Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Until Damien figured that out, it was best for everyone if he closed the shop. No one was safe around him.
Goddamn, I need to sew something. Getting his fix would help keep him in control instead of his beast.
Damien entered the store, instantly noting the scent of cinnamon in the air. The entire workshop was spotless save for a mannequin with a green velvet Victorian dress pinned to it. One of his creations. Why is that out?
“MF?”
“Hey, boss! I’m up front.”
He entered the shop and froze. Half his suits were gone off the racks, replaced with more of the Victorian dresses he’d sewn.
What the hell was going on?
“Here you go!” MF said to a customer at the counter. The woman was a size six, dressed like she had money but wanted to hide it. The two-hundred-dollar yoga pants and five-hundred-dollar orthopedic sandals were a dead giveaway. Why was she here? This was not his usual clientele.
As for MF, today she wore heavy eye makeup, a tuxedo shirt buttoned only halfway, and skintight black leather pants. The nipples were covered but visible through the fabric.
Enough! I have had it. Damien balled his fists.
“Thank you,” said the woman, taking a giant flat rectangular box from the counter. “I can’t wait to wear this!”
Damien waited for the woman to leave before letting loose. “What have you done to my store?” he roared.
MF blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“The dresses! Why are these dresses on the racks?”
“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” She waved her palms in the air.
“Yeah. Calm down,” said Bonbon. “You’re ruining the awesome vibe in here, chief.”
MF continued, “I was cleaning and organizing your stockroom, because—fuck, dude—there’s nothing else to do here considering how few customers you get. Ever heard of advertising?”
He didn’t need to advertise. This shop was not about making money. It was his sanctuary, the one place other than his home that kept him in check. Mostly because it was boring as hell. “My clientele come in when they like, and they pay top dollar for everything. That’s enough for me.”
“Okay. Fine. Whatever. But I used to work at a boutique in Long Beach, and every day, they’d put a rack of clothes outside—stuff they wanted to move. I figured those dresses were just sitting in boxes, collecting dust, so I’d see what happened. I mean, wow, they are gorgeous dresses, Damien. Did you sew them by hand? Because I’ve never seen that kind of stitchwork. It’s flawless.”
He lifted his chin. “Yes, I know. I’ve had practice,” he said bitterly. Being cursed and living for a few hundred years gave one time to perfect one’s sewing. “And you had no right to sell those.”
“Sorry, dude, but what’s done is done. The people outside saw the dresses and freaked. I sold ten in one hour.”
“Well, put the rest back where you found them and then lock the front door. We’re closing.”
“But it’s only nine in the morning. A little early, wouldn’t ya say?”
“We are closing. Maybe for good.”
She blinked. “What? You can’t do that. Those dresses are selling like hotcakes. I’ve got thirty-three orders for different sizes and colors. By close of business today, everything on the racks, aside from your stuffy suits, will be gone. And you’re making fifteen hundred per dress.” She paused. “I do get commission, right? Because I put a lot of work into your online store.”
Online store? Greystone & Sons doesn’t do online stores! He narrowed his eyes. Why was everyone trying to hijack his life?
“I do not have time for this bullshit.” He had a meeting with the gods in two hours. Not to mention, his body had been commandeered by a ruthless, cutthroat killing machine. Again!
“Damien, you can’t do this to me.” Her brown eyes, outlined with heavy eyeliner, filled with tears. “I need this job.”
“Don’t play the needy-woman card with me. For fuck’s sake, you call yourself Motherfucker. Doesn’t sound so helpless. Or have I got it all wrong? Are you a weak, powerless woman who needs my store because she cannot make her own way in the world?”
Ha! That should get her to leave, he thought.
MF stomped her foot. “My family was murdered by the vampire who turned me. Did you know that? Did you know I’ve been living on the streets ever since? Do you know what that’s like? No home. No family. No friends. And a thirst for blood. I was a goddamned vegetarian before all this! And then I turned human again, but no one would give me a chance. So now I’m here, working harder for you than I ever have in my entire life, and you want to shut this down?”
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. At least she’d spared her clothes. “I’m not helpless. I’m desperate. And, for the record, my name isn’t Motherfucker. My parents were hippies. It’s Mountain Flower!” MF turned and stormed out the front door. “Asshole!” she yelled from the street.