Page 77 of Deliah
“Yes. But, like… together. Think about it.” I grinned. “It would be just like old times. Us, side by side, causing a bit of drama. Flirting our way through life, only this time with slightly better taste in men and actual handbags we didn’t nick.”
She blinked. “Stripping?”
“No! Fuck no.” I laughed. “Damion would have an actual fit. He’d have my passport shredded and me locked in a gilded cage before my heels hit the stage.”
Cherry smirked. “Lowkey sounds hot.”
“Yeah, but I’d rather keep the cage metaphorical, thanks.”
She tilted her head. “So what are we doing? Becoming accountants?”
“I was thinking something fun,” I said. “Maybe we take a walk down the port tomorrow, see what’s about. There are loads of bars, boutiques, and designer shops. Maybe we could work somewhere fancy—Louis Vuitton, even.”
She burst out laughing. “Can you fucking imagine?”
“I can! Picture it—us in matching black blazers, selling overpriced handbags and sipping espresso on our break like we belong there.”
“Deliah,” she said between laughs, “I love you, but I’m not built for that life. Imagine some rich guy comes in with his uptight wife while I’m in the stockroom twerking in the mirror and trying on the new season heels.”
I cackled. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point.”
“Plus, I’d probably end up sleeping with the regional manager just out of boredom.”
“Also on brand for you.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
“Well then,” I said, nudging her with my foot, “maybe not Louis Vuitton. But there are cute little boutiques down there. You know the ones—run by rich older women with no real staffwho just want someone young and sparkly to man the till while they go to Pilates.”
“That’s more our speed.”
“Worst case, we work behind a bar again.” I shrugged. “At least we’d get tips and free drinks.”
Cherry narrowed her eyes. “That’s also a recipe for disaster.”
I tilted my head. “Exactly, it’s perfect.”
She smirked. “I’m not saying no.”
“So you’re in?”
She paused for effect, then gave a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, alright. I’d be up for it. Might do me and Tommy some good, actually. A little bit of space.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You two are practically conjoined twins.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not saying I want him gone—I just wouldn’t mind a few hours a day where I don’t have to listen to him go on about protein and trading.”
“Fair,” I said with a snort. “Alright, it’s a plan. Tomorrow, we go job hunting. I’ll pick you up at 9 a.m. sharp.”
She gave me a look. “Sharp?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re never sharp.”
