Katie

I was going to have to leave church while everyone was at communion if I was going to get to work in time to tie up my hair and open The Upstairs. I didn’t mind taking this appointment for Haley, though she should be over her morning sickness by now.

This was Haley’s second pregnancy, and she was sure she would know what to expect. But with this one being twins, things were not as easy peasy as Haley had predicted.

It was good practice for me. I would be taking over while Haley was on maternity leave. I was going to have to deal with the high maintenance VIPs eventually. I had spent two days in the store and three at the main office.

As one of three interns taking part in a new venture initiated by Haley, I was taking turns in The Boutique, learning the business from the front lines. I had a retail background selling shoes before I went to design school. I was finding I enjoyed this area of the business much better than the designing part.

Whoever this VIP was, he had to be very important. Mrs. Van de Graaf must be having a coronary today. No one worked on Sunday—her rules. Not in The Boutique, not in The Upstairs, and never in the main office.

I was curious about this appointment.

The only information Haley had given me was that this was a special circumstance and that Mr. Walsh had been set up with the platinum unlimited account. Few customers had platinum status. I was going to have to thank Haley for passing this off to me. The commission made off VIPs could be more than a week's salary.

The espresso machine was primed, the pillows were fluffed, and the accessories were easily accessible. I took in a deep breath, straightened my posture, unlocked the door, and prepared for my VIP appointment.

I heard the door chimes go off. Showtime, I thought. I walked into the store, and standing in the middle of the room with his back to me was a tall well-built Adonis. His dirty blond hair hung long on his shoulders, and when he turned to face me, a five o'clock shadow added to the mystique. His worn leather jacket looked like a thrift store find and his biker boots were worn to the hilt.

He wasn’t what I expected. His devil-may-care stance told me he wasn’t one of the stiff upper lip crowd, as did the bike helmet dangling from his fingers.

I licked my lips. My mouth was dry. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was.

With all the construction and hectic schedule of getting the new men’s line up and running, I had no time for a summer romance with one of the young single men who came with their parents for summer vacation.

My boss, Leona, told me I needed to find myself a tall glass of water to quench my thirst and end my dry spell. Mr. Walsh was anything but. Cool, yes, but a tall glass of water? Hell, no.

He was nothing less than a shot of bourbon whiskey with a whiskey chaser. The man would burn your lips and you would feel the burn all the way to your toes. I wanted my lips to burn. I wanted my toes to curl—but not today. This was a client and I needed to put my libido aside.

I put on my best ‘I’m ready to fleece you’ smile and got ready to introduced myself.

“Haley?” He interjected. Of course he was expecting Haley.

“Katie Steele.” I held out my hand. A jolt of electricity ran through me and I pulled my hand away. I explained I was going to assist him today instead of Haley. “Follow me please, Mr. Walsh.” He was going to be blown away by the VIP room.

“Please call me Aaron.” He grinned sheepishly.

“What can I do for you, Aaron?”

I was appalled at how seductive my voice sounded coming out of my mouth. I wasn't there to end my dry spell. I was there to conduct business, and I had better start treating this appointment accordingly. I straightened my spine and hoped I was not flushed from heat that was pulsing through my body.

“I want a pair of Boardroom and Beyond, black, size fourteen.”

Oh, dear God, did he just say size fourteen—and did I just look at his crotch? This was not how this appointment was supposed to be going. I was supposed to convince him to add on extras to pad the bottom line. I could barely sell him a pair of shoes as it was.

“Have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Aaron. The espresso machine is ready if you would like something. Shall I pour you a cup before I go get your shoes?” Now that was my professional voice. I just had to keep that up.

“I don't need to sit. I just need the shoes.”

“You can't try them on standing up.” What was he going to do, lean against the wall and throw off his boots?

“I’m not trying them on.”

Was he getting defensive with me? I had come in on a Sunday for this?

“You have to try them on,” I said, attempting to explain to him how important it was. “If a shoe is created from the bottom of the bolt, it may not fit the exact same as one cut from the top. You want your shoes to fit comfortably.” That should convince him.

“They’ll be fine. I only need them for one day.”

“Who spends a small ransom on a pair of shoes and only wears them once?” Typical over-indulgent ass. Despite how hard I tried to avoid it, I knew my Irish temper was getting the better of me.

“Is this the famous Van de Graaf customer service I’ve heard about, questioning what I plan to do with my money? Or do you want to see my feet, Katie, to see if I really am a size fourteen?”

Oh, God, he saw me stare at his package earlier.

“You’re slouching, Katie. Do you need someone to put that stick back up your ass?”

If biker bad boy Mr. Aaron Walsh thought he was going to best me, he had another thing coming. No, there was not going to be any add-on with this jerk. The commission would barely cover the time I wasted here today.

“If you want size fourteen black Boardroom and Beyonds without trying them on, so be it. Wait here. I’ll be right out—and it’s Miss Steele to you.” I turned away from him, certain I was flushed from his comment. Could I be any more obvious? I needed to get him his shoes and get him out of my shop.

I returned with his shoes packaged in a trademark Van de Graaf bag and watched as he pulled his credit card.

“I don't need that. Apparently, you are an important enough VIP that you have a platinum account set up. You will be billed, and you can settle with the main office.” I handed him his bag, and his fingers brushed against mine.

There was that jolt of electricity.

Get him out now, my brain screamed at me. I began walking toward the door and he followed. Good. He understood this appointment was over.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Walsh. Enjoy your purchase.” I watched him walk away as I locked the door.

I returned to the VIP room and made myself an espresso. I sat down in one of the big comfortable chairs and kicked off my stilettos. Why let a good espresso go to waste because some rich guy who was too good to try on shoes didn't want one? I hoped he got blisters on his heels and his toes. It would serve him right.

I really could have used the commission on the sale I was expecting today. Now I was going to have to listen to my overprotective older brother Braden lecture me about skipping out of church early. The Steele family took their commitment to church seriously.

I went to confession to ask Father Tim how many Hail Marys I needed to say—not because I was going miss communion, but for the language directed at Braden when he called me out on it.

At least I had money coming in from my work at The Boutique to continue to rent Haley’s house. Getting out from under Braden’s watchful eye was a must do on my list once I started earning my own money.

Even before his passing, my father signed the family’s security business over to Braden, him being the oldest. He now controlled the purse strings and I decided it was time for me to cut those financial ties.

As much as I loved all three of my brothers, I had a stubborn streak and an overwhelming need to support and take care of myself.

All three of my brothers were in town this weekend on hiatus from whatever job they were working on. Maybe I should meet up with them and take a little more of their money by beating them at pool. I wouldn’t mind blowing off a little steam after my encounter with Mr. Walsh.

I shouldn’t have let him get to me, no matter how hot he was. Who was this Mr. Aaron Walsh, anyway? I took out my cell, pulled up Google, and typed in Aaron Walsh. I sat and waited to see how good my search engine was.

It didn't take long. Aaron Walsh, corporate raider, self-made multi-millionaire.

Fudge sticks, I was right, he was a bad boy. He tore companies apart for a living. He didn't just look the part, he lived it. He looked much younger when he was clean shaven and in a suit.

The pictures did not fool me. He was every bit a man—nothing like the college guys I had dated. He was masculine, and if he was a size fourteen, he was way out of my realm of experience.

He was a VIP, and just not any VIP. No, I had to insult a platinum VIP. I was going to have to explain to Haley tomorrow how I had blown the appointment. Not that he didn't deserve it. He was quite insulting himself. I pulled my shoulders back, indignant. Good posture was an asset!

I never asked why he needed those shoes today—why he couldn't wait until Monday morning like a normal person? It wasn't my business, but it would gnaw at me that Mrs. Van de Graaf would agree to it.

What was so important about Mr. Aaron Walsh?