The Red Collection Read Online Free PDF Page A

they’ll buy more …
    It’s hard to tell what Sir really thinks about the risqué items we have on show. His expression is inscrutable, mutable, and hard to fathom. The only indication of any kind of emotion is the faintest hint of super-cool amusement. But even that could be a trick of the imagination.
    ‘Please, won’t you take a seat?’ I encourage, gesturing to the most comfy armchair.
    His hooded eyes narrow, but he moves towards the seat, and lowers his tall, substantial form into it, setting the pink paper carrier bag he’s been holding on a table beside him, and making a big show of fussing with the panels of his voluminous dun-coloured raincoat. It’s not a plastic mac, thank God , or even a crumpled Columbo jobbie. But it’s not exactly an example of metrosexual man chic either, and disturbing thoughts of flashers spring to mind. Especially given the way he’s eyeballing me. His face is still bland enough, but there are lights dancing in his intelligent brown eyes.
    ‘Sir?’ I prompt, but all he seems to want to do is just sit there smiling slightly, as if he’s guarding a special, wicked secret. I get the feeling that he’s enjoying the retail experience immensely.
    ‘Sir?’ I enquire again, as he looks me up and down, those intensely gleaming eyes doing the grand tour from my boobs to my legs to my general groinal area to my face and then back around again. Suddenly my crisp white blouse feels tight and restricting across my frontage, and to my dismay my nipples choose this moment to want to pop out like organ stops. I can almost hear them go ‘Ping ping! Ping ping!’ They’re acting as if it’s cold here in the showroom, when in reality it’s already far hotter than it should be and getting hotter with every minute that passes.
    ‘Ah, yes,’ Sir purrs at last, focusing that sultry look of his like a technician tuning a high-powered laser, ‘I’ve got a slight problem, my dear.’ He taps the pink carrier bag at his side, the one that’s been subconsciously bugging me since his arrival. His long fingertips flick at the paper in a way that’s vaguely suggestive. ‘I bought this item a couple of days ago, from this very boutique, and I’m afraid it’s very far from satisfactory.’
    I bite my lip, feeling uncontrollable silliness suddenly bubble up inside me for a split second, and then immediately I make every effort to keep my mind on the job. I’m not behaving very much like a professional vendeuse, am I?
    Right, back to business … and, oh dear, it’s a return.
    I hate returns. They can be really tricky when you sell the sort of merchandise we do, and half the time people who bring things back are just in here to try it on. I just hope that Sir doesn’t turn nasty. Not that he looks nasty. In fact, he looks about as far from nasty as it’s possible to be. To my mind, he looks very nice indeed, with his big burly body, and his face that’s so boyishly handsome despite the silver grey in his crisp-cut dark hair. My mind goes cantering away from the job in hand like an out-of-control pony, and I imagine what it might be like to kiss Sir and waylay him for a shag.
    ‘Um … in what way is the item unsatisfactory, sir?’ My voice comes out rather like a cartoon squeak, and I cast around for a look of servile solicitude instead of the rampant lust that I’m sure is written large and obvious on my face. ‘We very rarely get complaints about our merchandise here, sir. But if there is a problem, I’ll do everything in my power to resolve it.’
    There, that sounds suitably crawly, doesn’t it?
    Unfortunately, Sir clearly thinks it’s crawly too, suitable or otherwise, and he gives me a rather stern look that induces my knees to tremble.
    ‘That’s as maybe,’ he continues, and strangely, he seems to be the one who’s biting his lip now, ‘but I’m very disappointed. I don’t expect to be sold substandard goods at these prices and I’m accustomed to better customer service