Hot Ice Cream. I'm the Boss's Wife
It's my first day undercover at my future husband's dessert shop, and chaos walks in with fake lashes and two-inch nails.
"I want an ice cream. Heated."
I paused. "Just checking... You want your ice cream hot?"
She gave me a look like I'd failed kindergarten. "Yes. Hot ice cream. Are you slow?"
Deep breath. Zen mode. Customer-first service smile.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Ice cream has to stay frozen, or it just turns into—well... milk. If you want something warm, we have hot tea or coffee."
"I'm pregnant!" she screeched. "Pregnant women crave weird things! Plus, my doctor said I can't eat anything cold! Are you trying to kill my baby and me? Is that what this is?!"
People started turning their heads.
Fantastic. A whole audience.
I kept my voice low. "Ma'am, I can refund you."
She suddenly smacked the counter, knocking the scanner sideways. Her nails shot past my face like tiny knives.
"What kind of attitude is that?! A pathetic cashier talking back to me? I'll call my husband and get you fired!"
Then, she leaned in like she was about to reveal a royal bloodline. "Guess what? I'm the boss's wife."
I blinked.
If that was true, I really needed to stop thinking about helping my boyfriend to open 3,000 franchise stores.