KAIA
“What is this place? I thought we were going to Cartier.”
I bit back my suggestion that they, indeed, should go to Cartier and instead angled the tray of gold rings to better catch the light.
“No, baby. This is better than Cartier. An original artist. Don’t you want something unique that nobody else has?”
The woman, who wore every brand name under the sun, so many logos on her outfit that I gave up trying to read them all, glared at the man beside her. She towered over him, likely from the spikey heels she wore, and he grinned up at her. Tanned, reeking of wealth, and likely dating more than one such arm candy, the man slid me a quick glance.
I pasted a polite smile on my face.
I didn’t feel like being polite. I wanted to take my tray of rings and boot the people out of the shop that I was showcasing my jewelry in this weekend. It was a trial run, to see if there were clientele for my pieces, and I was hating every moment of it.
I’d even dressed up for this, but apparently not well enough, based on the look of derision in Arm Candy’s eyes. Even so, I kind of wanted to ask her what she used to get her hair so shiny. When she stuck out her lower lip and pouted, I knew I wasn’t getting a sale. But at least I could get some intel.
“Sorry to ask, but your hair is just so pretty. What product do you use that gets it so shiny?”
Instantly the woman transformed from annoyed and petulant to engaged. Swinging her glossy mane over her shoulder, she leaned forward, nudging the tray of rings aside.
“Listen, I’ll tell you this because you probably can’t afford the product that I tell people I’m using …” She tapped one manicured nail on my arm, her eyes earnest. “But the secret is a touch of castor oil—not too much—while your hair’s still wet.”
“Is that so?” Hmm, maybe I’d give it a try.
“Good for the dark circles under your eyes too.” The woman gave me a pointed look and I internally winced. Right, so I hadn’t been sleeping well these days.
Who could blame me when my life was falling apart?
If this woman looked close enough, she’d see where I’d hastily filled the scuff marks on my only pair of black heels with a permanent marker this morning. She didn’t need to, though, having sized me up and dismissed me as not one of her ilk the instant she walked in the door and scanned my outfit. That being said, she’d warmed up marginally, and at least conversation would make the time pass. Any conversation.
To say business was slow was an understatement. Why the jewelry store owners had insisted on a Fourth of July sale on the actual holiday, I did not know. My luck had only worsened when they’d also picked that same day to allow me to showcase some of my new work. Finally.
Now I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d just been looking for someone to run the store while they got sunburned at the beach with a cooler full of cold Corona beers. I couldn’t say I blamed them. If someone was stupid enough, in other words, me, to say they’d work on a national holiday, well, I’d probably be at the beach too.
Sighing, I waited while the brunette nudged the tray of rings, finally giving them a quick glance. Only then did her eyes widen slightly.
“Hey, these aren’t so bad.”
Gee, thanks.
“See, baby? I’m telling you, sometimes it pays to be the person who starts the trends.” Sweat glistened on the man’s brow and I suspected he might be struggling with money issues. My prices were considerably cheaper than Cartier’s, so if he could convince his special lady friend to buy a piece from me, he might be off the hook—for whatever it was he was atoning for.
I just needed to sell one more ring. Two would be ideal.
It would be enough to cover my plane ticket out of hell to Scotland.
Dramatic, much?
Why yes, yes, I was. That being said, my current life situation had degraded to the point of barely tolerable and was lackluster on a good day. My bags were packed. My tools were ready to ship. The rest I’d sold or was in storage.
I just needed a few more sales and one extremely awkward conversation before I’d be on my way to Scotland, where I’d been promised a new beginning.
One meager inheritance of a tiny cottage, a barely running car, or so I was told, and a pillow to lay my head on. Furnished was the key word I’d heard from the solicitor who’d called me when a distant auntie had died. With no kin of her own, the cottage had somehow worked its way down to me, and frankly, I was happy for it. The pictures made it look charming, if 1970s pea-green carpeting and faded cabbage rose wallpaper was your thing.
It could be my thing if it got me away from Stan. Boring, dull, ever so patient Stan. Somehow, he’d worked himself into my life, rescuing me when my apartment building had flooded, and the relief I’d felt at not having to worry about rent for a few weeks had turned into a much longer roommate situation. One where Stan was convinced I was meant for him. I slept fully clothed on the couch, waking before he rose so I could shower and disappear to avoid the gross conversation that, no, I wouldn’t put on a Princess Leia bikini and role-play while he laughed like Jabba the Hutt.
“You know … this one is quite pretty actually.”
I snapped back from daydreams of sleeping in a real bed again and beamed as the woman picked up one of my rings. I’d had a lot of fun with that one, hammering the gold and melding it so it twisted and coiled around the finger like a snake, and had dotted it with pavé diamonds down the back.
“Even better? You can stack it with this band, like so.”
I showed her how she could interlock it with another band, making it seem like two sparkly snakes twirled around her finger, and she gasped.
“Oh, I love the mixed metals. White and rose gold. This is like Bvlgari, but cooler.”
“See, baby? I told you this stuff was neat.” The man dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief.
“We’ll take it.” The woman nodded to me, and I beamed at my new best friend. Unbeknownst to her, she’d just secured my ticket to a new life. I just prayed the man’s credit card wouldn’t be declined. The woman stepped away to wander around the room, looking at the other cases, while the man turned to me.
“How much?”
“Four thousand for the pair.”
He blanched and pulled out his wallet. I saw a wad of cash and worry kicked up.
“Discount for cash.”
The man opened his money clip and counted his bills.
“Can you do three hundred off?”
“Yup, no problem.”
No problem at all, sir. Cash was king and I would be more than happy to take his money. He handed it over, and I quickly tucked it away. Out of sight, out of mind. Wrapping up the packages in pretty navy-blue boxes with gold etching on the outside, I handed the woman a bag with a bow knotted at the top.
“I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making them.”
“Thanks.” The woman breezed to the door, the man following one step behind her. Just before they left, she bent her head to his, and I caught her words.
“But we’re still going to Cartier, right, baby?”
I shook my head, walking over to lock the doors after them, seeing the guy pleading with the woman in the parking lot.
I didn’t care that the day was only half done.
I had what I’d come here for.
Picking up the phone, I dialed the owners.
“Hey, Debra? So sorry to do this to you, but I’m sick. Yes, horrible stomach cramps. I have to go.”
I didn’t like to lie, but Debra didn’t seem to mind. Seeing as they’d only had one customer in four hours, I couldn’t blame her. Instructing me to lock up for the day, I followed her orders and then hightailed it out of the store, already looking up flights on my phone. The good thing about last-minute Fourth of July sales?
I scored myself a killer deal on a ticket to Scotland.
Now to discover this so-called family of mine and just what kind of inheritance I’d really been granted. ...
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