As far as my father’s concerned, a man managing a women’s clothing boutique is enough of a scandal. Hiring a goth woman from out west and then getting dumped by her the first week? Humiliating.
So I clench my jaw so hard it sends a shooting pain through my skull and turn back around. I plop my ass on the barstool by the register and flip through the pages of notes Betsy took yesterday. At least I can do something productive while I fume. She did say the answers are in here. Maybe I don’t need her after all. Maybe she did me a favor by quitting. Maybe it’s just my ego that’s making me want to run after her and get the last word in.
I haven’t even gotten to page two and I’m collecting flies with my mouth hanging open. She’s not wrong. These notes are gold! I pull out my phone and start googling the things these women say they want. The education is like wrapping my lips around a firehouse, but I force myself to keep going. I have to save this shop. For Mama. Forme.
“Hey!”
The little bell over the door jingles. I nearly jolt right off my barstool at the interruption. My head lifts and I see my best friend strolling in, looking all put together in a three-piece suit. He looks like he’s walked right off the cover ofGQmagazine ifthey had an issue for Southern gentlemen. He even has a gold chain on the vest and a gold pocket square that matches the tie.
“Deuce. Aren’t you hot in that thing?”
He plops two take-out bags on the counter and strokes his hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “Hell no, brother. I’m cool as a cucumber. Always.”
I shake my head at his antics. “I bet you’re sweatin’ ass.”
Deuce drags the other barstool over and has a seat. He takes off his suit jacket, lays it carefully on my counter, and proceeds to unbutton and roll up his shirtsleeves. When he’s done disrobing, he looks me up and down with a critical eye. Oh great, here we go again.
“At least I don’t look like an overgrown frat boy.”
I look down at my navy polo, gray khakis, and leather loafers. “I’ll have you know these shoes are designer.” I narrow my eyes. “Have you been talking to Betsy?”
Deuce’s face splits into a grin that all the women in this town gush about. Personally, I don’t see it. I see the guy who had glasses in middle school, awkward and skinny, quiet and shy. Sure, he dresses better now, but he’s still the goofy best friend I made way back when.
“I haven’t, but I wish I did. She’s pretty in a stab-you-while-you-come kind of way.”
My face screws up, but my brain takes a journey into territory I’d be better off not exploring. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, she’s hot. This may be Heaven, but I feel like she’s a little dark vixen sent straight from hell to tempt a man.” He tosses his tie over his shoulder and digs into his food, nudging my bag closer to me.
I follow suit, stomach growling. Time passed quickly this morning with all the searching I was doing with Betsy’s notes. Sadly, only one customer came in to break up my morning.
“I call her storm cloud,” I mutter, digging into the gourmet sub sandwich.
Deuce laughs. “That suits her perfectly. I saw her interviewing women at Golden Halo. She’d frown at them, then proceed to somehow charm their Golden Gooses off and get them talking.”
I roll my eyes at the shoe trend I can’t seem to get behind no matter how many times my sister tries to explain it to me. Hundreds of dollars for white tennis shoes that are already scuffed up and dirty? Yeah, no, thanks.
“Well, she hasn’t bothered to try to charm me.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “In fact, she just quit.”
That gets Deuce’s attention. He plops down his sandwich and turns fully in my direction. “You have to get her back.”
I shrug, trying to act like her quitting—again—didn’t hurt my feelings. “Nah. She hums all fucking day long. It’s so annoying. And she dresses like a gothic grandma! Completely the wrong look for the boutique.” I count off her faults on my fingers. “Oh, and she’s rude to customers. She told one lady in the fitting room who asked for a size up that we don’t carry plus sizes.”
“Well, you don’t.”
“She asked for a size ten!” I explode.
Deuce throws his head back and laughs. “God, I think I’m a bit in love with her.”
I snort, the idea so ridiculous I have no words. “Believe me. You don’t want to get mixed up with her.”
With a twinkle in his green eyes that spells trouble, he opens his mouth. “I don’t know, Silas. I’ve found that sometimes when women are that much of a sourpuss, they just need a good fucking to unclog the pipes, you know?”
I screw up my face. I may dress like a frat boy, but I’ve got the manners of a Southern gentleman. Deuce is my opposite. He’sgot the look of a Southern gentleman down to a T, but has the personality of a frat boy. Probably why we get along so well.
“Jesus, Deuce,” I grumble as I pick at the last of my sandwich. “Maybe don’t talk about my employee like that, huh?”
“But she’s not your employee.” Deuce bounces his dark brows up and down suggestively.
