Chapter 9 No.9

"You married him?" Zoe shrieked, nearly dropping her latte. "August Sanders? The man who makes Christian Grey look like a teddy bear?"

They were walking down Fifth Avenue. August was at a board meeting, so Colette had escaped for an hour.

"It's complicated," Colette said, adjusting her sunglasses. "I can't talk about the details. NDA."

"Okay, but is he... you know?" Zoe waggled her eyebrows.

"Zoe, stop."

They walked into Bergdorf Goodman. Colette felt the familiar knot of anxiety. She usually only came here to look, never to touch.

"I need shoes," Zoe said. "For my sister's wedding."

They headed to the shoe salon. And there, sitting on a velvet ottoman, was Tiffany.

Meredith was hovering over her, holding three different boxes. Chad was standing awkwardly to the side, holding Tiffany's purse.

Colette tried to turn around, but Tiffany spotted her.

"Well, well," Tiffany called out, her voice shrill. "If it isn't the runaway bride. Come to spend your allowance?"

Colette stiffened. "Leave me alone, Tiffany."

"We're just shopping," Meredith said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Tiffany needs shoes for the gala. You know, the one you weren't invited to."

Tiffany pointed to a pair of crystal-encrusted Jimmy Choos. "I want those. Size seven."

The sales associate, a woman with a pinched face, looked at Colette and Zoe. She saw Zoe's worn sneakers and Colette's simple jeans. Then she looked at Tiffany's designer bag. Tiffany discreetly slid a hundred-dollar bill into the associate's hand as she pointed at Colette.

"I'm afraid that's the last pair in size seven," the associate said to Colette, her tone dismissive. "And this young lady asked first."

"We were looking at them!" Zoe protested.

"Can you afford them?" Tiffany sneered. "They're two thousand dollars. Chad, pay for them."

Chad fumbled for his wallet. He pulled out a credit card. It was a standard card.

"Actually," Tiffany laughed, "give me the card. It's my dad's anyway."

That stung. It was Colette's father's money. Money that should have gone to his surgery.

"Cole, don't embarrass yourself," Meredith said. "Go back to your little apartment."

Tiffany stood up, deliberately bumping into Zoe. Zoe stumbled, gasping as her ankle twisted.

"Oops," Tiffany said.

Something inside Colette snapped.

She looked at Zoe, who was rubbing her ankle. She looked at Chad, the coward. She looked at Meredith and Tiffany, the leeches.

She remembered the black card in her pocket. I don't want my wife looking like a refugee.

She reached into her bag. Her fingers closed around the cold metal.

"I'll take them," Colette said clearly.

"Honey, you can't afford the tax," Tiffany laughed.

Colette pulled out the card. It was black. It was titanium. It was the American Express Centurion.

The air left the room.

The sales associate's eyes bulged. She knew what that card meant. It meant no limit. It meant royalty.

Colette held the card out between two fingers.

"I'd like to schedule a private appointment," Colette said, her voice steady and cool, addressing the manager who was suddenly at her side. "And update my client profile. Please note that this sales associate is not to handle my account in the future. Also, place a temporary hold on the entire new season collection in size seven for my consideration. Effective immediately."