Chapter 11
WHAT ABOUT RONALD? says the note that Val just slid my way.
His letter As are always illegible, but I’ve learned how to decode his handwriting over time.
We’re in yet another endless meeting, witnessing a bickering match unfold between Ronald and Paul, one of the other board members.
Moments ago, Val dropped the Winthrops bomb.
It sent the two men into instant fighting mode, each shouting out their arguments for why the other one is the likeliest suspect.
I watch Ronald nearly explode with rage when Paul accuses him of a full laundry list of unethical conduct.
Gentlemen. Gentlemen, please, Matthew says, attempting to calm the men. Isn’t this all a bit pointless? Tossing around unfounded accusations will only turn this place toxic.
I completely agree, says Val, launching himself into the fray. I will get to the bottom of this.
Will you include that marketing girl in your investigation? Ronald asks, eyebrows raised. She was in that meeting, too. Never trust a gorgeous woman.
You might want to dial back the misogyny there, Ronald, Matthew sets him straight. Perhaps it’s time for you to take a master class on living in the 21st century. Your mindset is well outdated.
Speaking of outdated: what about those hipster glasses and sideburns of yours? You look like you took a wrong turn on your way to a nightclub in the 80s.
With a deep sigh, Val shakes his head. It’s like we’re hanging out at a children’s playground instead of gathered in a fancy boardroom on the top floor of the building.
What about Hannah? Ronald glares at me with a scheming look in his eyes. After all, it was her idea that got rejected and she obviously wasn’t happy about it. I’d say she had the clearest motive of anyone here. He crosses his arms, giving me an accusatory stare.
I open my mouth to respond, but Val beats me to the punch.
It wasn’t Hannah, he says, his voice shaky with contained rage.
Ronald swipes a hand through the air dismissively.
Of course it was her. She’s stuck being your lowly assistant, despite all her potential.
When we voted against her proposal, she decided to prove us wrong by going directly to the competition hoping for a new job in marketing. It’s all incredibly obv—
Shooting daggers Ronald’s way, Val pounds a fist down on the table. Don’t you dare, Ronald . . . Don’t you dare accuse Hannah of this. She is one of the most loyal, hard-working people I know. She would never do anything like this.
Ronald stares at him wide-eyed for a moment, before a look of suspicion appears in his green eyes as they dodge from me to Val and back. And then he slowly sinks back down into his chair.
Later that night, Val and I are on our way to the store for the Valentine’s event.
I used my employee discount to buy a dark green, satin gown with thin straps.
There’s a slit up one side of the long skirt that twirls around my legs when I spin.
I pinned my hair into an elegant up-do and my make-up is subtle—just a touch of mascara and eyeliner.
There’s a thin gold necklace around my neck and I added gold hoop earrings to match.
This morning’s cold, grey slush has been blanketed in a fresh layer of glistening snow.
It looks like a fairytale out here, with ice crystals shimmering beneath the streetlights.
Val is in a black suit and dress shoes, not that different really from his regular work attire.
His hair is tousled in that messy-on-purpose way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him scanning me head to toe and the little hairs on my arms stand on end.
You look beautiful, he says a beat later.
Thank you, I reply, blushing. I drop my gaze and fidget with one of my coat buttons. The thread is coming undone, so the button isn’t as snug as it used to be. As snowflakes flutter down from the sky, they stick to my coat and leave cold, dark spots on my tights.
Outside the store, a red carpet guides a long line of finely-dressed people into the building.
One hundred VIP clients and their entourages are on the guest list, which really means that only London’s elite received an invitation.
I can hardly believe my eyes. Women are draped in sparkling diamonds and stunning gowns.
Smiling men in tailored suits escort their dates inside.
Two employees, both in dark tuxedos, hold the front doors open for invitees to enter.
Side by side, Val and I walk up the front steps, following the crowd through the entrance.
In the lobby, each of us receives a small, empty bag to be filled with delicacies as we make our way through each department and up to the higher floors.
At the chocolaterie, we’re gifted a small, gold box full of delectable bonbons.
In the perfume department, a sample size of the signature house-brand scent is added to the goodie bags.
And when we reach the Valentine’s displays, we receive a luxurious miniature bottle of pink glitter champagne.
Mesmerized, I stare at the floating flecks of gold.
Are we sure this is fit for human consumption? I ask Val.
The horrified expression on my face makes him laugh. I’m sure. I’ve tried it before and it’s actually pretty good.
Trying to picture Val sipping on this gumdrop of a drink, I give him an incredulous look.
It looks like they bottled a bunch of freshly-squeezed unicorn juice, I exclaim in a whisper. Who would ever want to drink this stuff? We’re on the escalator up to the top floor. The floor that’s usually off-limits, except for Wouters management.
That description definitely makes it sound a lot less appealing, he says with a chuckle.
The space has been completely transformed for the occasion.
At the back of the room is a string quartet playing classical renditions of pop songs.
Bar tables covered in gold stretch fabric are sprinkled throughout the space and there’s a designated dance floor where guests are already swirling around.
Servers balance trays full of regular champagne alongside glasses of wrung-out unicorn.
Ah, Val! There you are! I hear Robin say as she suddenly emerges from the crowd.
She greets him with two smooching kisses, one on each cheek—you’d think they were two pals meeting up for their standing Sunday-afternoon coffee date, about to dig into the latest gossip about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.
Val looks at her, perplexed, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened.
Her only acknowledgement of my presence is a displeased scowl, as if she just caught a whiff of poop.
If either of us has the right to dislike the other, it’s definitely me.
She’s the one who was sleeping with my boyfriend for six months, and if their Facebook status is any indication, they seemed on the verge of building a little love nest. I’m still not entirely sure why Dante showed up on my doorstep out of the blue with a bouquet of roses, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s the reason Robin has been shooting me all these angry glares.
Placing one hand at her waist, she uses the other to gesture around the room. Her tiny waist looks extra petite in a skin-tight black cocktail dress. Her hair has been swept up into a graceful updo, with one loose curl elegantly trailing down her neck.
I suggested we have the servers dress in something a little spicier from the Valentine’s department, but the rest of the organizing team wouldn’t go for it, she says, defensively tossing her hands in the air, as if she’s worried she’ll be held responsible for the perfectly appropriate-looking event staff.
Val looks at her like she’s lost her entire mind and I can’t help but let out a snort-laugh.
Robin fires me another pissy look. What’s your problem this time, Hannah?
You do realize our store’s name is Wouters, not Hooters, right? I reply.
Val chokes on his champagne mid-sip, shooting the liquid back into his glass. He tries not to laugh, straightens his tie, and looks right at me with an amused twinkle in his beautiful eyes.
I think the rest of the organizing team made the right call, Robin, he says, turning to her and gesturing at the servers. We’re hoping to set a high bar as a luxury department store, not draw new clientele to a bachelor party venue.
Our conversation is interrupted by Ronald’s arrival. Hello, hello, people. Is everyone having a good time? Tugging up the waistband of his slacks, he snorts unpleasantly. Val, good chap, you seem a little red in the face. Are you alright?
I’m fine. Just choked on my drink.
Ah, did you try one of those princessy drinks? I’m surprised to say that stuff tastes a lot better than it looks, says Matthew as he joins in next to me, a glass of pink glitter champagne in his hand.
The string quartet launches into the intro to Bohemian Rhapsody as more and more guests begin to dance.
In time with the music, the rhythmic clicking of high heels and elegant dress shoes fills the room.
Robin sways her body along to the melody while she attempts to get a conversation going with Val.
Touching a hand to his arm, she bursts into laughter when he speaks.
I almost feel awkward on her behalf, taking in this little scene. Matthew has an eye on them, too.
She really does go all in, doesn’t she?
No kidding, I say, shaking my head. It’s almost embarrassing. I shift my attention to all the couples spinning around the dance floor.
Matthew follows my gaze, reaches out his hand, and, with a wide grin, takes a little bow. May I have this dance? There’s a cheerful look in his eyes when he comes up from his bow and tugs his suit jacket back into place.
I return his amused look. But of course, kind sir.