At the chandelier.
At the cream walls.
At nearly twelve million dollars in company inventory currently sitting inside cases.
Then back to Vanessa.
“You’re asking me to leave?”
“I’m saying another boutique might be a better fit.”
“Why?”
Vanessa’s voice dropped.
“Because this conversation is becoming confrontational.”
Alicia almost laughed.
There it was.
A question became confrontation.
Refusal to accept an assumption became aggression.
She had encountered versions of that logic since she was sixteen.
In banks.
In boardrooms.
At airports.
Once, early in her career, at a private-equity conference where an organizer asked three times whether she was “support staff” even after seeing her speaker badge.
But Alicia had not expected to experience it inside a company she controlled.
Perhaps she should have.
Ownership did not magically rewrite people.
That was why she was there.
Alicia turned slightly toward the Art Deco case.
“I’m going to ask one more time.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“May I see the bracelet?”
“No.”
The word was immediate now.
No corporate politeness.
Alicia nodded.
“Thank you.”
Vanessa seemed confused.
“For what?”
“For answering clearly.”
Alicia reached toward the velvet tray, intending to slide it gently back toward Vanessa because she had not requested either piece.
Vanessa reacted quickly.
She slapped the glass case shut with one hand and shoved the velvet tray away from Alicia’s fingers.
“Please don’t touch merchandise unless I hand it to you.”
The tray skidded several inches.
One bracelet shifted.
Catherine inhaled.
Olivia whispered:
“Vanessa.”
The manager turned sharply.
“What?”
Olivia swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Alicia looked at the younger associate.
That moment told her more than anything Vanessa had said.
Fear existed in the store.
Not merely hierarchy.
Fear.
Alicia lowered her hand.
Then looked directly at Vanessa.
“Are you certain this is how Prestige & Co. wants customers treated?”
Vanessa stared.
“Yes.”
The answer was so confident that Alicia almost believed she meant it.
Then a door behind the main sales floor opened.
A man hurried out.
Daniel Mercer.
Regional executive vice president for western operations.
Fifty-eight.
Twenty-two years in luxury retail.
He had spent most of the afternoon in the back office reviewing inventory reports with the district controller.
Alicia knew that.
He knew she might visit one of three Southern California stores that day.
He did not know which.
That was intentional.
Daniel walked through the doorway while speaking over his shoulder.
“Tell accounting I need the revised—”
Then he saw Alicia.
He stopped.
The words disappeared.
Vanessa looked toward him.
“Daniel?”
He did not answer her.
His face had changed.
Not fear exactly.
Recognition mixed with immediate concern.
He crossed the showroom quickly.
“Ms. Monroe.”
Vanessa looked at Alicia.
Then Daniel.
Then Alicia again.
Daniel continued:
“I didn’t know you had arrived.”
“I noticed.”
His eyes moved toward the closed jewelry case.
The velvet tray.
Vanessa.
Olivia.
Catherine.