His Princess - Stacy Gail Page 0,17
of the completed outfits, and make some sense of her assembly edit—laying out scenes she wanted to run in sequence—before blending it all together with transitions. As usual, she was ahead of schedule, which was a good thing. At the moment, all her brain could think about was Gus. “Four damn days, and just one stupid phone call from Gus. Seriously, can you believe that?”
“Yeah, we can believe it, because that’s all you’ve talked about for the past two hours.” Her brother, Felix, dropped a bunch of bags bearing a thrift store logo onto her living room sofa. “What I can’t believe is that you actually said this trip was going to be fun. Rummaging through gross, used clothing worn by unknown people and listening to you whine about some guy has not been my idea of fun.”
“Your sister suckered us both, pal.” Alice came into the room as well, shrugging out of her jacket. “She told me she wanted to get coffee.”
“We stopped and got coffee.” Joelle scowled at them, just in case they hadn’t yet realized they were working on her very last nerve. “And then we went shopping.”
“Going to a thrift store and touching other peoples’ used things isn’t shopping. It’s pushing the limits on how disgusting you can be in public.” Felix, as blonde and blue-eyed as she was, had a bodybuilder’s physique and enjoyed playing the role of tough guy. But his tough-guy aura was nowhere to be found as he grimaced like a squeamish Victorian miss. “The air in that store smelled. I think I can even smell it on me.” Felix bent his head toward Alice. “Quick, give me a sniff, Al. Can you smell old, used clothes on my hair?”
“I’m not going to smell your hair, dude.”
“I’m serious, Al. I think I need a shower.”
“Then go get a damn shower,” Joelle snapped, and didn’t even care when Felix and Alice jumped as her voice rang around the room. “And while you’re washing off your imaginary poor-people cooties, try to get it through your spoiled head that if it weren’t for thrift stores, a hell of a lot of people wouldn’t have anything to wear as they try to improve their lives. Thrift stores supply the homeless with suits and dresses so they can go on job interviews. They do diversity hirings, work with veterans, and a boatload of other wonderful things that help the community. What do you do besides pump iron and post selfies on Insta about how you’re shredding your latest workout?”
Felix’s eyes were as round as quarters. “Hey, I’ve got over ten thousand followers who love my content, okay? And I didn’t say anything about poor people, Joelle.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“If that’s what you think, fine. I’m out.” With his mouth practically an upside-down U, Felix snatched up his jacket and stomped toward the door. “See you later, Al.”
“That was… intense.” As the sound of the front door slamming reached their ears, Alice seated herself on the loveseat and pulled a couple thrift store bags toward her. “Are you okay?”
“I just don’t have the energy or the patience to deal with Felix right now. It was probably a bad idea to take him along,” she added, grimacing. “I thought I wanted the distraction of having you guys with me, because I haven’t seen Gus in—”
“Four days. Right.” With a sigh, Alice began to paw her way through one of the bags. “Have you tried calling him?”
“Twice. The first time it was obvious I’d caught him at work, so he was super distracted. The second time I had to leave a message.”
“Did he answer it?”
She nodded. “With a text message that pretty much said, I’m busy, I’ll call you when I’m not. I stopped calling after that.”
“Because you’re a smart woman who doesn’t have to chase a man.” Alice surfaced with a vivid Aegean blue pencil skirt. “Hey, this is kind of cute. Why don’t you wear this with your Ralph Lauren boyfriend shirt, and I’ll video you against that white wall on your upstairs balcony? In full sun and wearing your shades, we can make it look like you’re somewhere exotic, like Greece. Maybe you can pose with some moussaka, or something.”
Oy. “Alice, you’re not helping.”
“I’m trying to distract you from moaning about Gus, so I’m totally helping. Look,” she added, holding up the skirt. “The label says it’s a Donna Karan, and you bought it for three bucks. That’s a good enough bargain to earn a place in