An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,41

Beatrice’s reorganization, Margaret had gone from underappreciated shopgirl to Beatrice’s right-hand woman. She had a gift for numbers which she applied to bookkeeping, a patient demeanor that helped manage the shopgirls, and a knack for keeping everyone and everything organized. “We won’t be ready. Unless we want to sell dust and half-built dreams.”

“We have to be ready. She has already scheduled the delivery of a ridiculous number of flowers. I have never seen someone so enthusiastically embark on a task—other than you and I remodeling Goodwin’s.”

Inviting her mother to help with the store had been a lucky stroke of genius. With something to do, Estella was less interested in Beatrice’s matrimonial prospects (or lack of) and she also spoke less of Edward’s involvement once he returned. Hopefully she would see that the store belonged in her daughter’s capable hands and not her son’s.

“Can you get her to delay a week at least?” Margaret asked.

“Have you met my mother?”

“If she’s anything like I’m imagining based on my experience with society women and managing mothers, I’d rather not.”

“Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“We can do it. I’m sure everything looks worse than it is.”

“It’s possible. As long as we don’t pause to eat or sleep for the next three weeks.”

And with that, the two lady bosses went back to their lists and status updates and plans and projections. Not for the first time did Beatrice offer up a silent prayer of thanks for Margaret, who knew everything about how the store was run, and had ideas about how it could be better.

Beatrice had vision. She had lofty ideals and grand ambitions and the audacity to go for it. Margaret knew how to make it real.

“How is the training and hiring going?” Beatrice asked. This was an area that Margaret had claimed management over.

“I am relieved to say that it’s going well. Only because we persuaded Clara to leave The Store Across the Street.” By mutual unspoken agreement they did not whisper the name of their competitor’s store across the street. “She’s running the show and seems to have it all under control.”

Beatrice was about to remark on all the talented women she’d persuaded to work for her with nothing more than a promise of a good wage, autonomy and opportunity to do more. But she and Margaret were interrupted.

A hulking man stood nearby, a stack of boxes and crates at his back.

“I have a shipment for John Washington.”

“Who is that—?” Beatrice began but Margaret shushed her and turned to the deliveryman.

“Yes, thank you. I will accept that for him. He’s our vice president of operational considerations. He is currently in a very important meeting and cannot be interrupted.”

“Who are you? Are you sure you can accept it?”

“Oh, I’m his secretary,” Margaret said breezily. “I just accept deliveries, serve coffee, and remember his wife’s birthday.”

“Whatever you say, lady,” he replied warily, eager to be on his way.

Beatrice had questions. She turned and peered curiously at Margaret.

“Who is John Washington? And since when do we have a vice president of operational considerations? What would that role even do? And why are we not invited to this very important meeting?”

Margaret grinned.

“John Washington is a wonderful creation of my own imagination. He’s a tremendously useful fellow. When I would call on places to place orders for the store, something in my voice caused people to be skeptical that I had the authority to make the purchase or arrange the delivery. But I have no problems when I’m working on behalf of John Washington, vice president of operational considerations.”

Beatrice’s mouth had parted in surprise, but had turned up into a wicked grin at Margaret’s explanation.

“We’ll have to get him some calling cards,” she said.

“You should add him to the guest list for the party.”

“I’ll let my mother know. I did promise her a list of names.”

Then Margaret nodded at something—someone—behind her.

“Irate male, two o’clock. He’s heading your way.”

“Which one is it?” Beatrice asked, in what she thought was an admirably neutral voice. Margaret just gave her A Look.

“The one.”

“Again?”

Beatrice took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and spun around to see the one irate male that she had expected to see.

“Oh, hello, Dalton.”

“Hello, Beatrice.” He paused for a beat and her heart paused for a beat.

He had better not still be upset about the employee situation. He had better not expect her to apologize, either. She stood by what she offered her employees and if he couldn’t compete, then he could go argue with John Washington about it. But