Bat out of Hell by Bernadette Franklin

Author:Bernadette Franklin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing

EIGHT

Is this a kidnapping or just a coffee date?

It took the rest of the day to go through Clifford’s binder and get a better idea of the mayhem that would be unleashed on the boutique when Juliette Carter came with her clothes. To sell the prospect to the boutique owners, Clifford had statistic sheets for sales for both successful runs and flops. The flops were few and far between, and at worst, the boutiques broke even on their investment on the day of the event.

The numbers staggered me. In some cases, the event sold out of the new line, which meant no one else could place any orders or take home one of the new dresses, suits, shoes, or other accessories up for sale. While one or two items were the star, the boutique had the option to carry excess from other events that hadn’t entirely sold out for a set markup.

I appreciated that Juliette Carter set rules on pricing and wouldn’t allow her clothing to be deeply discounted. The contract forbade such discounting without her permission, and she would not accept a lower cut to give any boutique an edge in the market.

Once Clifford left, insisting I keep the binder so I could make sense of the madness, I questioned my life. If my boss had seen the binder and the strict list of requirements boutiques needed to meet or exceed to remain eligible for the event, I hated her for dumping it on my shoulders. I didn’t even care if she thought I could take over her job.

Organizing the event was so over my pay grade that I wanted to take the binder and shove it right up her ass before quitting.

I’d put some serious thought into quitting—after the event.

Two could play at being evil bitches, and while I wouldn’t completely screw my employer over, I wouldn’t be taking over my boss’s job, not without the sort of pay raise to make it worth my while. I understood the system: I’d be expected to work extra hours to make the event happen without a hitch, and I’d be expected to do it on my time. Unpaid. My manager might authorize overtime for the event.

If she didn’t, I expected my frayed patience would snap.

Armed with the binder, I returned to work to find everything quiet. My manager pounced the instant I returned. “How did it go?”

“It went fine. We have a lot of planning work to do to make sure we stay eligible for the event, and the owner will need to review the stocking options. You, or the owner, will need to get on the phone with them to figure out how much extra merchandise you’ll want to bring in. The binder has the rates for everything, the risk assessments, and everything else needed to make a decision on it. We’ll need to give the designer an answer on stock in a week.”

She snatched the binder out of my hand, turned on a heel, and marched for her office.

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