The ‘now typing’ ellipses danced across the screen, then disappeared.
I sighed. Apparently, friends with benefits didn’t mean he’d immediately respond to me. It was fine, though. We were working. Or something.
My eyes glazed over as the installation progress bar ticked closer to completion. This was hardly stimulating.
My chat box pinged.
I wasn’t so sure about that. She marched to the stock room without glancing at me, her jaw clenched. Hopefully, that customer still bought something.
I furrowed my brow. Sometimes, it was hard to know what people wanted. Or at least hard for me to respect that if it didn’t make sense. They needed something else. Something better. Not that it was my place to comment, in most cases. Like relationships. Here, though, I was an expert. So, why were people angry with my analysis?
The customer in the sari huffed and strode off with her bags, so focused on sending side-eye my way she almost barreled into a guy in a beige shirt trying to get inside.
“Zero,” Ash clipped, striding toward my desk.
“Yes?” I stood and straightened my spine like a chastened child.
My parents would have a field day if they ever saw the security tapes.
“I love you,” she said, “But don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what? Share an opinion?” Talk to other humans?
“Talk badly about any of our products. If you do that, the customer thinks she’s being cheated by us or her cheap husband. Or, worse, that you’re implying she’s an idiot. It puts everyone on the defense,” she said, using her tablet to gesture to the crowd.
I swallowed back an objection. Defensiveness was bad in a customer service setting. It never served me well in my robotics either. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” She sighed, winding her way around the counter to plug her tablet in. “Mostly because she ended up buying two laptops.”
“What? Which model?” I peeked at her screen.
“The cheap one for her husband, and the upgrade for herself.” She smirked and nudged my arm. “Way to go. Even if they return one or you don’t get a commission, I’d count it as your first sale.”
“No. Not even close.” Heartburn bubbled up my throat with a strangled chuckle. I tugged my cap and looked away. I wanted nothing to do with that woman. Or sales. Especially since it was bound to turn out badly.
Customers clustered around the entrance and my desk. The guy in the beige shirt awkwardly bumbled amid the foot traffic, blocking one door as he spun to the exit. “Ah, sorry,” he muttered.
“Sal?” I tilted my head. That shirt was so tame, I almost didn’t recognize him.
“What are you doing here?” Ash asked.
He paled and dramatically stepped aside. “Hey, ladies. Not much. Just stretching my legs. It’s good to keep the blood circulating.” He winced, brushing his hair.
Ash swapped out her tablet for a charged one. “Well, stretch as much as you want, but we’re busy, so try to stay out of the way.”
