Read Online A Steal of a Deal by Ginny Aiken - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ginny Aiken
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“It’s okay. I’m starting to get used to it. I’m glad you like the show.”
The teen pumps her fist. “ Woot, woot, woot! Toldja.”
“Stop it, Delia!” the mother scolds. “We’re in a public place, and Miss Adams is being very gracious. That’s just plain rude—your second episode in less than five minutes.”
Delia gives her mother a prodigious glare.
In an effort to offset the oncoming mother-daughter brawl, I say, “So what’s your favorite gemstone?”
“Gemstone?” Delia dons a look of total confusion. “Oh, sure. All that bling you sell.”
Now I’m confused. “Isn’t that what you watch me do?”
She laughs. “No way. That’s why Gramma watches. I watch you and your stud! He’s tooooo cute!”
And to think I spent all those years in and dollars on school. I could’ve saved myself, my parents, and Uncle Sam of the educational-grants-and-financial-aid fame a minor fortune and still come out the same.
“I . . . see.” I turn to Gramma. “And which is your favorite gemstone?”
Gramma holds out a snap, crackle, and popping left hand. “Diamonds, honey. They’ll never turn on you.”
This is going south faster than the yakhni I scarfed before the conversation ever started. “And did you buy those . . .” I shove down my dislike of ostentatious glitz and glamour, and smile. “Did you buy those awesome pieces from Shop-Til-U-Drop?”
She beams. “Sure, I did. Well, all but this one.”
Her right hand sports a goose-egg-sized pear-cut solitaire on her ring finger and a much lesser cluster on her index. She waggles the index at me. “This one’s from the other place. See the difference?”
You bet. As much as I hate the gaudy pieces of jewelry, the diamond quality is undeniably outstanding—except for the piece she bought from one of our competitors.
I wisely go for nice. “I’m so glad you’re happy with your purchases. Is there anything you’d like me to feature in the future?”
“Oh, honey!” Delia’s mom purrs. “You bet. I’d be happy if all you showed was close-ups of Max. He’s real eye candy, you know.”
Heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks. There’s not much I can say to that. Max is one of the finest looking males I’ve ever seen, on-screen or off.
Aunt Weeby pounces on my momentary silence. “See, sugarplum? Everyone loves you and Max together. Just like Miss Pig—”
“Aunt Weeby!”
“Actually,” Delia’s mom says, oblivious to my indignation— righteous, you know. “I’d just as soon see Max host his own shows. Don’t ask me what he should sell, but I’ll buy it. Whatever it is.”
My stomach lurches. No one likes to hear she’s chump change, as this woman seems to think I am. So I take my seat again and resume shoveling calories down the pipeline from gullet straight to hip. I want to avoid the question that’s sure to follow at all costs.
“So where’s your stud, Andi-ana?” Delia asks.
There’s the question. Mercifully, my mouth’s full. Otherwise, who knows what my defiant tongue might’ve blurted out?
Miss Mona’s answer strikes fear in my heart. “Oh, here and there. You know. He’s a busy boy. And they do make the most darling couple ever, don’t they?”
That’s not a good answer—it’s a rotten one, in fact. I know Miss Mona way too well. She’s formidable, in every way. My gut starts up a nervous rumble. Dread puts in an appearance. I glance at the Duo. And cringe at their canary-dined cat grins.
“He’s not my anything!” I finally sputter.
“Too bad,” Delia says. “That he’s not here, that is. I woulda loved to have met him too, if he was. Just think. I coulda, like, waited to wash my hands until I got back home. I coulda gone to visit Margie’s sister at school—you know, the sisters at Zeta would just about die to shake the hand that shook his.”
That’s too gross, but in the course of channel loyalty, I eat on. Soon, they’ve had their fill of us and rejoin the men at their
The teen pumps her fist. “ Woot, woot, woot! Toldja.”
“Stop it, Delia!” the mother scolds. “We’re in a public place, and Miss Adams is being very gracious. That’s just plain rude—your second episode in less than five minutes.”
Delia gives her mother a prodigious glare.
In an effort to offset the oncoming mother-daughter brawl, I say, “So what’s your favorite gemstone?”
“Gemstone?” Delia dons a look of total confusion. “Oh, sure. All that bling you sell.”
Now I’m confused. “Isn’t that what you watch me do?”
She laughs. “No way. That’s why Gramma watches. I watch you and your stud! He’s tooooo cute!”
And to think I spent all those years in and dollars on school. I could’ve saved myself, my parents, and Uncle Sam of the educational-grants-and-financial-aid fame a minor fortune and still come out the same.
“I . . . see.” I turn to Gramma. “And which is your favorite gemstone?”
Gramma holds out a snap, crackle, and popping left hand. “Diamonds, honey. They’ll never turn on you.”
This is going south faster than the yakhni I scarfed before the conversation ever started. “And did you buy those . . .” I shove down my dislike of ostentatious glitz and glamour, and smile. “Did you buy those awesome pieces from Shop-Til-U-Drop?”
She beams. “Sure, I did. Well, all but this one.”
Her right hand sports a goose-egg-sized pear-cut solitaire on her ring finger and a much lesser cluster on her index. She waggles the index at me. “This one’s from the other place. See the difference?”
You bet. As much as I hate the gaudy pieces of jewelry, the diamond quality is undeniably outstanding—except for the piece she bought from one of our competitors.
I wisely go for nice. “I’m so glad you’re happy with your purchases. Is there anything you’d like me to feature in the future?”
“Oh, honey!” Delia’s mom purrs. “You bet. I’d be happy if all you showed was close-ups of Max. He’s real eye candy, you know.”
Heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks. There’s not much I can say to that. Max is one of the finest looking males I’ve ever seen, on-screen or off.
Aunt Weeby pounces on my momentary silence. “See, sugarplum? Everyone loves you and Max together. Just like Miss Pig—”
“Aunt Weeby!”
“Actually,” Delia’s mom says, oblivious to my indignation— righteous, you know. “I’d just as soon see Max host his own shows. Don’t ask me what he should sell, but I’ll buy it. Whatever it is.”
My stomach lurches. No one likes to hear she’s chump change, as this woman seems to think I am. So I take my seat again and resume shoveling calories down the pipeline from gullet straight to hip. I want to avoid the question that’s sure to follow at all costs.
“So where’s your stud, Andi-ana?” Delia asks.
There’s the question. Mercifully, my mouth’s full. Otherwise, who knows what my defiant tongue might’ve blurted out?
Miss Mona’s answer strikes fear in my heart. “Oh, here and there. You know. He’s a busy boy. And they do make the most darling couple ever, don’t they?”
That’s not a good answer—it’s a rotten one, in fact. I know Miss Mona way too well. She’s formidable, in every way. My gut starts up a nervous rumble. Dread puts in an appearance. I glance at the Duo. And cringe at their canary-dined cat grins.
“He’s not my anything!” I finally sputter.
“Too bad,” Delia says. “That he’s not here, that is. I woulda loved to have met him too, if he was. Just think. I coulda, like, waited to wash my hands until I got back home. I coulda gone to visit Margie’s sister at school—you know, the sisters at Zeta would just about die to shake the hand that shook his.”
That’s too gross, but in the course of channel loyalty, I eat on. Soon, they’ve had their fill of us and rejoin the men at their
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