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“I know.” The look Campbell gives me makes me feel chastised and aroused all at once.
If anyone else took that tone with me, or insinuated incompetence, I’d make a joke and move on (cough *Stan* cough). But when Campbell takes me to task, I want to prove her wrong. Do better. “Well, that is why I hired you. I expect social media accounts to be a part of the marketing plan you’ll be pitching.”
“Yes. A big part of it.” She waves toward the display again. “But back to this—who’s in charge of displays?”
“I’m not sure.” I scan the floor and catch sight of Raymond, the floor manager. He sees me as well and makes his way over. While we wait, I realize Campbell has done it again. She’s avoided talking about herself. Interesting.
“Yes, Mr. Moore?” Raymond asks, his posture bordering on military precision.
I try not to cringe but fail. “Chase, Raymond. Call me Chase.”
One perfectly quirked eyebrow tells me he is not in favor of my request. He never is, but, as always, he nods in acknowledgement of it.
“This is Campbell King, of King Marketing,” I continue.
“How do you do, ma’am?” Raymond inclines his head in her direction.
Campbell surprises us both by laughing. Damn, she has a great laugh. Big and gusty, unfettered by self-consciousness. “I came all the way from Texas only to be called ma’am in New York. Several times.” She chuckles again. “I’m Bell, Raymond. Nice to meet you.” She adjusts the bag on her shoulder and sticks her hand out to him.
Raymond, usually stoic and borderline taciturn, smiles warmly at Campbell and grasps her outstretched hand between both of his. “A pleasure.” He brushes a kiss across her knuckles.
A weird feeling slinks through my gut. It takes me a moment to realize I’m jealous. I’m jealous that Campbell King invited Raymond to call her Bell, but not me. I’m jealous that she seems relaxed and unguarded around my sixty-something-year-old floor manager, but not around me. And I’m extremely jealous that he’s touching her, kissing her, even if it’s totally innocent.
The corner of Raymond’s eyes wrinkle in a large smile when he looks up from her hand.
It better be totally innocent.
Ugh. Chase Moore does not get jealous. He didn’t even get mad when his ex cheated on him. In fact, he’d even go so far as to say he’d been relieved. But here he is, not only thinking of himself in the third person, but also very fucking jealous.
Instead of opening my mouth and biting off either Raymond’s or Campbell’s head in my sudden, covetous man-fit, I let Bell take the lead while she questions Raymond on the displays.
“I’ve been through a few departments, and while none of the displays are necessarily bad”—her tone suggests otherwise— “none have this artistic quality. It really draws me in. Do you know who created the display?”
“You have a great eye ma’a—Bell.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he just called a lady by a nickname. And now I have an urge to punch the man who once helped me figure out the perfect sixteenth birthday present for my little sister. “Moore’s doesn’t actually have anyone in charge of creating displays. We usually receive reports from management on what styles or designers to promote and are told to do so simply, without fanfare.”
I blink at the longest-running employee at Moore’s. “You’re kidding.” Incredulity has shoved my jealousy aside for the moment.
Raymond shifts uncomfortably. “No, sir. The inventory manager thought anything else would seem… garish, I believe was the word he used.”
Before I can respond to this latest nonsense, which I am sure originated from my father, Campbell interjects, “So how did this happen?” Once again, she gestures to the shoe display featuring Jimmy Choos hanging from the ceiling with fishing line, making them look as if they’re floating. A bunch of different styles and colors dangle at different heights from the top of the alcove positioned at the front of the shoe department. It makes for a more impactful presentation than the standard shoe shelves that usually grace the area, especially when the shoes rotate on the threads, under the glow of lights.
Bell starts humming “Blue Suede Shoes.” She’s fucking adorable.
“One of our youngest sales associates has been, well, rather tenacious, in wanting to try her hand at display.” Raymond shrugs, making me smile at the glimpse of tenderness in the otherwise stoic gentleman’s demeanor. “I’d been putting her off for some time, but when young Mr. Moore took over, I thought, at the very least, no one would get in trouble for trying something a little different under his management.”
“I’m so glad you did. This is amazing.” Campbell’s Southern drawl thickens as she studies the display, stepping back a bit, tilting her head. “What’s her name? Is she working now?”
“Her name is Alice, and yes, she’s currently shelving stock, I believe.”
Campbell’s eyes light up. “Would it be okay to ask her about the display?” She turns to me as if just remembering I’m here. “That is, if you don’t mind, Mr. Moore?”
I grind my teeth. “Chase. Please. And yes, that’s fine.”
A few minutes later, a woman who looks like she’s fresh out of high school scurries out onto the floor.
“He had nothing to do with it!” Alice begins, waving at Raymond. “Mr. O’Neil here didn’t know anything about my rearranging the display. It was all me.” She’s panting a bit, her eyes huge.
“Well, that is a shame, as I was going to applaud Mr. O’Neil for letting such a talented designer create such a brilliant display,” I tell Alice, whose mouth is now hanging open.
