–Huxley: Mom likes Josephine Blackwood. But I’m not sure if she’s taking new clients.
–Me: We’ll see. Can you send me her info?
Chapter Forty
Aspen
Grant must be on man-PMS or something. He’s moody, temperamental and just plain weird.
He doesn’t seem to want any thanks for helping me and my grandfather, but he wants to know about the situation Grandpa is in. He knows what Sadie’s like, but brings her over anyway, only to kick her out unceremoniously. He cancels a meeting and goes shopping, only to fire his personal shopper for being rude to me.
I’m used to people being obnoxious to me. I’ve worked in retail, restaurants and bars. A lot of people assume you’re an idiot who can’t do any better when you hold those jobs.
And there’s Grant, who’s been the ultimate asshole of my life. He was impossible when we started working together, so I don’t understand his sudden change in attitude… Unless he thinks he’s the only one who should treat me like shit. But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he think that? There isn’t a bet for him to win. He can do whatever he wants.
He didn’t ask me to find a new personal shopper. He just called the replacement he found, and now we’re at another boutique with a stunning Latina who positively glows, her dark eyes sparkling with good humor, her smile open and friendly. Her long brown hair is artfully curled around her face, and she struts like a model in her high heels. On her left hand is a ring with a diamond so large, you could probably pawn it for half the state of Delaware.
“So. What can I do for you?” she says with a warm smile at me and Grant.
“She needs a new purse,” he says.
“Wait, what?” I shake my head. “I thoughtyouneeded something.”
“I do. I need to replace your purse.”
“Do you feel bad about what happened with Sadie?” I ask, lowering my voice.
“It happened during work.”
I put my hand out. “I’ll just take cash.” Everything in this place looks expensive. I don’t need a pricey purse, just something functional. He can give me seventy thousand—assuming he wants to get me a purse that outlandishly priced again—and I’ll buy myself one from Target and keep the change as special compensation for a crappy work situation.
His eyes narrow. “No.” He turns to Josephine, who’s watching us with badly disguised interest. “Here.” He hands her a black AmEx card.
“Thank you. So just a bag?”
“Yes,” I say, at the same time he says, “No.”
Josephine raises a well-plucked eyebrow and shifts her gaze between us.
“The works. She needs new clothes. Shoes. Accessories.” His gaze flicks to my head. “Maybe even a decent haircut. It looks like she hasn’t been inside a hair salon in a decade.”
“What?” I run my fingers through my hair, feeling defensive—mainly because he’s correct. I cut my own hair when it gets too long. “My hair’s fine.”
“It looks like a rat’s nest,” he retorts.
Jerk.“Josephine, please use that card to prepay for an appointment with his ophthalmologist. Clearly, Grant needs his eyes checked.”
Josephine clears her throat. “We can do something different with the hair. No problem. So. Budget?”
“I didn’t know we discuss things like that,” he says stiffly.
“Everyone talks about budget,” I say. What’s he trying to pull here? I can—maybe, sort of—understand he wants to buy me a Prada or something to replace the bag Sadie broke, since she was only at GrantEm with his blessing. But she didn’t rip my clothes or set my hair on fire!
“Not me,” he counters with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
It has to be a trap, some creative way to torment me. It’s just that he expects me to put up with it because it’shimdoing it. I’ve seen what passes for “high fashion.” I’d rather die before putting on clothes that make me look like a walking tree or something. “I don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not charity. First,I’mbuying them, so they’remyclothes. I’m justloaningthem to you for the time you work for me. And second, how you look reflects on both me and the company.”
