My Brother’s Girlfriend Bullied Me, They Regretted It
My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue.
I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door.
The clerk behind the register stopped me.
"Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now."
I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it.
"Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am."
She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store."
She pushed an itemized bill across the counter.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves.
I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home."
Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?"
I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]