isPc
isPad
isPhone
Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4) 47. For Whom the Bell Tolls 94%
Library Sign in

47. For Whom the Bell Tolls

47

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Once Shelby tinkled off to talk to Cassandra, I called Andre. My shift was almost over, and I wanted to chat while I was still riding this high. The busy signal beeped. I sighed and set down the receiver. Maybe he had meetings. Or ex-wife legal hearings. One of the boxes in the sorting shelves sat funny, so I took out the shoes and repositioned them properly.

It was eerily quiet upstairs. Was he talking to someone or just listening for once?

Gathering my resolve, I climbed up the stairs to his office. Andre slumped over his desk, loosely cradling the phone receiver between his arm and cheek. The earpiece stuck up way over his shoulder and his glasses were askew.

“Andre, I have to talk to you,” I said.

He sighed and slumped more to the side.

“Andre?” I crept over to the side of his chair.

His eyes were closed.

Worry ribboned around my lungs. Was he okay? I reached for his shoulder. “Andre.”

A snore tickled the back of his throat, and my panic flared into fury. My drunk-ass boss was sleeping on the job.

Well, I wasn’t going to let that stop me from quitting.

I stormed downstairs to snatch the one thing I knew would get his attention, then rang it right behind him.

Ding!

Andre jerked awake with a snarl. “Someone get the damn—”

“Bell?” I rattled it at him.

He paled and wiped his sweaty face. “That’s for customers.”

“It’s an excellent boss alarm too. I tried waking you up the normal way, but you were in too deep.” I glanced pointedly at his water bottle. “Some might say it’s affected your productivity.”

“What do you want?” He shoved the phone into the receiver, untangling the cord from around his arm. “You want to leave early? Meet your boyfriend for another party?”

“Excuse me?” Why was he so bitter about New Year’s Eve? Everyone wanted to celebrate with people other than customers. It wasn’t my fault he was drunk and lonely. “I’m putting in my two weeks,” I declared.

“You’re quitting?”

Ding ding ding!

I tapped the bell in confirmation. No wonder people loved to hit this thing.

Andre recoiled and blinked. “Where are you going? Is it an up-and-coming store? How are their benefits?”

“They’re not hiring condescending alcoholics, Andre. Get help, okay?” I flashed him a plastic smile, then sashayed away.

My sneakers padded against the stairs. These shoes were made for walking. And that was exactly what I did. I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else walk all over me.

I slapped the bell onto the counter, then grabbed the last of my hidden Fancee’s bags.

My shift was over. I had one more delivery to make.

Once I clocked out, I peeled off my green tee to reveal a sparkling camisole underneath, topped that with a hot jacket, then marched straight over to Armando and Hitch. Theo slouched against the entryway, stupid and beautiful.

At the rustle of bags and swish of my hips, he glanced up from his phone. His eyes widened. “Nicole?”

Aw, he remembered my name. Here, I thought I was just one of the ‘babes.’ I smirked and thrust the bag at him. “This is for you.”

His face lit up. “You got me something?”

“I gave you enough,” I said, unfazed by his gaping mouth. “This is the last of your stuff. Thanks for the boost in confidence. We had a few good memories, but now you’re blocked.” I walked away with an extra sway to my hips. This was it. Freedom. Empowerment. The skylights in the center of the mall beamed down on me and the path ahead. Gilded hearts glittered from dangling strings.

This year, I’d found a fabulous future: a loyal, hard-working partner who supported me, a fun, sweet friend, a family who actually cared to be with me without using me, and financial means to pursue my dreams. As much as I loved modeling, I was happy to have something grounded in reality, something that allowed me the grace to grow, to be messy, to find passion in selling something other than being pretty. I was creative. I was strong. I was…me.

I pulled up a text to Zack, but I wanted so much more than to smile at his icon or my lock screen. Taking a deep breath, I dialed his number. It went to his voicemail. Of course. He was probably still working. Still, just the sound of his voice wove joy into my steps.

“Hey, this is Zack. Leave a message.”

My phone beeped, and I smiled, cradling it against my cheek.

“Hey, Zack. I know only old people actually call each other, but I wanted to let you know I gave my two-week notice. I might’ve been a little mean. Andre was passed out at his desk and…Well, I’ll tell you about it later. I hope you had a great day. Love you, bye.”

Love love love.

I sang to Stylin’ Myles on the ride home, the window cracked open so a cool breeze filtered through my hair.

Before I got back to my apartment, Zack called me and put the impromptu concert on pause. “Hey, I got your voicemail. How are you feeling?” he asked.

I jammed the window button to roll it up. “Great. Emotional, but great. Soon, I’ll be able to focus on content creation. Wellness and fashion. Maybe a patch of humor. I’ll have to create some kind of schedule so I don’t sit around and wear yoga pants all day.”

“You look great in yoga pants,” he said.

I chuckled. “You think I look good in everything. Especially that red dress.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, we still need to make a date for you to wear it.”

“My schedule opens up in two weeks,” I teased.

“Save a few dates for me. What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing red-dress worthy. I was just going to curl up and watch some TV.” I fixed my hair via my reflection in the rearview mirror. Although I was still fabulous, the idea of re-applying makeup and squeezing into heels after a long day on my feet was more exhausting than enthralling.

“Want me to pick up dinner?” Zack asked. “You liked the chicken sandwiches from that one place, right? Or should I get you champagne? I can drop stuff off if you don’t feel like hanging.”

Wow, he actually cared about celebrating me. And my boundaries.

“You don’t have to get me anything. I like the sound of chicken and champagne, though. Not sure about having them together ." I chuckled. That taste-test combo might make a good video. "But I am craving something.”

“What?”

“Your company.”

He snorted a laugh. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll get the bath ready,” I teased.

An engine roared to life on the other end of the line. Classic rock blasted in the background as Zack said, “I don’t want to read into anything, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me. Or say something about my hygiene.”

“We’ll see. Bye,” I cheered, then ended the call, shifting Stylin’ Myles back into the speakers.

Hopefully, tonight, my man could make me sing for another reason.

Chapter List
Display Options
Background
Size
A-