I’d wonder why Deiss keeps her around if I hadn’t already realized she’s the one who does all the work Booker manages to avoid. She even put up my flyers on her own time, hissing at me like I was trying to steal her job when I offered to do it myself. The only time her territorial shtick seems to abate is after her shift, when Booker is inevitably late, and she allows me to take over the counter to bridge the gap so she can go home. It’s a concession she makes begrudgingly rather than gratefully, as if she’s the one doing me the favor.
Surprisingly, as fun as it is to work with Booker, I still look forward to Mia’s shifts. I get so much more work done when she’s aggressively ignoring me than when Booker is blasting music and continuing his unsuccessful quest to convince me to dance with him in front of any customers who happen to be present. Which is why, a couple of hours later, I’m the tiniest bit disappointed to be distracted from my project by the sight of Phoebe strolling through the door
“Hi!” I give a beauty queen smile.
“Are you working on something?” Phoebe directs the question to me but smiles at Mia as she saunters down the aisle between record bins. Naturally, Mia’s eyes drop to her shirt, her fingers picking at the hem of her sleeve as if she’s found a loose thread that needs urgent addressing. With the sneer on her face accompanying the slight, she might as well stick to one finger and use it to flip Phoebe off.
“A website for a pop-up boutique,” I say proudly. It’s the third job I’ve dug up, and by far the most profitable. None of them have paid much, and I’ve spent as much time searching for clients as I have creating content, but it feels like a start. Not to mention the client list on my website is beginning to look much less sparse.
“Hey, Phoebes.” Deiss appears from the back and wanders behind the counter, leaning over my shoulder and peering at the screen. The smell of his cologne hits my nose. There’s something dark and smoky about it, like fresh oak barrels swollen with aged bourbon.
“I like the colors,” he says, his breath tickling at my ear. I turn to him with a nod, catching the full force of his eyes and mouth up close before he pulls back.
“I think you were right about mixing the light and dark,” I say, managing to sound unaffected by his appearance. It means nothing, this appreciation I have for his looks. I also admired Cat Stevens’s regality every time I looked at him, but I knew better than to try and pet him. “It needed the more substantial feel to offset the impermanence of the location.”
“I want to see,” Phoebe says.
I catch Mia eyeing the screen as I flip it around. Unsurprisingly, she says nothing. I should probably be grateful that she’s managed to keep her disparagement to herself.
“It looks fantastic!” Phoebe claps her hands together with delight. “Not that I don’t know how great you are, but I’m still always shocked when I see your work. There’s something so unique about it.”
“Thanks.” I think about all the painfully boring things I turned in at Infinity Designs and laugh. “That means more than you know.”
Deiss leans against the counter next to me, both elbows resting on it as he lifts his chin at Phoebe. “What are you doing here so early? Do we need to break you out of a bout of writer’s block?”
“Actually,” Phoebe says, her eyes brightening with excitement, “I came by to tell you that Mac is at lunch with his agent.”
Deiss’s head tilts. “Right now?”
She grins and nods.
“Let’s go,” he says, pushing himself off the counter. His hand slips up my arm, cupping the crook and tugging.
I slide off the stool and close my laptop, setting it under the counter with my free arm as I look up at him in question.
“Mac’s agent always leaves the tab open,” he says, pulling me toward the door. His hand trails down to my wrist before it releases me, and he glances back at Mia. “You’ve got this?”
“You know it, boss,” she says quickly, causing my mouth to fall open in disbelief.
I glance at Phoebe and see the same shock on her face.
“Did she really just call you boss?” I ask once the door closes behind us and we’re headed toward Phoebe’s car.
“Without sarcasm?” Phoebe adds, her voice high with disbelief.
Deiss shrugs.
“I knew she liked you,” Phoebe says, “but I didn’t know she was actually nice to you.”
“It’s not like she offered to knit me a sweater,” Deiss says, opening the door to the front seat and waving me in. “She just said she’d do her job.”