Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance, Kara Hart [free ebook reader for iphone .TXT] 📗

Sandra is so unimpressed that she nearly sinks a foot in height. “He used those exact words?”

I throw up my arms. “Does it matter?”

The sales clerk is a young woman close to my age. She looks back and forth between us. “Should I wait?”

“Dammit, Marc,” she whispers to herself. Then she answers me. “We have a budget, and you don’t have much time.”

Thanks, mom.

Coming to terms with this idea of a hijacked date, I look away from her. If I turn back, I might end up killing her.

“Fine.” I blow out hot air. “Show me the dress.”

Sandra nods to the salesclerk who quickly heads to the back to fish out the dress of Sandra’s dreams. Not wanting to stick around Sandra for much longer, I maneuver around her, heading toward a sales rack in the corner. If she’s not going to let me pick for myself, I’ll leave and fantasize.

Of course, there’s no getting past her. She follows me with her eyes everywhere I go. With my back turned, I haphazardly go through the dresses. I must be shoving them aside pretty hard because a new salesclerk comes up behind me, even after seeing me come in on Sandra’s leash.

“Yes?” I nearly scream.

The clerk is a man, older, with a grey mustache and half a head of hair. He darts his head back as if I almost yelled it right off. “Need help finding anything in particular, ma’am?”

I push out my cheeks with air and make a loud popping noise. For all intents and purposes, I’m speaking to this man. That doesn’t diminish the fact that Sandra is very focused on me.

“Yeah, I’d like to find a dress,” I say.

I see Sandra start to raise a finger. “We’ve already been helped. Thank you.”

The salesclerk is caught in a bind. On one hand, Sandra is a reoccurring customer. There’s a lot of value in that promise. Then again, who knows how much I might buy out of spite?

I throw my purse to my front, rummaging through it to find my wallet. Pulling out a debit card, I blow some dust off the edges and place it in his hands. “Don’t listen to her. I’m a paying customer, and I sure as hell have money to spend,” I grunt like an ogre.

This isn’t pretty, I know. But it may be necessary to establish some dominance. Ask me later.

With the clerk’s manager staring at him from across the room, he gives a posh smile and narrows his eyes. “Tell us what you’d like, ma’am.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Sandra cackles.

I widen my eyes, grinning like a nut, totally primal. “Hm. Let’s see.”

Hanging behind a few returned items is a brand new dress, dark red with a black trim. It’s minimal, but not understated. Classic might be the right word to use, something Brigitte Bardot might wear to a French restaurant. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

The clerk points. “Ah yes, the Alexander McQueen. A wonderful choice,” he says.

It’s go time.

That’s a name I know. McQueen. If Amanda saw me now, she’d be really proud of me.

I can feel Sandra frowning behind me. Maybe it’s not much to her, but it is everything to me. “I want this one,” I say.

Sandra tilts her head to look at it. “It’s pretty, but it’s much too gaudy. Marc will roll his eyes at something like this.”

Bitch. This is my night.

I reach for the dress. The price tag bends into view. It’s not that expensive. “I want it,” I say, reaching for the hanger. “And I’m going to pay for it myself.”

She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out a complex physics equation.

I keep going. “So, if you want to buy the dress you have on hold for me, go ahead. But I won’t wear it.”

Her clerk walks out from the back, her smile as bright as the sun. The dress itself isn’t ugly. It’s chic, definitely in fashion, especially if you’re a girl boss business woman. That’s not me. I’m a humble, normal person. It doesn’t matter if I’m with Marc for the next sixty years, I’m not going to change.

Presenting the dress to us, the clerk asks, “Have we decided on anything else?”

Sandra’s jaw catches as she grinds her teeth to the side.

I point to my dress of choice. “I’ll take the McQueen,” I say, tossing my card onto the counter. Behind the glass is a very intricate lingerie set. Fuck it. Let’s go the extra mile. “I want that lingerie set, too. Charge it all on my card.”

And bring me my pumpkin spiced latte while you’re at it, bitch.

I see the tag. It’s over three thousand dollars. The overdraft fees are going to kill me. That’s okay. Marc can make it up to me later.

Sandra grimaces. “I’ll get the driver.”

Damn straight.

Ali

Being rich is an attitude. It’s not about what you wear, how you talk, or what car you drive. It’s knowing how to manage those valuable expectations. But ultimately, it’s about rubbing it in the face of your opponent. If you can’t handle that, stay out of the way.

Sitting in the limousine while wearing my spite purchase and feeling extra fabulous, I glance in the driver’s rearview mirror. Containing my excitement is hard, even around Sandra. I’m not accustomed to looking this pretty, and I’m suddenly glad to have brought my makeup kit with me.

“You look very beautiful,” she says. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Just be careful you don’t get your expectations up too high,” she says.

I take a deep breath, choosing to look the other way instead of reacting. She’s just trying to get under my skin. I don’t have to be rich to know Sandra is a micromanaging bitch.

Tomorrow might be about winning over Marc’s shareholders. However, he invited me on his own accord. Despite what Sandra suggests, I think he wanted me there with him to keep him company and maybe even show me off to his friends. Nevertheless, I’m going to win those shareholders over