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“Makenzie,” Lyla said.
“You’re welcome, dear. Stop by after you sew that dress we talked about. Walking in and out of here in that number will be fabulous advertising.”
“Mackenzie.”
“Deal.” I took Sunny’s card and sidestepped Lyla like she was a store mannequin.
“Mackenzie, stop—! Isla, call the police,” Lyla cried. “I know for a fact that woman is a broke, homeless waste. She can’t afford to breathe in here. Whatever card she just paid you with is stolen.”
“What?!”
“Excuse me?”
“Saggy-ass bitch,” Sienna shouted.
Flushing red, Lyla grabbed her ass automatically, and quickly dropped her hands. “It’s true,” she said, looking down that nose on me. “She’s a street rat. Right, ladies?”
Naomi, Skylar, Madison, and Brielle sounded their agreement.
“She told us herself a few days ago,” Skylar said. “Look at her clothes. Couldn’t you tell? Call the cops, Isla.”
Distress stealing her smile, Isla reached for the phone.
“I didn’t steal anything!” I cried. “I was homeless—past tense. I’m not anymore—present day.”
“Oh, really?” Lyla scoffed. “You found a place to live, scrounged up the rent, and had a little left over to shop here? All in less than a week? She stole that card, Isla. Her name is Mackenzie Blaine, in case she gave you another one. She’s a thief.” Lyla flashed me a grim smile. “This is what she does.”
I bounded across the distance, getting in her face. “Listen, Saggy Ass—”
“My ass isn’t saggy!”
“—just because I didn’t beat your face in the first time your lies ruined me, doesn’t mean you don’t have it coming,” I hissed. Lyla lurched back. “I didn’t steal anything. I got a job and my new boss gave me his card. The fabric is to make clothes for myself and his family.” I craned my neck around her, speaking to Isla. “I’ll give you the number for his head of security. He’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I would like that number. I’m sorry, Mackenzie.” She was. Discomfort brought out the lines on her forehead. “Just to be on the safe side. You understand.”
Stiffly, I gave her my phone. Everyone was silent as the dial tone rang, though Lyla’s expression said many things as she gazed back at me. She was not pleased to see me here—clean, clothed, and in my element. Her world would be put right if I was dragged out of here in handcuffs.
But you won’t get the satisfaction.
“Yes, hello. My name is Isla, owner of Brocade. Who am I speaking to? Yes. Hmm mhh,” she said. “I have a woman here, paying for purchases with an Anthony Saint Ark’s card.”
Yes, Anthony Saint Ark. As in Tony St. Ark.
Tony Stark. Another brazen rich playboy.
I laughed when Sunny gave me the card. I should’ve spent less time giggling and more time with my butt parked in a chair, online shopping. If I’d known Fashion Ave. was a favorite of Lyla and her bitch crew, that’s what I would’ve done.
“Yes, thank you,” Isla said. “That’s the address she gave me. I apologize for bothering you with this. Of course I will.” Ending the call, Isla handed me the phone. The look she gave Lyla fed an underused, vicious side of me. “In the future, Miss Dawson, I would appreciate it if you didn’t burst into my shop, screaming about thieves and accusing my customers.”
“But, Isla—”
“Apologize.”
“What?”
“Apologize to Miss Blaine for the embarrassment you caused her, or you’re no longer welcome in my shop.”
Lyla’s eyes bugged. Brimming with glee, I couldn’t keep it off my face as Isla demanded the one thing Lyla owed me above all else, but would die before she gave me.
“I’m not— Isla, the woman was wearing rags and using dirt as blush less than a week ago. She has a history of theft. Excuse me for trying to help you!”
Isla’s expression didn’t change. “Apologize.”
“Yeah,” Sienna said, grinning almost as wide as me. “Apologize.”
Cycling through all the stages of rage, Lyla finally settled on distaste, and hitched her bag up her shoulder. “Fine. If this is how you treat long-standing customers, then I am no longer welcome in this dump. You can forget about the five of us as clients. And you can forget about seeing your fabrics featured in the Phenomenal Five spread.” She whirled on me. “Mackenzie, drop dead.”
I waved. “Nose— I mean, nice to see you as always, Lyla. Have a blessed day.”
“Bitch.”
The five stormed out to the sound of my howling. I didn’t get an apology, but watching Lyla turn all those shades of red was Christmas.
“Thank you, Isla. You may have lost them as customers, but you’ve got me for life.”
“You keep ringing up orders like these, and I’ll weather the sting. Now, get out of here,” she said, smiling to soften the bark. “You’re not done shopping for the day. You need to replace those clothes immediately. I suggest Maxfield’s at the end of the street.”
