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“You have some good ideas,” she said to be encouraging.
“Yes,” Rainne sighed sadly, “only I can’t implement them.”
The two women stared at Betty.
“What?” Betty demanded. “I have veto. It’s in the contract.”
“That was some contract you had drawn up,” Kirsty told her.
“You’re not wrong.” Betty grinned. “I never thought anyone would sign it.”
“There’s a neon sign above my head with the word idiot and an arrow pointing at me, isn’t there?”
“No, of course not,” Kirsty said while Betty nodded.
“This is your last warning,” Kirsty told Betty.
“You’re no fun at all,” the old woman said.
“So I’ve been told.”
Betty stalked back into the shop in a huff.
“I don’t know how you do that,” Rainne said as they watched the shop door slam. “I can’t seem to stand up to her at all.”
“Don’t be fooled by the old lady exterior, inside she’s tough as nails and will walk all over you. I’m used to her, she’s got a good heart and she can be really funny, but you need to stay on top of it or else you become her lap dog.”
“Woof,” said Rainne.
Kirsty put an arm around Rainne’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “Look, why don’t you bring your business plan over later and I’ll help you with it? Maybe we can put together some sort of advertising campaign for Christmas? Something that will benefit both our shops—like a lingerie party, or something. Two heads are better than one, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually,” said the deep voice behind her.
Kirsty jumped as the man stepped into view. There were men, and then there was this man. He was the kind of man that made the rest of the male population seem feminine. It was everything about him—his broad shoulders, his square jaw, the tiny dimple in his left cheek, the intense look in his blue eyes. Everything screamed man with a capital M.
“I do think two heads are better than one,” he told her in an English accent that broadcast his south coast roots. “But I think the other head should be mine and not the competition’s.”
She reeled backwards, dropping her arm from Rainne’s shoulders.
“Competition?”
He arched one eyebrow. It was the only expression he made. The rest of him—his face, his posture—seemed relaxed. Yet somehow he managed to radiate irritation.
“You do own the shop over the road, right?”
Kirsty nodded dumbly. Without thinking about it, her arms wrapped around her high-necked lambswool sweater and she hugged herself as she spoke.
“I might own the only other lingerie shop in town, but I’m trying to help here. That’s how we do things in Invertary.”
“If that’s the case, then where have you been for the past six months while my sister’s been throwing my money down the drain?”
He folded his arms over his wide chest, making the denim jacket strain across his shoulders. Her heart beat faster. Her mouth opened to defend herself, then snapped shut when she thought better of it.
“The same could be said about you,” she said instead. “At least the help I’m offering is backed by expertise. What exactly do you know about the underwear business?”
He took a step towards her. Kirsty took a tiny step backwards. He noticed, and his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.
