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CHAPTER EIGHT
AMBER
I can’t believe I said yes. But did I?
I was standing and listening, and the next thing I knew, he was saying he’d pick me up out front, and then he was walking away. He talked so fast that I just froze.
Now I’m thinking about backing out. But I haven’t been on a date for ages. And he is cute. What harm can come from having dinner with him? None. Especially since sex is off the table. I’m a virgin waiting for the right guy to come along. I don’t believe Noah Dalton is that guy.
I’ve read about the Dalton brothers, the two younger ones anyway, in the gossip columns, and they’re with a different woman every night. Is Noah like that? How can he not be?
I’m straightening scarves and thinking of things when Stacy walks into my area. Instead of the typical Macy’s salesperson garb, she’s wearing a skin-tight bodycon dress, red this time. Bet the call girls on the corner high-five her when she rolls by.
I want to ignore her but don’t. I can’t. She won’t allow it. “Hello, Stacy. Can I help you?”
She looks down her nose at me. She’s two inches taller, but when you tack on the six inches from her stiletto heels, she towers over me. How does she walk around in those things?
“I have to leave early for a date tonight.” She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky. “Stevens said you would cover for me.”
“That’s fine. I need the hours anyway.”
Her eyes squint like she’s angry with me. Don’t understand her.
I appreciate the extra hours, and this is a good way for me to get out of my date with Noah. This is a legitimate excuse for bailing. Isn’t it?
“Make sure you have everything in order when you clock out. If you don’t, I’ll know.” She stomps off.
Is that woman ever happy?
I keep an eye out for when she leaves. I assume it’ll be six, the same time I’m supposed to get off. And it is, well, close enough for Stacey anyway. She leaves at 5:50 without a wave or a nod. No heads-up? Trying to stick it to me right away?She’s such a nice person.
Stacey knows that my replacement—Beth Anne, a part-timer like myself who works from six until closing—doesn’t normally clock in until six on the dot. So, I can’t go to Stacey’s department until… Uggggh.
I exchange pleasantries with Beth Anne when she shows up five minutes late and then hustle over to cover for Stacey. Twenty minutes pass without a customer, and Noah strides in wearing a blue cotton suit—custom made—and a blue and white pinstriped shirt. His shoes are black. Leather Oxfords, I believe. And recently spit-shined.
He says when he gets to me, “Hey, Amber. Are you ready?” He’s so jovial.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. Have to cover for somebody tonight.” I get a lump in my throat. Swallowing becomes difficult. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to go out with him.
“How late do you have to stay?”
“Nine.”
“Not a problem. I’ll make some calls, push things around.”
His reaction surprises me. “You’re not mad?” I study him carefully.
He shrugs halfheartedly. “Was this planned?”
“Got dumped on me last minute.”
“Then why should I be mad?”
I raise my hands and shake my head.
A customer holding a coffee maker is looking around. “I have to go,” I tell him and scurry away.
It surprises me he wasn’t upset over the deal. Maybe I was wrong about him. We’ll have to see.
