A/N: I apologize for not getting an update out on Sunday-but hey! I updated Moonstruck for the first time in three months...
This gives me a good opportunity to remind everyone that if you want any additional information on my intended schedule or other stuff, check out my profile. I don't post there every time I update or when I miss a week, but it's a lot easier to send a shout out there than it is to edit a chapter I haven't had time to edit yet. So check it out if you want to know what's up.
That's all. I'll update again on Sunday and get back on track from there. Thanks!
~omgagr!
Seto didn't mention the encounter with Dartz to Atem as he returned to the back room, and Atem did not ask. Atem, in fact, did not speak at all, seeming entirely content to focus on his work in silence.
When Joseph arrived a few minutes later, however, Atem struck up conversation eagerly.
Seto wondered if he had done something wrong in the other man's eyes, but nothing justifiable came to mind. He made himself let it go while the rest of the members of the shop arrived and settled in.
"Daimon," Seto asked as the old man was sitting down at his machine. "How did the pickup go with Schroeder yesterday after I left?"
"He tried to reprimand me for not giving him the discount he was promised."
"He was not promised anything. I told him as much."
"He also said we would not be seeing his young brother in the shop, but I did not understand what he meant."
"It doesn't matter. As long as he paid and took his items."
"Yes. But he claimed that the thread we used on his last order's buttons was a brighter red."
"Next time, tell him to take it outside and look at it in daylight. It makes a difference."
"I will remember that, Sir."
Seto rubbed at his temples, glad at least that the order was over, but irritated nonetheless. He ventured out front to turn on the 'open' sign just in time to see a violet convertible pull up. As the familiar blonde figure stepped out of her car and approached the front door, Seto knew rubbing his head wouldn't do him any good.
"Good morning Seto—oh, I'm sorry," Miss Valentine apologized with a smirk, "I suppose I mean Mister Kaiba."
Seto glared at the woman as she walked past him and strode up to the counter.
"We're not booking any new orders until after the end of this month," Seto warned, moving across the shop after her and stepping behind the counter.
"Oh, I'm here for a pick-up." Her smirk said she meant no harm, but her tone was a warning.
Seto didn't move a muscle.
"Did you get a phone call that it was finished?"
"I did."
Seto raised his eyebrows in surprise. His team had started and finished a new order for her already?
"Fine. One moment."
He dipped into the back room and flipped through the rack of finished garments, which were alphabetized by last name. He found her order, pleased to find a bright red rush tag stapled to the order ticket, which meant an automatic thirty percent price increase.
He returned to the front and placed the garment on a hook for her to inspect.
More to Seto's surprise, she ignored the garment and paid attention only to the ticket, which she tore from the garment bag.
"I want to talk about this," she said, waving the ticket at him.
"Miss Valentine, I sincerely hope you are not trying to get a discount. We rushed to get this order complete on time, and therefore you are responsible for paying the rush fee."
Mai grinned brightly. "Oh, I'm not just talking about the rush fee. I want you to go ahead and put your big red stamp on this ticket."
Seto glared at the woman. She had already threatened Mokuba, and now she had compromised his own reputation. What else was she willing to take from him?
"You expect me to give you your order without you paying for it? Why on earth would I ever do that for you?"
"Oh, Seto. That's not all you're going to do for me."
Seto smirked dangerously. "Miss Valentine, am I being blackmailed?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I simply believe we have an understanding."
"I am beginning to understand that the only reason you invited me out that evening was so you could end up on top today, isn't it?"
Mai smirked. "Interesting choice of words."
"That was deliberate. Miss Valentine, you owe six hundred and thirty two dollars and eighteen cents, which includes your rush fee. If you're not going to pay we will keep the garment and you can leave."
Mai propped her elbows on the counter and leaned in close.
"I can do a lot more damage with that one photograph than you think, not to mention the fact that I have others. How would you like this photo to end up plastered in all of your brother's classrooms?"
Seto's mouth was a hard line while he considered the implications. Most students would only recognize the phys. ed teacher, but when linked with the article, rumors would catch and spread like fire. Mokuba wouldn't have anywhere to go where he could escape.
That was assuming anyone in his class cared long enough to tease or bully him, but Seto didn't know the students well enough to guess which way it might go.
"I am not giving in to your bullying," Seto finally answered, "but I do want to know what you're after. Say I let you take this order. You'll leave my brother alone?"
"I won't have the photos put up on the walls of his classrooms. I can't promise one won't end up on his locker though."
"Why are you bothering with this? Won't a stunt like that, in your school, hurt you more than him?"
"That won't matter for very long," she answered.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Seto asked.
Mai simply shrugged, but didn't elaborate.
Seto's irritation grew.
"What do you want from me that will keep you from tormenting my brother to appease your psychotic fantasies?"
"I want you to back out of the NYC tournament."
"What? Absolutely not."
Mai waved a finger. "Don't be so quick to answer. I have more ammunition."
"Like what?" he spat.
"I can spin this story even further, if I want to. I can spin it in such a way that even the newspapers want to report about it—maybe not on the front page, but you wouldn't want this story of your slipping reputation posted front and center in the business section, would you?"
"You've already tarnished my business's name. What more do you think a newspaper article would do?"
Mai clicked her tongue. "It would make the issue suddenly "real news". Nobody who reads it and knows about this shop would fail to take it seriously then. And what was that young girl's name? Serenity, I think. Don't you think she would be… disinterested in dating a boy whose family can't keep boundaries? A boy who gets passing grades only because his brother intervenes and does all the hard work?"
"I am not letting you win."
"Speaking of winning," Mai said, "what do you think happens when a person wins a national gaming tournament? National fame, right?"
"I'm not sure I would use the words "fame" and "gaming tournament" in the same sentence."
"Perhaps not to the level of celebrity status, but you can't argue that there will be recognition for the winner."
"Likely. Is that what you're after? And you think my playing will steal your chance?"
"I'm bringing up the point because I happen to be aware that your little shop caters to the creator of the game."
"So?"
"I would be purely shocked if somehow the advertising of this shop didn't come out of the woodwork due to this tournament. Is Mister Pegasus going to be wearing a new creation for the opening ceremony? I'll be he is."
"What is your point?"
"National advertising returns national recognition. Everyone in the country will have heard your name."
"All the more ammunition for you to tarnish it with then," Seto said, understanding dawning on him.
"I knew you would catch on. If you want to ignore my dissuasion and play anyway, you'll regret what happens when you get into the arena, even if you don't win."
Seto began to grind his teeth. He had heard enough.
"If you are not willing to pay for your items at this time, Miss Valentine, you can leave."
"I believe you will go on to regret those words. But if you're nice, I'll give you one chance to take them back."
"Why do you want me to back out of the tournament? Are you threatened by me? You saw me play already. I lost only a few games in. I've only been playing a short while."
"Don't be so modest. If you were playing with your own deck you would have done much better."
"That still doesn't answer my question. Obviously you're planning on attending, yourself. So, why do you want me out?"
"That's not any of your concern, Mister Kaiba."
"I'm afraid you've made it my concern. Or, I wonder? Are you just mad at me for leaving you with blue balls the other night? Perhaps it's not that you're threatened by me, but that you were genuinely interested and now you know you don't have a shot."
"Don't make me laugh!" the woman burst out. "I took you out that night to get the photos, and to see your fighting style. Romantic interest was never a factor."
"You think this tournament is just a set of games to me, don't you? You're wrong. You can't keep me from fighting for what I believe in. I will be attending the tournament."
Mai stood up straight, her eyes narrow. Then she smirked, and reached into her purse, putting Seto on guard. But when she pulled out her hand, in it was a stack of bills. She counted out seven hundreds, and laid them on the counter. Without bothering to inspect, she walked behind the counter, only a foot from where Seto stood, and plucked her order off the hook.
"You will regret your decision, Mister Kaiba. This is not the end."
After she left Seto heard the click of her heels on the sidewalk until they stopped and an engine started.
Seto skipped rubbing his temples and went straight to the drawer of the counter and retrieved a bottle of pain reliever. He swallowed two dry, then grabbed the seven bills. He checked them each with the pen in the cash register drawer, but they all appeared to be authentic. He wasn't surprised, but he had had to check.
Miss Valentine, Seto thought, knew how to negotiate for more than she was willing to settle for. It wasn't, apparently, that she couldn't afford the garment, but that she was simply testing how far she could push Seto.
He refused to be pushed by anyone. Not anymore.
Seto counted the change he would have given if she had waited to receive it, nearly seventy dollars. He stuffed it into the tip jar beside the register, nearly filling the remainder of space in the jar in one motion. It didn't feel right leaving the jar so full in just anyone's reach, but it had never been emptied since Seto had taken over.
He decided to take the time to count it, rather than going in back and dealing with any other problems just yet. Most of the bills were twenties, which Seto figured must have meant that the small change was being exchanged for larger bills to keep the jar from filling up.
While Seto was counting, it dawned on him that Miss Valentine had arrived at nine, during school hours. He wondered how she had worked that out, but couldn't assume it meant she wasn't going to school today. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and opened his messenger.
Mokuba, he typed, heads up. You might get some trouble from your favorite teacher today. It couldn't be avoided. If things get bad, just keep your head up and don't listen to a word anyone says to you.
He wouldn't even get a chance to see the text until his class let out, and even then only if he had time or a thought to check it. But it was the best Seto could do for now.
When the tip jar total came to nearly five hundred dollars, Seto wondered about the last time it had been emptied. Not caring so much how his father usually handled the tip jar, Seto sorted out nine stacks of a little more than fifty dollars each. Seto slipped one stack into his wallet for himself and another into his front pocket—maybe it would help shut Noa up later.
He put a paperclip on each of the rest and carried them to the back room.
"Sir," he heard the moment the door swung open, but wasn't paying attention to who was speaking.
"Yes?"
Seto started in Rebecca's corner of the room, but looked up to see who was speaking to him.
"Mister Pegasus wanted his order done by the end of this week," Joseph said. "You want me to pick it up?"
Joseph had his elbow on Atem's desk behind him, as if they had just been in a conversation. Seto pushed away his irritation and turned to Atem.
"What are you working on, Atem?"
"An outside alteration on an off-the-rack suit, from another store."
Seto glanced over to see that he had disassembled the shoulders of the suit jacket and was working to put them back together, fitted. It was an advanced and time-consuming alteration. Even Seto was aware that their shop was among the only ones in the area to even offer the alteration.
Atem was quickly becoming the most reliable tailor of the new hires. But Seto didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had worked on part of the suit worn by the creator of the game they were about to use to compete against one another with. Besides, he was clearly busy.
"I know I can't do the whole thing," Joseph added, "but the pattern's done. I could cut out the fabric and do some of the easy stuff."
"Go ahead. When you get in too deep, pass it off to Daimon."
Daimon nodded his acknowledgment.
"Sure thing, Boss," Joseph said.
Seto let the subject drop, and turned to Rebecca. He slipped one of the stacks of bills onto the corner of her desk.
"Thank you for all of the hard work," he said when he was met with her inquisitive look.
She nodded and took the bills, putting them away without counting them.
"Thank you for the opportunity," she replied with a smile.
Although he had considered pro-rating the amount he gave to each individual, he dismissed the idea. He hadn't been an active owner long enough to know who pulled more weight with helping customers and taking payment, which was typically when tips were given, so he didn't feel that it mattered enough.
Seto passed each of the tailors an equal portion of the tip jar discreetly. Each time he handed out a stack of bills he was met with a puzzled expression. He didn't explain except to thank them. Perhaps, if he found an opportunity to sell soon, an act like this might help the workers feel a touch more loyalty to the shop. Perhaps not enough to save it, but it couldn't hurt.
