For the first week or so that I worked in the shop, I felt helpless, like someone had broken my foot and then told me to walk—without crutches. And remember how Speed and Henry just left me there all by myself? Ye-ah, they didn't come back. At all. Part of me considered their behavior flattering: after all, they trusted me enough that they thought I could actually function like a normal adult. The other part of me, however, thought of them the normal way: as assholes. Not only did they leave me to basically fend for myself, they also—oh that's right—barely gave me any instructions on how to properly care for the damn shop. Granted, Speed had probably gone over something during our lengthy conversation, but was I paying attention? Ah, no. Was that anyone's fault but mine? Probably not, but we're just going to ignore that for now.
Considering everything, it's a damn wonder that I didn't burn the whole place to the ground. That being said, I started getting the feel of things around the second week, started to flounder less and work more, and let me tell you: that's an accomplishment. I stocked shelves, kept inventory, sold goods to customers—basically the equivalent of working in retail in the future. And as a bonus, I was making money of my own, hopefully enough to either pay Henry back for his hospitality… or buy that sword. Did I have skewed priorities? Probably. Was I going to let that stop me? Probably not.
As I stocked the last of the shelves for the morning, balancing precariously on a ladder, I couldn't help but feel slightly… discontent? Yeah, that's the word. I mean, I shouldn't feel that way; stars only knew how lucky I was to have a job. But nevertheless, I couldn't quite shake the disquiet that filled my chest—odd, considering that I hadn't felt that way since getting whisked away to Hotel 1800s. In all honesty, the last time I'd been so melancholic was when I moved into my own apartment back home, and trust me: that didn't end well.
And then it hit me, like running into a massive Redwood: I was lonely. Throughout my stay (so far) in the past, I'd always been around someone, never been alone. I'd always been with Henry. Even though I'm about as introverted as people get, I missed his company. Now, it's not like I haven't longed for someone's presence before—stars, if someone asked me to count how many people I've missed in my lifetime, I would need about five extra hands—but I suppose what was freaking me out was that, by all rights, I shouldn't want Henry's company. I'd only known him for, what, a month and a half? Hell, I'd known my family all my life and rarely missed them. Why should some guy—in the 1860s at that—mean something different?
Shaking my head, I willed myself to stop thinking about it, lest I wanted to fall off the ladder due to the ever-present tremor in my hands. I needed to stop acting like a teenager and more like—oh yeah—an actual adult. With newfound determination, I pushed the last item into its proper place on the shelf and began to climb down to the floor. Before I even got halfway, however, the bell above the door rang, signaling that someone was entering the shop, and I sighed as heavily as I could.
"We're not open yet," I called over my shoulder, feeling about ready to scream. "Sign on the door should've—"
I broke off as I discovered who stood in the doorway, sensing the blood drain from my face. Oh shit. I was face-to-face with a world class bitch.
"Seems as though Mr. Speed is allowing anyone in his shop these days," Vadoma sneered, shutting the door behind her. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, but I didn't need to see them to know that they were smug. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Barely managing to keep myself under control, I climbed the rest of the way down the ladder and leaned against the counter, fingers digging into the woodwork. "Well, since I work here now, I kinda have to be here."
Her eyebrows shot up. "I didn't realize Mr. Speed lowered his hiring criteria."
"Why don't we skip the conversation?" I hissed, throwing her my best glare. "He's not in right now." I smirked a little as an idea occurred to me. "And the good thing about working here? I decide who comes in and who doesn't… and I don't allow slave owning bitches in my store."
I watched as her lips pressed together into a thin line, watched as Vadoma's hands curled into fists, and briefly wondered if I'd gone too far. Thankfully, however, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, apparently regaining control of herself.
"Miss… Armstrong, was it?" She questioned nonchalantly, taking a step forward until she stood directly across from me, and I nodded. "Allow me to give you some advice: do not test me."
"Mm, I'm detecting a bit of a threat in that 'advice,'" I snarled, just barely leaning toward her. "Don't worry, sweetheart: you're not worth my time."
Her expression morphed from blank, to furious, and then back to blank again as she carefully considered her next sentence. Finally, she pulled back from me and swept over to the door, wrenching it open with such force that I thought it would come off its hinges.
"You've no idea what you're getting yourself into, girl," she warned, and I drummed my fingers on the counter, nonplussed.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, heard that one before." I raised an eyebrow. "If you're gonna threaten me, do it right."
Vadoma said nothing, just slammed the door hard enough that the glass quivered. The second she was out of sight, I breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the counter, partly unable to comprehend what I'd just done. Ho-ly shit. Not only did I possibly (definitely) just make an enemy, I'd also probably royally screwed up the rest of my life in Hotel 1800s.
Stars, I'll be lucky if I make it through the week.
So, uh, I know that this chapter's fairly short, but I hope that you liked it! Big thanks to everyone for sticking with me this long! I really, really appreciate it!
The next chapter will be up approximately a week from today. Thanks again!