“My boss hates it. Says it isn’t good enough for his girlfriend.”
His frown deepens. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”
“Quite sure.”
“That would be a first.”
“He specializes in first times.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” I smile. “So. Can you refund the amount? I’m pretty sure it’s never been worn.”
He gives me a strange look. “One moment. Excuse me.” He takes the necklace in the back, probably to use those funky magnifying glasses to examine it. Wouldn’t it be amusing if Grant tried to swap the real diamonds with fake? Not that I think that’s likely. They aren’t worth it.
Soon, he returns with a white sheet of paper stamped with the jeweler’s logo. “Here you are, Ms. Hughes.”
“Oh? That’s it?”
“Yes. Please sign here.”
I scrawl my name.
“Thank you.” He folds the paper and slides it into a white envelope made with thick, expensive paper and hands it to me.
I shove it into my purse and head to the bakery Grant mentioned. I know exactly where it is because that’s where my grandparents’ dance studio used to be. I stop out front and spend a moment just staring. Seeing the change is hard, but at the same time I’m glad it’s a bakery rather than some bank or pawn shop.
Bobbi’s Sweet Things smells amazing, and just walking into the place makes you happy. On top of that, the owner is a nice, no-nonsense woman.
I push the door and step inside then grab a basket and load it up with everything Grant asked for. It’s a lot of stuff, and I hope he intends to eat all of it. Because then he’ll blow up like a pig and get diarrhea. It’ll be best if it happens when he’s in the middle of some vitally important presentation.
When it’s time to pay, I realize I don’t have the money for all this. Grant didn’t give me anything, either. He better not expect me to pay for his snacks.
–Me: Hey, what do I do if my boss didn’t give me a credit card or anything and asks me to buy something for him?
–Marjorie: What store?
–Me: Bobbi’s Sweet Things.
–Marjorie: No prob. We have a contract with them. Just tell them it’s for us. Lemme send you our account # with them.
–Me: Thanks.
I sigh with relief. I should’ve gotten the information about all this before leaving. If Marjorie wasn’t the type to check her phone every time it pinged, I’d be screwed.
When I return to GrantEm, almost ninety minutes have gone by. I enter Grant’s office with the pastries.
“Here. Everything you asked for.” I place the boxes on the table between two couches.
He comes over and starts opening the boxes, inspecting the pastries closely. Does he think I spat on them? I wouldn’t do that, not even to him. Unlike some people, I have standards of decency.
He folds his arms and scowls at a chocolate scone.
“Any problem?” I ask, knowing I have everything he asked for. Of course, he could pull another dick move and insist that I forgot something and make me go back.
“No,” he says finally. “And the jewelry? Were you able to return it?”
“Of course.” I hand him the envelope from the store. “It’s all in there.”
