Who said Fridays are the best days?
I rolled over in bed for what had to be the seventh time, staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence was suffocating, and I'd never felt this bored in my entire life. It wasn't the kind of quiet you enjoyed—it was the kind that pressed down on you. And let me tell you, it's legit, not the coolest feeling.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, swiping the screen to life. The new Stray Kids blue logo wallpaper lit up, and right in the center, a single notification stared back at me. Another customer order. I groaned, my thumb hovering over the message. Annoying.
I did send out that announcement about orders being on hold, I know, but it wasn't because I was worried about delayed shipping times or complaints. No. I just couldn't deal with another reminder that my life could be put on timeout this easily. It felt like a power thing, like every order was a slap in the face reminding me that 'hey, your life isn't yours'. I hated it.
Don't get me wrong—I know setting up an app would make things so much easier. Everyone keeps saying it, okay not everyone, but, it's not like I don't get it. The business is still new. Popular? Absolutely. Growing rapidly? No doubt. But there's something about being the one to pack the stuffs yourself. Seeing the products go out, knowing that I'm in control of every single fucking detail. Call it pride, call it control—I don't care.
But, maybe I should just get the app, though. Streamline it all, take one more thing off my plate. But then, would it even feel the same? But with less work and worrying about someone ruining your day with just a tap of the 'add to cart' button.
I sat up, and the door swung open with such force that I almost fell back. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a little, but mif-sugar-was-an-eighteen-year-old-with-pigtails just walked in like she owned the room.
"Oh, you're awake," she muttered, offering me a tight, almost forced smile.
"Go on."
She stepped in fully, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "So, I was thinking, since your parents promised a quick transfer to RBH, why not show you around before Monday?" She tilted her head, eyes hopeful. "So, what do you say?"
I stared at her for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, I let my gaze drop to the bold letters across her T-shirt that read, 'I'm a whore.' "Not with the shirt, I hope."
She glanced down, eyes widening a little, then giggled. "Yeah, definitely not my best style."
---
Everyone had to notice it—Frankie yapped a lot. If she got a dollar for every word she said, she'd be kicking back with her feet and drinks on Elon Musk's back. The drive to our destination was only twenty minutes, which wasn't surprising since the estate was in the best part of Vegas. Here, you get what you want.
Platinum 88 never disappointed. I knew that because it used to be my favorite place. You'll know.
"The amount of time I visit here is toxic," Frankie muttered, handing her passcard to the guard. We were let in without question.
I glared at her green pendant swinging around her neck. "One can never shop too much. Calling it toxic makes me want to hit you."
"Sorry," she bit out, rolling her eyes. "I heard about your business."
We grabbed the coffees handed to us, and I tried not to stare too hard at the Platinum 88 latest release in the display case. The temptation was real.
Okay, screw it. When in Rome, act like Rome right? Or however they say it.
"The platinum satin stilettos for testing," I nodded to the attendant, who immediately left her position to prepare it.
Frankie continued rambling. "I didn't order from your site because I thought it was a scam. Don't get me wrong, but all those 'out of stock' signs? I thought it was a trick to make people think the site was legit and business was booming."
I nodded. "I'll send you the link later. The app's on the way."
From the corner of my eye, I saw a woman with wavy, dyed ash-blonde hair walking out with a key held high, like she was announcing a royal decree. Typical Platinum 88. Even with barely anyone in the mall, they kept up the drama. She paused when she saw me, squinting.
"Oh my days!" The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as recognition dawned. "Oh my little Days"
"Tabitha."
She rushed over, handing over the key to another attendant, then grabbed my hand. "My lady! Where—how? It's been years!"
I reached out, gently rubbing her cheek, and smiled—just a little. "Yeah, it has. Don't worry, we'll look around and grab a few things. I'll see you later." I slipped my card from my bag into her hand.
"Of course, my lady. Whatever you want, I'll have my girls wrap it up and deliver it to you."
"Oh, don't worry. We'll take them when we leave."
She nodded, collecting the key and hurrying back to retrieve the shoes. Figured the key was to open the display case.
Frankie's eyes were wide, practically sparkling. "You know her?" she whispered, like she'd just seen a diamond walking around.
"Somehow." I shrugged, turning my attention back to the store, only to notice almost everyone staring at us.
"How? She's like the hardest nut to crack. Ever since she took over from her late sister... Damn, you're lucky."
I froze. "Evangeline is dead?"
"Yeah. Like, two years ago, I think. You didn't know? Everyone heard about it. She did Platinum 88 dirty. People were actually happy when Tabitha took over. Sale rocketed"
"Oh."
That was... plain horrible.
I glanced at Frankie's pigtails, shaking off the thought. "If you're going to walk with me, you're going to have to lose the pigtails, sugar."
"Uh... why?" She touched them, frowning.
"You look like a cute, hairy pig."
"Really—"
"Lose the pigtails."