Read Online Jaine Austen 4 - Shoes to Die For by Laura Levine - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Levine
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materializing out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry, Maxine, but I meant it. I’ll be happy to see Frenchie go.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Maxine said, anger flashing in her tiny raisin eyes. “Frenchie’s a wonderful person! One of the nicest people I know.”
If Frenchie was her idea of wonderful, she definitely needed to get out more.
“Where’s Tyler?” Maxine asked, consulting her clipboard. “He should’ve been here an hour ago.”
“I don’t know,” Becky said. “I was just wondering the same thing myself.”
“Let me know when he gets here. I’m going to have to dock his pay.” She started to scuttle back to the cubbyhole where she kept the company books when the door to Grace’s office opened.
Frenchie came sailing out, a big grin on her face, not looking the least bit like someone who’d just been fired.
Grace followed her, her face drained of color, like she’d just been socked in the gut with a pair of brass knuckles.
“Listen up, everybody,” Frenchie said. “Grace has an announcement to make.”
Grace stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“After thirty years in the business,” she said, her voice barely audible, “I’ve decided to retire.”
Then she looked over at Frenchie, like an actor in a play who’d forgotten her lines.
“And…?” Frenchie prompted.
“And I’m selling the store to Frenchie.”
“What?” Becky gasped.
“You heard her,” Frenchie said. “She’s selling the store to me.”
Becky stood there, wide-eyed with disbelief. Maxine, on the other hand, didn’t look the least bit surprised. Was it my imagination, or did I actually see her wink at Frenchie?
“You can come back for your things later, Grace,” Frenchie said. “Why don’t you go home now?”
Grace nodded mutely, as Frenchie handed her her purse.
I’ve never seen anyone sleepwalking but I imagine they’d look a lot like Grace did as she stumbled out the front door.
“So you’re back,” Frenchie said, turning to me. “Here to pitch your ad campaign?”
I, too, nodded mutely. Frenchie seemed to have that effect on people.
“Come in to my office,” she said. Accent on my.
I followed her as she marched back into Grace’s office and opened a large pine armoire. There among assorted loose-leaf binders and fabric samples were some bottles of wine. Frenchie searched until she found the bottle she was looking for.
“Château Neuf du Pape,” she said, holding up a bottle of fancy red wine. “Grace was saving this for a special occasion. And I guess this is it.”
She opened the bottle and poured some into a wine glass. Then she swirled it in the glass and sniffed. Nodding appreciatively, she took a healthy swig.
“Yummy,” she said, not bothering to offer me any.
Not that I wanted a glass of red wine at 10:30 in the morning. But it would have been nice of her to ask. Of course, by this time I already knew that Frenchie wasn’t exactly familiar with the concept of nice.
She took another swig of wine and looked around the room, surveying her new domain.
“First thing tomorrow,” she said, “I get rid of that. ”
She pointed to the battered mannequin that Grace had saved from her first window display. “You hear that, Bessie?” she giggled. “You’re headed for the Dumpster.”
Poor Bessie, staring out at us from paint-chipped eyes, almost looked as if she knew what fate was about to befall her.
“You can throw out whatever ideas you’ve been working on,” Frenchie said. “I’ve already thought of a brilliant campaign.”
She plopped down into Grace’s white wicker chair.
“The slogan is going to be Drop Dead, Gorgeous! ”
I suppose it was better than Put Some Passion in Your Fashion! But not much.
“And here’s the brilliant part,” she said. “We’re going to have dead people in all the ads. And in the store window, too. Get it? Dead people? As in ‘Drop Dead, Gorgeous’?”
“I get it,” I assured her.
I loathed it, but I
“I’m sorry, Maxine, but I meant it. I’ll be happy to see Frenchie go.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Maxine said, anger flashing in her tiny raisin eyes. “Frenchie’s a wonderful person! One of the nicest people I know.”
If Frenchie was her idea of wonderful, she definitely needed to get out more.
“Where’s Tyler?” Maxine asked, consulting her clipboard. “He should’ve been here an hour ago.”
“I don’t know,” Becky said. “I was just wondering the same thing myself.”
“Let me know when he gets here. I’m going to have to dock his pay.” She started to scuttle back to the cubbyhole where she kept the company books when the door to Grace’s office opened.
Frenchie came sailing out, a big grin on her face, not looking the least bit like someone who’d just been fired.
Grace followed her, her face drained of color, like she’d just been socked in the gut with a pair of brass knuckles.
“Listen up, everybody,” Frenchie said. “Grace has an announcement to make.”
Grace stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“After thirty years in the business,” she said, her voice barely audible, “I’ve decided to retire.”
Then she looked over at Frenchie, like an actor in a play who’d forgotten her lines.
“And…?” Frenchie prompted.
“And I’m selling the store to Frenchie.”
“What?” Becky gasped.
“You heard her,” Frenchie said. “She’s selling the store to me.”
Becky stood there, wide-eyed with disbelief. Maxine, on the other hand, didn’t look the least bit surprised. Was it my imagination, or did I actually see her wink at Frenchie?
“You can come back for your things later, Grace,” Frenchie said. “Why don’t you go home now?”
Grace nodded mutely, as Frenchie handed her her purse.
I’ve never seen anyone sleepwalking but I imagine they’d look a lot like Grace did as she stumbled out the front door.
“So you’re back,” Frenchie said, turning to me. “Here to pitch your ad campaign?”
I, too, nodded mutely. Frenchie seemed to have that effect on people.
“Come in to my office,” she said. Accent on my.
I followed her as she marched back into Grace’s office and opened a large pine armoire. There among assorted loose-leaf binders and fabric samples were some bottles of wine. Frenchie searched until she found the bottle she was looking for.
“Château Neuf du Pape,” she said, holding up a bottle of fancy red wine. “Grace was saving this for a special occasion. And I guess this is it.”
She opened the bottle and poured some into a wine glass. Then she swirled it in the glass and sniffed. Nodding appreciatively, she took a healthy swig.
“Yummy,” she said, not bothering to offer me any.
Not that I wanted a glass of red wine at 10:30 in the morning. But it would have been nice of her to ask. Of course, by this time I already knew that Frenchie wasn’t exactly familiar with the concept of nice.
She took another swig of wine and looked around the room, surveying her new domain.
“First thing tomorrow,” she said, “I get rid of that. ”
She pointed to the battered mannequin that Grace had saved from her first window display. “You hear that, Bessie?” she giggled. “You’re headed for the Dumpster.”
Poor Bessie, staring out at us from paint-chipped eyes, almost looked as if she knew what fate was about to befall her.
“You can throw out whatever ideas you’ve been working on,” Frenchie said. “I’ve already thought of a brilliant campaign.”
She plopped down into Grace’s white wicker chair.
“The slogan is going to be Drop Dead, Gorgeous! ”
I suppose it was better than Put Some Passion in Your Fashion! But not much.
“And here’s the brilliant part,” she said. “We’re going to have dead people in all the ads. And in the store window, too. Get it? Dead people? As in ‘Drop Dead, Gorgeous’?”
“I get it,” I assured her.
I loathed it, but I
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