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I take her shoes from her with a smile and take them with mine to the lady behind the cash register and pay for both. I hand Margie the bag with her shoes and link my arm with hers. “Now to find my mother. You’ll see after being in here my mom is somewhat of a shopaholic. She’s worse than me.”
Margie stops and looks at me. “thank you so much, Reagan.” A warmth spreads through my heart when I see the appreciation in her eyes. I don’t say anything, I just nod to let her know I heard her.
Walking through the huge department store, we manage to find her amongst the Ralph Lauren garments. I swear, that woman has more expensive tastes than I do.
After paying for my huge haul of suits, tops, underwear, and, of course, a new purse, we decided it was time for lunch.
We step into the elevator and take it to the top floor of the store, walking through to the back until we reach the café. I find a table and pull out a chair, taking the weight off my feet. They’re absolutely killing me. As soon as Mom and Margie sit down, we browse the menu and order. We spend the next hour talking about anything and everything. Today has been different. I’ve enjoyed it.
We hit Macy’s and eventually browsed Nieman Marcus, until my feet were aching that much, I needed to go home. We decided we’d done enough shopping and ready to go our separate ways. Margie flings her arms around me, thanking me for her shoes, and tells me how much fun she’s had. I’m glad I could help her to have some fun. If I’d lost my mom, I’m not sure if I’d survive. It was hard enough losing my dad but losing my mom, would be like cutting my limbs off. I return her embrace before she heads off in the opposite direction for her bus, leaving Mom and me to head for the other bus stop.
Eighteen
Reagan
Monday morning came around way too quickly. I definitely could have done without a four thirty a.m. alarm.
After taking the afternoon off on Friday, I have a shit load of work to get through. I haven’t even finished my first coffee and I’ve already worked through most of my client emails. I’ve been here since six trying to deal with a fucking complaint about a product and I’m tired; my patience is a little frayed, to say the least. Hicks wants this dealt with as quietly and efficiently as possible. I’ve already been chewed out, and that was at 6:45 this morning.
Sitting back in my chair, I lift my cup to my lips and drink my now cold coffee, cringing as it slides down my throat.I put it back on the coaster with a huff, when a commotion at the door grabs my attention outside of my office. Are you fucking kidding me? I get up to see what’s going on, none too happy that I’ve been disturbed; they’re acting like a load of teenagers in a school yard.
“What is going on out here? I know you all have work to do,” I call out, but I’m a little taken aback at what I see. The staff snap their heads up at my voice, looking like deer caught in headlights. They lower their heads and quietly scatter back to their desks.
Margie is the only one left and she starts coming toward me. It’s not the Margie I’ve come to expect though. The oversized bootlegged pants are gone and in their place is a respectful knee-length black pencil skirt matched with a blazer. The stiff and starched shirt she usually wears has been replaced with a soft blouse, and as my eyes track down even further, I see she’s wearing the shoes I got her instead of the black loafers she always wears. She’s had a complete makeover.
“Good morning, Ms. Quinn.” Margie looks straight at me with a smile stretched across her face.Over the last month she’s been working here, she’s changed. Her confidence has grown in leaps and bounds; she’s not the meek little mouse she was when she first started.
I force myself to drag my gaze back to her face and smile back. “Good morning.”
Her hair has changed too. Her dark tresses have been left down and straightened, and she even has makeup on.
What the hell.
As she reaches me one, of the sales girls stops her to tell her how gorgeous she looks. She’s lapping up the attention everyone seems to be giving her, and I can’t really blame her.
“You look great,” I add to the mounting praise. I back away from the door to allow her to walk through, and I go sit at my desk.
At the start of every day, we have a meeting so I can give her any updates and the work that needs to take priority. She follows me in, closes my door, and takes a seat.
“Margie, I’m at a loss for words. You look…different…that’s for sure, but what’s with the change?”
“I was sick of looking boring. And I hate being the odd one out.”
I can only nod my head.I knew she’d bought new clothes for work, but I never saw what she’d bought for herself.
“Look…” I hear the excitement in her voice as she stands and scurries to my side of the desk, lifting her foot to show off her new shoes.She walks back to the chair, sits, and crosses one leg over the other. “You look amazing all the time, and I wished I could look like you. Also, the others in the office always look so professional and I felt like no one took me seriously as your assistant.”
“I’ve always dressed like this and just happen to have an obsession with clothes and shoes, as you saw for yourself on Saturday. Margie, it doesn’t matter what you wear, your clothes don’t define you”
“Well, I think they do,” she says forcefully.
My shoulders drop with a sigh. There’s only so much I can say to make her see; the rest is up to her. “Well, as long as you’re comfortable in those clothes, then it’s entirely up to you.”
I force a smile and change topics to what we really need to be discussing—work. “I need you to email this client.” I pass her a printed copy of the email I received this morning.“I need to know everything that was wrong with the product and the effects it had. I need you to get on this right away. Mr. Hicks is expecting an answer ASAP.”
“Of course, Rae—Ms. Quinn.”
I ignore how she nearly calls me by my given name, since it’s probably my fault for blurring the lines between being professional and being social with my employee.
