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Although… she really had to do one thing before anything else.
Moving to stand in front of the old-fashioned till, she wrapped her fingers around the brass pull on the side and pushed it down. It glided easily, stopping with a chirpydingas the drawer shot open. Twenty, ten, and five dollar bills fluttered in their slots and a variety of coins jingled.
Holy shit, they’d loaded her cash drawer as well?
No, no touching the money until she had a paying customer, otherwise she’d pull it all out and start playing pretend with it. Maybe have a tea party with some of her rescues and tip the imaginary waiter with a couple of twenties.
She shut the drawer and turned to find the boxes Liam packed personally and sent over from the cabin. There were four stacked in a row under the shelves and she attacked them excitedly, wrestling with the folded-in flaps of cardboard.
Her babies waited for her; Liam had taken care of them, laying each one in a line. He’d even put a piece of tissue paper between each layer.
Picking up what had once been a beloved Build-A-Bear before she’d been thrown in a dumpster with her eyes missing, Sierra cradled her close. She’d spent two hours picking out the perfect pair of new eyes, and two whole days washing the garbage juice and cat urine out of the plush blue fur.
Now the stuffie was brushed to perfection, her eyes were two big black buttons, and she smelled like blueberries and vanilla.
One of the simpler fixes Sierra tackled, but a satisfying one.
Blueberry was the first on the top shelf, almost glistening under the lights.
Each one had a story and she let them all run through her mind as she took them from the box, cuddled them, and arranged them precisely on the shelves.
She wasn’t aware of a presence lurking in the doorway until she caught a slash of movement in the corner of her eye. Surprise made her jump and swing her hand up to her throat, inadvertently whacking herself in the face with a rather long-legged giraffe wearing a muumuu and a flowery hat.
That might have been survivable if not for the box she’d left behind her and the step she took back. She landed in it, wedging her butt, back, and thighs into the cardboard prison with her legs dangling from the knees down over the edge.
“What a pickle.” Leaning against the jamb, Mistress Violet lifted her eyebrow. “Did you not hear me calling your name, sweetheart?”
The giraffe windmilled as Sierra swung her arms, trying to propel herself up and out of this fiasco. When that didn’t work, she rocked from side to side, hoping to tip her prison over, but she couldn’t get the necessary momentum. “Evidently not, seeing as my ass has been sucked into the box vacuum.”
Violet’s lips, painted a glossy, pale pink today, twitched before she straightened and walked over to offer a helping hand. “Are you supposed to be here alone, Sierra?”
“Mack’s sleeping.” Sierra lifted her hand and clasped Violet’s. The Domme was stronger than she looked, hefting Sierra onto her feet without too much difficulty, then wiggled the box off her butt. “Thanks. What are you doing here?”
“I’m assigned here today. Mommy Domme on duty.”
Sierra gently brushed off the giraffe, then ruefully rubbed her face where those long legs smacked her. Positioning it on the bottom shelf, she stepped back and studied the morning’s efforts, pleased with the results. “You’re much nicer than Mistress Felicity. She’s scary and mean.”
The Mistress stifled a laugh. “Felicity and I have different styles, that’s all, Sierra. She’s lovely, really, just as I can be a hardass when needed. She still deserves your respect, sweetheart.”
Frowning, Sierra believed respect was earned through respect. After the debacle with Tabitha in the bathroom, Mistress Felicity had lost a great deal of Sierra’s veneration. “I’m reserving judgement.”
“That’s fair enough.” Violet patted her arm. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to go and stock up the snack cupboard. Apparently a swarm of Littles descended yesterday and decimated the supplies.”
Mmmn, speaking of supplies… where did she put her bananas?
“Give me a shout if you need me, sweetheart.”
“I will, thanks.” Siera spied her bananas, protein bar, and water on the counter by the door, couldn’t recall leaving them there. She watched Mistress Violet stride away in her kickass heels, wondering if she could emulate that same carnal confidence one day.
She ate her bananas, leaving her protein bar for an afternoon snack.
Refueled, she focused her attention on her work area. The guys had been clever with where they’d put everything—Liam’s doing, no doubt. The majority of her equipment was in the correct place, creating a natural flow from one station to the next, starting from behind the door and traveling around the walls.
Disassembly station, wash areas, a tumble dryer in lieu of her traditional washing line, her sewing area complete with all her bits and bobs, and an adorably quaint photography area.
The table in the center had her sewing machine for heavy duty stitches, and her bosses—wasn’t that just weird—had kindly given her an embroidery machineanda printing machine.
Still in their pristine boxes.
