I glance at Silas, confused. What the fuck is ahappy? And why does he want me to have some?
Mary London releases me to grab a stack of clothing off the counter where the computer sits. She shoves it all into my arms, and I instinctively reach out to hold it.
“We have a bit of a dress code here, ya see,” Silas drawls, gesturing to the items. “This’ll get ya going.”
I look down at the stack of clothing in my arms and feel horrified. They’re giving me clothes, like the community charity case. And these still have tags on them. With prices I can’t possibly accept for free.
“Uh, well…”
“No arguin’! These oughta fit you just fine and bring out those gorgeous blue eyes.” Mary London beams at me. Her blue eyes are like the turquoise water I’ve seen in pictures of the Bahamas. Mine are that dull gray blue no one really gushes over.Damn, this woman is a good salesperson. Maybe she should be working here.
“Well, thank you,” I mutter, cheeks burning. “But I tend to prefer black.”
There’s not one black item of clothing in this stack.
Mary London swipes her hand through the air. “Oh, honey, that’s for amateurs. You’re now a representative of Harp and Hemline. You gotta dress for success.”
“No black clothing allowed, Betsy,” Silas adds, not nearly as friendly as his sister.
Well, there goes ninety percent of my wardrobe. “Gray?”
Silas’s jaw clenches. “No black or any shade of gray, little storm cloud. This here is Heaven, Mississippi. We don’t wear…” He trails off as his eyes take in my full outfit. How is it that I can feel his gaze on my skin? “That.”
My jaw drops at the insult. With an armful of donated clothing, I still manage to flip him off.
Mary London’s shocked laughter is charming.
Of course it is.
CHAPTER FOUR
Silas
I’ve never beena believer in bad luck clingin’ to a person, but I’m starting to entertain the idea. First Mama, then the boutique not doing well, and now the employee from hell.
Here I was holding out hope my new employee would be exactly what I needed to turn the ship around. A recent college graduate who majored in sorority life and fashion would have been just the thing. Instead I got a college dropout who majored in klutziness, attitude, and color blindness. She’s not even from around here, so what would she know about running a boutique in a town known for beauty pageants and sorority girls?
Birdie is for sure on my shit list.
Not that I’ll ever yell at the woman. She’d have my ear pinched in her talons, taking me to task for speaking ugly to a lady. I’ll just silently curse her in my head for sending me Betsy Mae Coldreign. Yeah, that’s her actual name. I saw it on her new hire paperwork yesterday and nearly rolled my eyes so hard I gave myself a migraine.
On her second day of work, Betsy arrives before me. She’s sitting outside on the rickety wooden bench one shop over from Harp and Hemline. She sees me unlocking the door and hops to her feet. She’s dressed in one of the outfits Mary London found for her, a flouncy pale yellow dress with lace and ruffles, topped with a string of pearls around her neck. She looks…ridiculous.
And so pretty I drop my keys and have to shuffle the items in my hands to bend down and pick them up off the pavement.
Betsy grabs the laptop bag out of my hands so I can get the door unlocked, which I appreciate. “Ms. Coldreign,” I say by way of greeting.
Opening up the store, flipping on lights, and putting out the sandwich board advertising our sale gives me something else to look at besides the irritating woman I have to spend my day with. Betsy puts my bag on the counter by the register and gets busy hanging up the last few go-backs from late yesterday that neither of us got to. She’s got blindingly white tennis shoes on that look like something a high school cheerleader would wear. Have to admit, they’re an improvement over the pointy heels she couldn’t seem to walk in yesterday. I find myself flicking glances her way, checking out the changes. It’s strange to see her attempting to dress like a Southern woman.
Her wild dark hair sticks out in every direction. I have a feeling she’s never explored the many uses of a flat iron or curling iron. Don’t get me started on the piercings trailing up each ear. She’s got more holes than a block of Swiss cheese.
Betsy turns in a full circle and catches me looking at her. She instantly frowns, ruining the soft look of her outfit. “What are you looking at?”
“You ever think about taking all those earrings out? Stop setting off metal detectors?”
Her expression falls flat immediately. The sparkle in her eyes is raging hot though. She doesn’t answer me. Just lifts her righthand in the air and flips me off. I see her dark purple nail polish is starting to chip.
I can’t help but smirk at her unfailing attitude. I like her pissed off. Less confusing than her looking all cute and feminine in a yellow dress. “Before we officially open, I want to go over some plans for an event we’ll be co-hosting in a few weeks.”
