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“Anything else?” I ask, lifting the bottle in question.
“Just that. Oh, and this,” she says, handing me the corkscrew. “I don’t need it, but it’s too cute to pass up.”
I feel a swell of professional pride at her words because the “don’t need it, but too cute to pass up” crowd was exactly the clientele I was banking on when I’d decided to add the & More.
See that, Mr. Andrews? We’re doing just fine.
Sort of.
Nicola absently picks up a little tin of outrageously priced mints and slides them toward me as I ring her up. The mints, wrapped in black and hot pink packaging, are shaped like champagne flutes and taste vaguely like vanilla. I carefully hide another victory smile. Displayed in a crystal bowl at checkout, they’re one of our most popular impulse buys.
I place her bottle of champagne in a sturdy, skinny white paper bag and slip the corkscrew and mints into the sides. That is another of my improvements. We used to use the industry standard brown paper bag slipped into an equally ugly plastic bag. After taking a class on branding at business school, I decided that one way Bubbles & More could differentiate itself was to create an experience of luxury, even after you walked out the door, carrying a sleek, attractive bag that you could carry to happy hour with friends without ruining your outfit.
“Thanks so much,” Nicola says, blowing me a kiss. “You know I’ll be back. I always am.”
She glances in Mr. Andrews’s direction one last time, then I hear the tinkle of the bell, and I’m alone again. With him.
Sebastian takes his time coming around to the counter, and I’m unsurprised to see he has no wine bottle in hand. And it goes without saying he’s not the type to pick up cocktail napkins while he’s here. I lift my eyebrows. “You did see the no loitering sign on the door, yes?”
There isn’t one, but it doesn’t matter, because he ignores the question and thoughtfully picks up one of the mint tins from the bowl. “Eight dollars for a tiny thing of mints.”
The mildness of his tone is more insulting than a snide intonation would have been. “They’re one of our best sellers.”
“I’m sure.” He sets the tin back in the bowl carefully. “Does the profit margin cover the cost of the fancy bag?”
He can’t know it, but his question hits me right in the deep, dark, endless hole of worry that I reserve for those 3 a.m. anxiety attacks.
Or maybe he does know it, because his gaze is level and steady. He sees too much. Almost as though he knows the margin on the mints is next to nothing, and the cost of pretty white bags that are sturdy and well made enough to entrust a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne is astronomical. And no, not covered by the mints.
I channel my older sister’s snootiness and look down my nose at him, which I secretly think is rather impressive because I’m five two and he’s at least six feet. “Little luxuries are a crucial hallmark of the Bubbles brand.”
“I’m sure. And profit? Long-term viability? Your own financial security? Are those hallmarks of the Bubble brand as well?”
I’m not particularly prone to anger, but I feel an unmistakable bite of indignation at his condescension. “You overstep, Mr. Andrews.”
He concedes the point with a nod. “I do. I apologize. But brick-and-mortar stores are rapidly becoming a thing of the past in all industries, Ms. Cooper. There’s no shame in admitting that this shop will never make you rich.”
“I would never be ashamed to admit that,” I say quietly. “In fact, I say quite proudly that there are more important things in life than being rich.”
He doesn’t ask what things? but his expression tells me he’s thinking it.
Those unfairly beautiful eyes cut to the fresh bouquet I was holding when we first met, before I realized he was a shark in a really smart suit.
“Enjoy your flowers,” he says, somehow managing to make it sound like a parting shot as he turns and strides toward the door.
The bell tinkles with his departure, and I stare blindly at the beautiful blooms, hearing everything he didn’t say.
Enjoy your flowers. But they won’t save your shop.
To Sir, with plausible deniability,
Do you think a good maiming is ever justified? Kidding, mostly.
Lady
* * *
My dear Lady,
She has a dark side! Consider me intrigued. Noisy neighbor? Cheating boyfriend? Toxic relative?
Yours in the cone of silence,
Sir
* * *
Workplace frustration. Some people are so… so… there are no words.
Lady
* * *
Ah yes, something I understand all too well myself. The word you’re looking for is actually two: utterly provoking. Some people are utterly provoking.
* * *
Yes! That is it exactly. This individual has me utterly provoked.
* * *
Same. Same.
Five
My sister, Lily, is one of those beautiful people. As a kid, I’d been unaware of it. As a teen, I’d been a little jealous. As an adult, I’ve learned there are more important things than outer beauty.
