CHAPTER THREE

AVERY

The doorbell goes off, signaling another customer entering the store, and my standard greeting to customers rolls out on autopilot. "Welcome to Design Time! How are you?"

"Fine. I"m here to see Mike."

Whipping my head around at the husky rasp, my narrowed gaze lands on a man in a gray suit—raven hair cropped short, wintry blue eyes staring straight back at me before dropping to his phone, dismissing me with disdainful ease. His nose looks like it's been broken one too many times, and a scar slices across his right eyebrow.

Maybe his abrupt demeanor pissed off the wrong person in order to gain those past injuries.

Not nice.

I remind myself to be charitable, but common courtesy flew out the window about two hours ago after dealing with an upset customer. When the order she placed for her daughter's soccer uniform came back too small, the mom had gone nuclear. Parents had over a month to turn in the team order form. Plenty of time to review the measurements we printed on the forms or come to the store and try on the samples we kept on hand.

This lady did neither.

Just kept harping on the fact that the medium sizing from her daughter's old team uniform fit fine, so clearly something was wrong on our end.

"I understand, ma'am, but these uniforms are a different brand from what the other team used. Don't you just hate it when sizing differs so greatly between brands? Unfortunately, you'll have to pay for another uniform, but we're happy to offer a 25% discount."

The unhappy mom didn't care about our solution and continued to rant until Mike came out from his office and decided to repurpose the sample size we had for her daughter.

So, yeah…My level of acceptance for rude people is at a big, fat zero.

"Can I get a name?" I ask to annoy the man. It's petty but whatever. He probably thinks I should already know who he is, and truthfully, his voice is familiar. But I'm not going to play along with his little act of superiority.

Usually, it takes a lot to ruffle my feathers because I hate conflict, and I give too many people the benefit of the doubt. Hell, how long have I worked here because I'm too chicken to approach Mike about leaving? How long did I gaslight myself into thinking things would change, that I needed to give Mike time to realize I could do more?

But there's something about this man that's gotten under my skin from our very first phone call. And it doesn't help that his presence follows Miss Angry Mom from earlier.

"Dominic Stone."

Be professional. Pasting a fake smile on my face, I force a cheerful, "I'm Avery. I"ll let Mike know you"re here."

He nods, his head still bent away from me. After telling Mike about his visitor, I returned to the front of the store, knowing he'd want to see me chatting and being sociable with waiting clients.

My mind searches for something to say. Which is tough when Dominic is glued to his phone, looking like he doesn't want to be disturbed by a mere peon—not that I want to talk to him. But Mike prefers that I settle clients at our conference table then chat to keep them occupied.

Screw that.I don't have the willpower to be the perfect employee today.

"You can sit over there." I point to the long table that sits in our makeshift meeting space. It's really just a larger part of the hallway that separates the workspace in the back from the front retail section, but it does the job, even if it is cramped.

Without any other acknowledgment that he heard me, Dominic stomps by.

No thank you or anything.

Jerk.

The sweet older shopper I was waiting for when Dominic came in brings her items to the counter to check out, while Mike greets his guest.

Perfect timing.

After thanking the woman for shopping with us, I try walking back to the embroidery machines, but of course, Dominic is sitting with his chair distanced from the conference table, taking up as much space as possible.

Manspreading at its finest.

Geez, we get it—you're a very important man.My eyes roll heavenward, but my annoyance doesn't eclipse the awkwardness bubbling in my gut. I'm not a tiny girl and times like these remind me of that fact.

No one's paying attention to you. There's no need to feel awkward.

But my belly still clenches with nerves. I hate being a nuisance, especially in front of a guy like Dominic who doesn't seem to hesitate about voicing his displeasure.

Releasing a breath of nerves, I stop stalling and continue forward in an attempt to squeeze behind his seat—something these hips and ass were never meant to do.

"Excuse me."

Dominic looks back with a why are you bothering me? expression but moves forward as Mike shoots me a sympathizing frown.

My butt drags across the back of Dominic's chair but at least I'm through the tight space. Relief pours through me as I scurry back to the embroidery machine, praying another retail customer doesn't come in while Dominic and Mike are meeting.

Today cannot end soon enough.

A message that's hammered home thirty minutes later when the bell goes off again and I run into Mike while hurrying to supervise the front.

"He tracked dirt in." Disgust fills his statement. If there's one thing Mike hates, it's people who walk in without first wiping their shoes off on the little rug by the door. His anal attentiveness serves him well when assessing the quality of our products, but it becomes a bit much at times.

Like now.

Preserving these carpets is one of his top priorities because I'm pretty sure they're original to the store, meaning they're like forty years old. "You'll need to vacuum this whole area." He gestures to the conference room and the path leading to the front door.

Biting my lip to hold back a retort, I nod and pull out the vacuum—another mental check appearing on the "Reasons I Want to Leave" list.

Reason #81: Adhering to my boss's nitpicky commands.

It doesn't surprise me that Dominic didn't have the common courtesy to clean his shoes before traipsing through the store, though how he even got his shoes dirty is beyond me. Dressed in a suit and loafers, he's not exactly prepared for a hike through the surrounding forests.

Then I see the tracks of dirt Mike referenced, and it all makes sense. A couple of crunchy brown leaves—that could've blown inside the store just by opening the door—form a sparse trail to the entrance.

"Good grief…" Plugging the vacuum into a power socket, I slide it across the carpet quickly before winding the cord back up five minutes later.

That's when someone decides to enter the store.

Thank goodness I'm done already because it's impossible trying to listen for the front doorbell while vacuuming. In the past, Mike has scolded me for missing a customer who had entered while I vacuumed, and I don't want a repeat lecture. It's demeaning as hell, and virtually pointless in the grand scheme of things.

This is Suitor's Crossing.

It's highly improbable someone will steal something in the short time it would take me to notice a customer, but in Mike's mind, the town is crawling with would-be thieves waiting for their shot to snag a free item while I vacuum.

Silly, stupid, unreasonable…

Bent over, I can't see the customer yet as I twine the gray cord into a figure eight, but then a deep voice asks, "A bit early to be cleaning up, isn't it?"

Shaking my head at how unlucky I am today, I restrain the snarky response on the tip of my tongue.

Seriously? Why is he back already?

I glance up to catch Dominic's gaze trained on my chest, which has me straightening to my full five feet and four inches with an unmissable blush tinging my cheeks. My blouse is work-appropriate, except for the vee that gapes open anytime I lean forward, so I'm betting he got an eyeful of my plum 40DD bra.

His eyes slowly lift along with the corners of his mouth, my embarrassed stare stopping the thorough examination.

The jerk doesn't even have the decency to look apologetic!

Reason #—what number am I on? Because this list is fucking endless.