Fate, Chance and Circumstance

FCC Chapter Two

Maggie was at the mahogany counter when I came out of the fitting room.

"Mrs. Wiltshire thinks you're an idiot. It took me ten minutes to convince her that we need you on staff and that the only reason - besides me, that is - that the shop runs as smoothly as it does is because you grace us with your presence thirty hours a week," she said as I approached with the armful of clothes our mysterious client had abandoned.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, this is only what, the third time this month you've had to remind her I even work here. After she's had a few wines with dinner tonight we can start all over again."

Maggie guffawed noisily while I perched the pile of clothes on the edge of the counter and began folding them. I thought maybe Maggie was fascinated by what I was doing - she had no concept of how to fold clothes nicely, her technique was limited to stuffing things unceremoniously into a garment bag or shopping bag - until she plucked the hoodie from the pile.

"We don't sell these," she said, then glanced at the rest. "Or those."

I felt my cheeks tingle as heat flooded them. "I know."

The guy had told me to throw them out, but I was fairly certain I was holding over a thousand dollars worth of clothes in my hand. There was absolutely nothing wrong with them other than they smelled like fabric softener and a hint of a pleasant masculine cologne. Not spicy, not quite musky, and with an earthy undertone. I'd never smelt anything like it. In my personal opinion, that only made them all the better.

Most likely a result of my petty middle class upbringing, I couldn't bring myself to toss everything in the trash.

"So, what are you going to do with them?" Maggie wanted to know when I explained myself. I didn't know if I should be surprised or disturbed that she didn't bat an eyelash at me revealing I'd had to practically strip the guy to get said clothes off of him.

Shrugging, I placed the neat pile into a Wiltshire and Lennox bag. "I was thinking I'd just hang onto them in case he comes back demanding to know what I've done with his clothes."

She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. "He told you to biff them, right?"

"Yeah, but you know what men are like. They say one thing, but mean something else entirely."

"Too true," she mused, and I had no doubt she was thinking of her beloved boyfriend, Mason, who was the most indecisive person I had ever met. It didn't help that he was an up and coming rock star either. I mean, musicians were fussy by nature - or well, the ones I'd met were.

"So what time should I pick you up tonight?" she asked as I dropped the bag behind the counter and tucked a few wisps of hair back into my bun.

I frowned. "Tonight?"

With an exaggerated eye roll and a sigh to accompany it, Maggie said, "Metric. Mason's band are celebrating the release of their debut single, remember? We're on the VIP list."

When my blank expression didn't give way to squeals of excitement, she resorted to whining. "Aaaaaavery, I told you two weeks ago and you promised you'd keep tonight free."

Vague memories flitted into my head. Maybe I recalled Maggie mentioning something; I wasn't sure. Regardless, we were talking about one of the hottest clubs in the city, and there was just a teensy problem.

"If we've had this conversation before, then I'm sure it went the same way I'm about to take it now." I grabbed her by the shoulders and said sternly, "Maggie, I'm nineteen. Maybe math isn't your strong suit, but that makes me two years younger than the legal age requirement for clubs and bars."