Page 33 of Come Back to Me

I grimace because I get it. Callan suggested this store, saying it might be a one-stop shop for what we needed, reducing the torment to a single establishment. But right now, the staff are such snippety hens that I’m a sneer away from bitch-slapping one of them.

“Because I’m a Korhonen.” She straightens her shoulders. “And if the roles were reversed, Colton would do this for me.”

“Dunno if he’d go dress shopping for you, babe,” I tease.

She hides a smile. “Anyway, it’s just a few events, right?”

A few? No. More like a dozen. In a short space of time.

“The news is even hitting the US papers. Clyde’s apparently a massive contributor to that Brackton Foundation that’s been kicking up such a stink these past couple years. Naturally, people aren’t happy about the connection with a murderer.”

Zee huffs. “Colt told me.”

“That’s why you came today?”

“That and tomorrow, a journalist is stopping by the house,” she says wryly.

“I think you’re a good wife and he’d better get you something nice as a thank you.”

At Parker’s declaration, Zee rolls her eyes, but I tack on, “He can’t dick her down anymore, Parker. She’s already walking like she’s been on a ten-day horseback-riding trek.”

While Parker hoots, Zee’s smug smile hits differently. Her confidence doesn’t exactly soar, but it shimmies higher up the ladder, making her tilt her hips toward the mirror as she stops fiddling with the waistline at long last and gives it more consideration.

“I’ll take this one,” she declares.

Parker’s brows lift. She makes a circle with her thumb and pointer finger and sticks the other digit through it. As I nod, she silently whistles, making me grin.

(If I circle my hips and bump air, that’s between me, Parker, and the mirror.)

“I have eyes, you know,” Zee grumbles, but amusement tinges the words.

“Pretty they are too.”

Her chuckle draws the attention of one of the sales associates, and anyjoie de vivrethat thinking about Colt’s cock gave us has Zee sniping, “If that bitch sneers at me one more time, I’m going to lose my shit, Tee.”

I glance at the woman in question. She checked out my non-designer purse when we entered the store and the moue ofdistaste she gave Zee’s linen tote told us we’re lower than pond scum to this priss.

“We’re nearly done,” I soothe, but I still reach for my cell and text Callan as Zee stomps over to the changing room and strips out of the dress.

“They give everyone else Champagne,” Parker comments as I start typing.

“No, they don’t.”

“Look around!”

I do.

And ugh, she’s right!

Deleting my original text, I send:

Me: Why the fuck did you recommend this place? They’re treating us like the fungus in a non-winterized pool, Callan, and we’re spending enough that they shouldn’t care where our postal code is!

Callan: Ugh, really? I’m sorry. Mum used to shop there.

Me: She did? Also, what made you think we should shop where your mom did?

Callan: Because it isn’t 1984 and stores have to keep up with the times or they close lol.

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