Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Whether I agree with the way she spoke to me or not doesn’t matter. I was rude to a customer, and it had a boomerang effect. I need to do better for me. I need to be the kind of person I want to be. That’s the kind of person who apologizes. Who takes responsibility for her mistakes.
With hopeful hands, I offer her the dish.
Head tilted, she stares at it, like it’s as much a curiosity as I am. She says nothing. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough? Apologetic enough? I hasten to fill the silence with a deeper explanation. “And you were right. I wasn’t happy. I took that out on your husband, and by extension, you,” I add, my gut churning with worry. Holy smokes, this be-a-better-person stuff is hard. Especially since she’s so unreadable. But turning my attitude around can’t only be about me. It has to be about others. How I treat them. “But I’m working to be happier. And I’m trying to feel all the vibes, all the goodness, all the energy.”
She hums, still giving little away in her expression, but she takes the brownie container. “Thank you, but I should let you know, for the sake of transparency, that I don’t eat brownies.”
Um, why are you taking them then?
“Um, I do, I do!” a cheery voice calls out.
It’s one of the lavender twins. Thank god. I was dreading crawling out of here with my tail between my legs and a container of rejected brownies in my paws.
“You can have it then, Cassandra,” Ava says, like a generous benefactor, handing it to her minion who scurries over.
Ava turns to me, gives an ethereal nod, then says, “They smell good.”
And that’s better than expected. I’ll take that as a step in the right direction. I don’t say a word about her sending me business again, because that would make this payola rather than a gift.
Instead, I say something simple but surprisingly true. “I hope you have a great day.”
I didn’t feel that way about her a little more than two weeks ago. But I do now.
As the door swings shut behind me, I strut down the street on my good-vibe high. Life is better again. I’ve got three more dates with a guy who treats me like a queen. I have friends who I adore. And a business that—knock on wood—seems to be turning around.
Oh, and the icing? Tonight, I’m gonna have mirror sex. What does one wear to a mirror sex date? Well, besides nothing?
I run through my options of pretty things, as I unlock the store and pull open the door, ready to be a badass business babe today.
A few minutes later, Fable strides in with a yawn. “Damn, I am tired, and you look like you’ve been conquering the world.”
“I’ve been climbing mountains and spreading goodwill,” I say, then I reach into my canvas bag for another Tupperware container. “And for you, you goddess of jewelry-making and managerial awesomeness. Brownies with peanut butter swirl.”
“Woman. Are you trying to win my loyalty for all time? Because let me just say—done. And gimme.” She makes grabby hands, then bites into a brownie and moans. “You should sell jewelry with a side of brownies, Rachel.”
It’s not a bad idea.
A few minutes later, the first customer comes in, and I sell her two pairs of chandelier earrings.
Yup. I am Rachel 2.0, and I have Carter to thank.
Speaking of, I should send him a thank-you gift. He bought me undies after all. But what’s a good thank-you gift for a guy? Is there an equivalent of boxer briefs? I imagine packs of briefs from TJ Maxx and Target. Not really in the same league as sexy panties.
What about aftershave? But does he wear it? Like it? I could get him a mug, but we’ve done that. I’d rather get him something more personal.
And something sexy like he got me.
Ooh! I know!
While there’s a lull in traffic, I jump online, and order a new bodywash to send to his home. Then I add a note. I wanted something that says I like you shirtless. And this seems to do the trick. To future showers.
I rush around all morning, answering calls from suppliers, paying invoices, and checking in with Stella, the manager of the Venice location. She’d been managing the store like a pro for a few months, but lately she’s been asking for more personal days. And now she tells me she wants me to make sure the employees are better trained for when she needs personal days. I don’t tell her she’s taken a lot recently, because what if she needs them? Instead, I tell her I’ll visit the Venice store soon, then I return to the front of this store. Fable is chatting with a petite woman with a pixie cut. I recognize her as the owner of the cute dress shop.