bags of compost-enriched topsoil was ludicrous. He thought the eighty bags they had left was plenty to get them through the rest of the month and informed her he'd canceled the order.
The very next day, one of the shop's regular landscaping clients came in and bought all eighty bags, and now there were zero bags in stock. Charles claimed she should have ordered more. Clearly, the lack of product was Ivy's fault.
Then Charles noticed Ivy spent too much of her time chatting with customers and not selling products, not understanding that sometimes folks wanted to talk about their projects and get advice. He'd raked her over the coals for not doing her job.
The two younger girls who came in to water the plants and help restock shelves had already quit—one of them in tears after Charles got through with her. Their one cashier took off yesterday after throwing her matcha chai latte in Charles’s face. With the lack of manpower, Ivy had to pick up the slack.
Her eight-hour days had turned into nearly sixteen-hour days, and today, Charles was pissed because it was time to do payroll, and he had to sign off on overtime.
She came in at five in the morning to get the plants all watered before the shop opened at eight, or else it wouldn't get done. She stocked the shelves in between helping customers decide which type of plants or dirt to buy, ring up their purchases, and help them load everything into their car if they needed it. It was springtime, and the shop was so busy Ivy hadn't had time to take a lunch break or go to the bathroom.
If Henry had been here, he'd be outside with his sleeves rolled up, helping her load the fifty-pound bags of dirt or ringing people up to keep things moving.
Charles couldn't be bothered to get off his ass and do anything except shout at her. In the two weeks since he'd been here, Charles was getting dangerously close to running his brother's business into the ground.
The only reason Ivy hadn't called Henry to let him know was because she knew—spinal surgery or no—he'd be out here working to fix everything.
Today, Charles berated her for not getting to the enormous stack of boxes, which needed to be unpacked and put out on the shelves last night, and for taking advantage of his brother by working overtime and taking personal phone calls during business hours.
She loved the garden shop, but she was seriously considering taking Kerrigan up on her offer to put a curse on Charles. Rowena wanted Ivy to quit the garden shop altogether and start her own nursery or landscaping business on the coven's land.
Kerrigan and Astrid already had their businesses up and running in the little strip center at the front half of the estate, Rowena's online business and practical magic supplies were in such high demand, Juliet and Callie were working full time to fulfill orders and assisting with house calls.
Those phone calls Ivy had taken that had Charles in such a lather? From Rowena, asking if Ivy had time to mail some packages and pick up more shipping supplies.
Despite the Haggara Council's displeasure with them and dire warnings that none of them would make it out on their own, the Little Coven was thriving beyond their wildest expectations. Ivy still couldn't perform even the most basic of spells, but she had a purpose, she had her friends, and she had this job. She was contributing.
Today, as some of the shop's most loyal customers stood on and listened to Charles insult her, Ivy didn't feel anything other than pissed off and exhausted.
“How hard is it to unpack boxes and put shit where it goes? Maybe, instead of taking phone calls from whatever boy-toy you're stringing along, you might put your tits away to do your damn job!” Charles jabbed a thick, fleshy finger at her, his jowls shaking, spittle forming at the corners of his thick lips.
He reminded her of a troll, soft and fat, with stringy hair he tried to comb over the top of his nearly bald head, his beady little eyes almost disappearing as he viciously scowled at her. “I don't know what kind of place you think this is, but you continue to dress like you're working in a whore house, and I won't have it!”
Someone gasped, and as Ivy ran her tongue over her teeth, Ivy glanced down at herself to gauge the level of her so-called inappropriate workplace