“That’s…good.”
Well, with that exciting exchange complete, I smile politely and move past him to grab my breakfast from where I left it on the counter. I suppose with my plans for innocuous meatball-based rebellion foiled, I’ll need to take it into the office after all and hope Mr. Rockefeller doesn’t return to demand his desk back. But as I pick up my sub, Cal’s voice comes from directly behind me again.
“I actually have to run to the bank this morning to deposit last week’s checks,” he says. “Since I forgot to go yesterday. Do you think you’d be okay here on your own for an hour or two?”
The sub lands back on the wooden surface with a squish-tinted thud. “You’re leaving me alone?”
“If you’re okay with it. If not, I can figure out another time to go.”
“No, I’m fine. I can handle it. It’s just, well, Monday morning you didn’t even want me talking to customers and now…” I trail off, my hands gesturing expansively in a motion that I suppose means,you’re trusting me with what is clearly the most important thing in your life.
He shrugs again, but his eyes practically bore into mine. “Well, things have changed since Monday morning, haven’t they? If you’ll recall, I now have anincentive.” His voice definitely emphasizes the word that is clearly a stand-in for “woman threatening to contact the authorities about the illicit bird in my possession,” but the bitterness that might be there is missing. Again, I study his face and see a more well-rested, less troubled man than the one I left here the other night.
I did intend this whole arrangement to be mutually beneficial. I just thought I’d have to do a lot more to prove said benefits to him before we started seeing results.
“Okay,” I say. “Go run your errand. I’ve got it under control here.”
Do I really, though? My wandering around Uncle Harold’s house trying to convince his spider plant to buy the eighteenth-century portrait of a minor royal he has in his dining room isn’t exactly the same as what I’ll need to do here if someone comes in while Cal’s out.
But what I lack in direct knowledge, I’m sure I can make up for in charisma. That does a great deal to mask inexperience, as eighteen-year-old Annie learned quite well. It got her a year-long relationship with the handsome middle-aged architect who frequented the restaurant where she worked. Then ten months with a divorce lawyer who was also, ironically, in the midst of his own divorce. A short stint with a violinist who was looking to distract himself from his worsening tendonitis with a pretty young thing who’d insist his fingers worked just fine for her. And it got her in bed with lots of other men who thought she was perfect for a time and then decided she was too young and that it was time they move on to someone more their equal. I may have learned my lesson about dating men old enough to be my father, but I still know how to play the game, how to draw upon those stores of confidence and charm. Surely my past experiences wielding them are transferable to, um, selling antiques.
“Call or text if anything comes up,” Cal says. He hesitates at the entrance to the back hallway. I wave at him, smiling as big as I can, until he disappears.
Everything will be great. Having the place to myself will be fun. I can do whatever I want, including eating my breakfast—
“No sitting on the counter!” he calls before the heavy back door slams shut.
Well, whatever. He’s not the boss of me. Or, rather, I guess he technically sort of is. Temporarily. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to him.
—
My suspicion thatI would be able to handle being alone at Virtu was a million percent correct, apparently. Because I amrockingthis. I have already sold a three-hundred-dollar set of nineteenth-century bone china to a woman shopping for a wedding present for her grandniece (and prudently kept my opinions on whether said grand-niece would actually appreciate this gift to myself ). Now I’m helping out a sweet couple around my parents’ age looking to furnish their new bed-and-breakfast in Pennsylvania. So far Jim and Madge have selected a dining table and two armchairs, and they are still wandering through the store pointing out more pieces to each other and talking about what would work in various guest rooms and common areas.
I’m remaining calm and professional on the outside, but inside I am scream-singing the chorus from “Break My Stride” on repeat. Imagine Cal’s face when he returns from the bank to find that I’ve made Virtu several thousand dollars in less than two hours! He’ll have to be grateful that I forced him into trusting me. Maybe so grateful that he will kneel at my feet and praise my sales prowess and tell me how beautiful and smart I am and how happy he is to have me here. How he’s glad to let me do what I want even without the threat of blackmail, and then we can dispose with all that and simply work together in harmony and light sexual tension for the rest of the month.
A girl can dream.
“Ah, two inches too wide for that nook,” Jim says over the metallicthwapof his tape measure’s retraction.
“Maybe that one over there?” Madge points to a different sideboard in the back corner of the showroom and she and Jim head toward it. I’m about to follow when the bells on the door sound.
“Excuse me for one moment,” I call to them, and head toward the front of the store.
A tall Black woman in a cream silk blouse and wide-legged pinstripe pants stands at the counter, checking her cell phone.
“Good morning,” I say.
The woman slides her phone into her pants pocket and brushes a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “Hello. Is Inés available?”
“She’s actually out for the next few weeks, traveling overseas. But maybe I can help you?”
“My name’s Makayla, and I’m Genevieve Gladhill’s assistant. I’m here to pick up her latest,” she says, as if I should know who Genevieve Gladhill is and what her latest might be. I suppose I could go looking around to see if anything is labeled as such, but I can see Jim and Madge across the room, waiting patiently to ask me something. I’m worried disappearing on them for longer might make them change their minds about spending a small fortune here.
“Sorry,” I tell Makayla. “I just started working here and I have to admit that I’m not sure what that would be. Is it possible for you to come back in about an hour? One of the owners will be here by then. I’m sure he—”
“Usually Inés puts it all in the back storage room and we usethe loading area to pick up,” she says with a lilt in her voice turning it into a question.
Oh! Monday night when we were moving the goose out of Cal’s living room, he told me the storage room is where they keep things that need some sort of attention before they’re put out on the floor, or that they purchased special for a customer. He also mentioned an arrangement Inés initiated with a local real estate agent a few years ago, where they rent out pieces to her so she can use them to stage high-end properties in the area. Then the agent arranges for buyers to purchase anything they want to keep and returns the rest to Virtu. This woman must work with that real estate agent, and she’s here to pick up their latest rentals.
