the register as he darts to the stockroom. The speakers blast a plea for Father Christmas to give us some money, and calls him a junkie.
Patsy's pleasant smile dims with the lyrics as the festive mood is broken. Giving myself an internal head slap, I'm mortified to realize that at some point, Kenzie slipped back in and is posing for pictures by the Hello Pussy display. I have no clue who the teenage boy is taking photos with a cell phone, but I want to slap him when he starts egging her on to show him her booty.
Turning her ass to the camera, she smiles coyly over her shoulder, leaning forward to plant her hands on the display for balance. I watch in horror as, like it’s happening in slow motion, the shelf teeters and a cascade of tea cups, mugs, and plates begin crashing to the floor. Déjà fucking vu! My dream has taken form in real life.
The annoyed expression on Kenzie's face as she stands among the rubble is an odd counterpoint to the sheer panic of her teenage photographer, who scrabbles backward toward the door before fleeing from the store.
The music changes once again to an upbeat version of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” and Marco emerges from the stockroom, the pleased smile on his face replaced by shock as we all stare mutely at the ruins.
"Clean up on aisle three!" Nate quips before herding Patsy and her stunned crew toward the entrance. "Why don't we all go get some lunch and discuss how to put my fabulous trees in all the stores. Josie, you coming?"
"I'll meet you there." I wave them on before turning back to Marco. "Could you please bring a broom and a large trash can?" Staring down Kenzie with fire in my eyes I keep it short and sweet. "Go home. You're fired."
"But, it wasn't—"
"Kenzie, I'm sure you're a nice girl, but right now, you're a liability. There must be plenty of other things you'd like to be doing." I mutter under my breath, “Especially since you can't be relied upon to show up without fucking up.”
I can't tell if her pissed off expression is sincere or just rampant RBF, but I've always tried to practice kindness when possible. Besides, if I don't calm myself down, this is bound to escalate. Quickly.
"Why don't you ask at the mall service desk? I'm sure they'll be hiring a Santa soon. He probably needs some reindeer to help at the photo booth. Maybe people can have pics with Vixen."
Her grimace lightens slightly as she asks, "I'll still get paid for today, right?"
Sometimes I'm shocked by the fact that I can still be shocked. "Sure, as soon as I manage to calculate and deduct the cost of all the breakage from the display."
Nope, it still hasn't sunk in yet as she smiles in satisfaction. She hasn't done the math; she's totally oblivious to the fact that she just cost the store several hundred dollars in breakage. I sigh in relief as I watch her wave goodbye to the others before shimmying her way back out into the mall.
Turning to the rest of the team, I'm surprised to find them all staring at me in pity and waiting for direction, until Marco cracks a grin.
"Holy RBF! Pussy got run over by a reindeer." His snicker releases the tension holding us all in thrall as we look at one another and burst into laughter, just as a customer enters the store. Their concerned stare as they take in the mess sends us off into further peals of laughter, until I finally sober and realize I still have to face Patsy. What a disaster.
Making an executive decision, I decide to leave it to Nate to smooth things over. Isn't that what work husbands are for? At least it's doubtful that she'll be trying to recruit me for a regional position now.
Grabbing the broom, I start directing Marco and the others to see what can be salvaged among the ruins.
Chapter 8
Whose Date is This Anyway?
"Please be careful. Trust me, we can't afford the workman's comp if you cut yourself."
Guys. You can't tell them a damn thing.
"Use the dust pan, not your hands! Marco, if you cut yourself, I swear I will tell people you've been watching Twilight marathons and tried to turn yourself into a vampire." Flinching, he grabs the dust pan and flashes me a look of disappointment.
"That's cruel, Josie."
"So is bleeding out on my selling floor. You know how much I hate paperwork."
Moving the last stack of what's left of the plates, I try to estimate how much inventory we've lost. Most of the casualties were in cups and mugs, although the hideous cupcake tower with the angel halo hanging from the ears was no great loss. In what culture are cupcakes Christmas fare? This stuff is so sweet, it makes my teeth ache. Blech. It's not like I want a drab table, but these designs will completely overwhelm any food served on them. Unless you're setting a table just for show, there's no point. I really don't want to cut into my steak and find an eye peering up at me from the bloody streaks on my plate.
Shuddering again, I'm startled by Nate's touch on my elbow.
"Geez, Nate! Stop creeping up on me, I'm already having nightmares about these plates," I complain before I realize Patsy is also here. Shit!
"How was lunch? How did Carrie and the others like the set up?"
I need to stop my nervous babbling. Accidents happen. It's not like I took a sledgehammer to the plates myself, although in a perfect world, I wouldn't mind getting out some of my aggression that way. Kind of like they do with skeet shooting. Maybe I could learn to use a rifle and have Nate launch the plates in the air…
"Josie." Blinking guiltily, I realize I've missed the thread of the conversation again.
"This is serious. They could pull you from this store and send you to the suburbs."
"Why? Because we have a generation of kids who can't hold down jobs responsibly? I fired her, so what else do you want me to do? It's not like I could have anticipated something that stupid or stopped it from happening."
"She shouldn't have been on your floor to begin with." Wow, Patsy's really annoyed. "I've been talking about promoting you, and you make it look like you can't even handle the store you have. It makes them question my judgement."
Well, damn.
"I'm really sorry, Patsy, but I honestly don't know what you want me to say. I don't know how I could have seen this coming, at least to that extreme. Do you know how hard it is to find reliable help right now? Sincerely, what do you want me to do? I will do whatever you need for me to try to fix it."
"We need a major distraction. Something that will get them excited about this store and over their snit, especially since you're going to have to claim considerable dollars in breakage. Your numbers are going to tank this month. You need a revenue booster, or some good press. You know how jaded the New Yorkers are. No matter how successful we make our locations, they never measure up to the New York stores."
The woebegone expression on Patsy's face fills me with guilt. I get it now—it was never about me. It was al
ways about her showing off her favorite pony to make herself look better. As manipulative as that was, I'm sorry to be the one to bring her down.
Mark's face flashes in my mind, and I quickly push it away. No. No way. Not gonna happen, leave it alone…
"Patsy, what if I could get a high-profile chef in here for a culinary class? Would that be enough to impress them?"
"It's Philly. We have great restaurants, but it would have to be someone spectacular to impress them. They get all the big guns from the best restaurants. You'd have to have someone like Mark—"
"Isaacs." I finish her sentence as we both stop and stare at one another, her eyes widening in surprise.
"How would you ever get Mark Isaacs?" Patsy asks skeptically. "He's notoriously elusive when it comes to these things. We've asked him before, and he's always said no. I got the sense he has a pretty big ego."
"Really? He seemed nice enough when we met." I shrug. "Not that I got to speak to him for long, but I didn't get attitude."
"When did you meet Mark Isaacs?"
"I had brunch at Lulu's with a friend on Sunday." Let's leave it at that. I really do not feel the need to explain my dating life to my boss.
"Was he visiting the tables? I love when the chefs actually leave the kitchen to talk to the diners. I got to shake Daniel Boluod's hand that way once. I was so tongue-tied, I couldn't even answer when he asked if I was enjoying my meal."
"Ummmm…we were sitting at the chef's tasting counter. It seems he's friends with my friend. He stopped to chat for a few minutes." As Patsy's eyes round in delight, I continue sheepishly, "It's not like I know him, but I might get close enough to ask the question. Although, you're probably right. He'll most likely say no." Kicking myself, I wonder who I’m kidding.
I really don't know what gets into me at times. This tendency to try to please people always backfires. Do I really want to try to beg Mark Isaacss to help me impress my boss? Seeing Patsy's starry-eyed expression, I groan.
Welcome to my delusions.
* * *
My life is a clusterfuck. I create situations to get other people things that they want while never getting anywhere myself. This is why I have so little. I own a condo instead of a house, and I'm a slave to my mortgage payments. I struggle to pay bills.
My family treats me like a child because I haven't settled for living a life of domestic bliss with a guy who spends more time with his friends than his family. I haven't pumped out a few demanding kids who want to bleed me of every ounce of self that I possess.
The sound of purring assails me as I drop my purse and head toward the kitchen, soft fur brushing my ankles as Daisy winds a figure eight between my feet.
"Hi Baby Cat, how was your day? What trouble did you get into while I was getting my ass handed to me?"
Reaching down, I heft her into my arms and sink my face into her soft fur, her nose tipped to my ear to show off her vibrato. Who am I kidding? I like my life…ish.
I certainly love my nieces and nephews. They give me the ability to spoil them rotten without having to listen to the long-term whining. At least until they started to hit puberty. Smiling to myself, I think about the terrible teens when I couldn't stand to be around Mika and Kath. Thank God they grew out of their complete self-absorption when they graduated from college.
Yawning, I inhale a lungful of fur, my sneeze catapulting Daisy from my arms as she tries to distance herself from my inconsiderate interruption of her daily snuggle. The scratch down my arm stings from her launch off my bare flesh.
"Damnit, Daisy! Do you have to be such a psycho? It was only a sneeze."
Light spots of blood rise to the surface while fire ignites near the scratch. "Round one goes to the psychotic feline," I murmur, crossing to the pantry in search of arnica cream. "You are a menace. I hope you know that."
As usual, there is no reply as she stares at me unfazed from the corner of the kitchen.
The ding of my cell phone heralds a message, sure to be Emma checking in to hear about my big day. Wait until she hears about the Kenzie fiasco.
I'm surprised to see a message from Heath instead. I wasn't convinced I'd hear from him again.
Doolittle: How was the big day?
WhatWouldJaneDo: Let's just say it wasn't as stellar as I needed it to be.
Translation—I'm too polite to tell you it was a clusterfuck.
Doolittle: Uh oh. Want to tell me about it? I'm a good listener.
Well, he's not lying, he proved that at brunch.
WWJD: I don't want to bore you, although parts of it were morbidly funny. And I made a major promise I can't keep. Hey, do you know if Mark ever does outside events?
Doolittle: No clue, but we could ask him. Why don't you meet me for dinner at Lulu's and we can find out.
Do I want to go to dinner? Just minutes ago, I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up with my laptop and a bowl of cereal. Gazing around my empty kitchen, the thought of good food tempts me to drown my bad day in what's sure to be a decent foodgasm.
Doolittle: Josie? Come on, have a drink and tell me the funny parts of your day. Then we'll drink a bottle of wine, and you'll feel better about the bad parts, too.
I can't pass up that kind of temptation, and since I don't have to work tomorrow…
WWJD: Ok, you're on, but you're going to regret continuing to spoil me this way. What time?
Doolittle: I'll take my chances. I'm all caught up. Give me twenty minutes to get into the city.
WWJD: Ok, I'll meet you at 8:30. How late are they open?
Doolittle: The kitchen doesn't close until after ten on weekends. We have plenty of time.
WWJD: See you soon.
The soft meow reminds me my work isn't done. Leaning down to rub between Daisy's ears, I'm honest with the one person—cat—who won't tell on me.
"It's kind of nice to be spoiled once in a while. You don't understand, because I spoil you all the time."
The soft meow of acknowledgement is vindication. It's nice to be appreciated.
* * *
I sweep through the door and hear my name as a hand grasps my shoulder from behind.
"Hey!" Heath's admiring gaze sweeps from my messy bun, across the soft folds of my wrap dress, and down to my short half boots. "You look great!"
A flush steals across my face as he leans in to kiss my cheek, a quick glance at my collarbone causing me to blush even harder.
"Heath! It was a burn. Stop looking at me like that."
I realize Shana is staring at us curiously from the host's station as Heath looks puzzled by my words.
"I burnt myself with my curling iron the other day. I'm not that kind of girl. Really."
A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes. "Hmmm…that's a pity."
I'm a bit dumbfounded by that logic when Shana breaks the spell between us.
"Cliff, you can head back. Usual spot. Are you picking up Tracey tomorrow night?" Her overly casual tone doesn't match the calculated look directed my way. Is she trying to figure out if I know about Heath's daughter?
"Yeah, I should be done by six. Tell Tracey to be ready then." He nods and turns away, unbothered by the mention, and I watch Shana curiously as she stares at me.
Shrugging my shoulders, I follow in his wake as he pulls me once again by the hand back to the chef's counter, right where we sat last time.
"Wow! I can't believe these seats were available again." I glance around at the full restaurant. "Surely, they must be a hot ticket. I always hear there's a waiting list."
"Mark always leaves them empty for me." My jaw drops a bit at that revelation. "I mean, he always leaves these two seats free, knowing a friend or family member will want them. I checked if anyone was using them before I texted you tonight."
His confident grin makes me laugh.
"Oh, you thought I was a sure thing, huh? Even after you obviously thought I had allowed someone else to gnaw on my neck before our last date?"
He has the grace to lo
ok a little sheepish at that. "Well, it was a bit daunting at first, but it intrigued me. I was more jealous than anything."
Men completely mystify me with their logic sometimes.
"Why didn't you just ask me about it instead of talking in circles the whole time we were together?"
"I wasn't sure I had the right to ask yet. And like I said, it was kind of sexy."
"Seriously, how is that sexy?"
"Well…" He draws the word out oh so slowly, tilting his head a bit to give me a rakish smile. "A, either you're confident enough to handle more than one guy at a time." His smile widens. "Or B, he wasn't interesting enough to hold your attention long enough to keep you from coming to meet me. In either scenario, I win." Smile dimming slightly he adds, "Or C, it could mean that you like playing games and stringing guys along. I was hoping for scenario B.
"I'm blown away as I gaze at him, suddenly realizing how good he looks tonight. Even though he's dressed in jeans and boots, his crisp shirt with the cuffs rolled up to show off his forearms, and his collar loosened to show a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, looks relaxed but fresh. I noticed that the last time, too. Heath has a chill vibe—cleaned up but not too casual, polished but unconstricted. I like it. A lot.
Leaning in, his hand brushes lightly over the fading burn on my collarbone, before bending over and startling me with the light brush of his lips over the now faded mark. My body begins to tingle from the contact as he leans back, and a sexy smile slowly stretches across his face. "There. Maybe that will make it feel better."
Judging by the erratic thumping of my heart, he might be right.
Light clapping breaks the spell, and I realize that Mark is leaning against the counter, an amused expression on his face.
"Do I have to pay to see the rest of the show?"
"Nothing to see here, folks!" I say loudly, my rampant embarrassment causing me to shift on my chair.
Corsets and Quartets Page 7
