Devon Hartford - Painless

Squish.

Any second now, Mr. Selfridge was going to walk through those front doors…

I really couldn’t wait any longer.

I took another step toward the swinging door at the end of the counter.

I glanced back at the front doors, and switched over to my telekinetic powers. I used them to draw Mr. Selfridge, wherever he was, toward the museum.

Crap. It wasn’t working. My telekinesis was as bad as my ESP.

Another step.

Squish.

This was not good.

Where the fuck was Mr. Selfridge?

I looked at the clock. He wouldn’t be here for at least ten minutes. In ten minutes, I would need to throw my panties and jeans in the laundry. But there was no washing machine at the museum and I didn’t have any sweats to wear while I waited anyway. I’d have to go home, but I had classes later today. I wouldn’t have time to make it to home and back before they started. So much for my day running smoothly.

I picked up a pen off the counter top and waved it in the air like a magic wand. I pretended I was Hermione from a Harry Potter movie. It was the intention that made all the difference. “Mr. Selfridge, please appear, so my panties remain clear.” It was the best I could come up with on short notice.

Sadly, Mr. Selfridge did not magically appear in a puff of smoke.

Screw it. I couldn’t wait any longer.

The only person in the museum was Tiffany. What damage could she do while I was in the ladies room? She wasn’t one of those lunatics who would slash a painting with a knife, was she? I hoped not. Besides, I had her bag behind the counter, and I don’t think she had any room in her tight dress for a knife. And I didn’t think she was likely to pull a painting off the wall and carry it out. She hired workmen to do things like that, and I hadn’t seen her come in with a work crew.

Okay. I was going to risk it. I walked carefully out from behind the counter and bee lined for the restroom. I swear I only moved my legs from the knees down so as to minimize possible leakage. There was a lot of heel-toeing involved, but I was amazed by how fast I could move without the use of my knees.

I made it into a stall in the restroom and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw that my panties had but a single red blotch. Apparently, my magic wand waving spell a minute ago hadn’t kept my panties clean. I would’ve made a terrible wizard.

At least the leakage had been minimal. And I’d made it just in time. My tampon was ready to burst when I dropped it into the bowl. I blotted the red dot on my underwear with toilet paper until there was no moisture. Wow, I’d been close to bleeding out, no pun intended.

When I finished my business, I washed my hands and jogged back behind the counter.

The museum wasn’t on fire, the ceiling hadn’t fallen in, and there wasn’t a riot of people throwing molotov cocktails, so I figured everything was okay. Nobody could have gotten into the cash register, because I had the key for it around my wrist on a springy elastic band.

I was good.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

Mr. Selfridge walked in ten seconds later. Good timing, Mr. Selfridge. Not that it mattered.

“How was your meeting?” I asked him.

“Excellent,” he smiled. “Thanks for asking.”

Tiffany walked out of the museum gallery and up to the counter. “I need my bag,” she grumbled.

“Oh, let me get it for you,” I said enthusiastically. I dug it out of the cubby and handed it over.

Tiffany snatched it from me and walked out the front doors without saying thank you. Such a bitch.

Mr. Selfridge frowned. “I guess that young woman didn’t like the museum?”

“I don’t think she likes anything,” I said.

Mr. Selfridge furrowed his brows, confused. “It wasn’t anything you said to her, was it?”

“No, she just has a bad attitude.”

Mr. Selfridge nodded uncertainly. “Okay, then. Well, I’m going back to my office. Ring my phone if you need me.” He started walking across the large lobby toward the side hallway that led to the offices in back.

One of the museum doors burst open.

“You!” Tiffany blurted as she stalked across the lobby to the counter where I stood.

I wasn’t surprised she’d come back. She hadn’t managed to ruin my day, so she was going to call me names or demand a refund because she hated the art in the museum.

Mr. Selfridge had stopped at the other side of the lobby to see what was going on. Tiffany noticed him.

“Hey, you!” she shouted.

Mr. Selfridge was startled. “May I help you, young lady?”

She cocked her hips and jammed her fists against her sides, “Your employee stole my credit card!”

I’d spoken too soon. Never put it past Tiffany to do her very best to ruin my life.

Mr. Selfridge walked over to the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said to Tiffany, “what did you just say?”

“I said,” Tiffany huffed, “your employee stole my credit card.”

Mr. Selfridge leveled a look at me over his glasses.

I sighed. At least Tiffany was crazy, and it would only take a second to prove to Mr. Selfridge that I was innocent. I mean, why would I take Tiffany’s credit card? This was proof she had finally cracked.

“She must’ve taken it from my bag when she made me put it behind the counter,” Tiffany growled.

Mr. Selfridge raised his eyebrows at me.

“She’s crazy,” I laughed defensively. “I didn’t take her credit card.”

Tiffany slammed her bag on the counter, opened it, and wrestled with the contents inside like her bag was full of rabid chipmunks. Eventually, she pulled her wallet out. She opened it and presented the missing space. “See? I keep it right here. It’s gone.”

Tiffany had so many other cards of every sort in her wallet, it was like she was pointing at a lawn and accusing me of stealing a blade of grass.

More importantly, I didn’t steal it.

“How do you know you didn’t lose it someplace else?” I scoffed. “Maybe it fell out of your wallet. It’s probably in the bottom of your purse.”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “I looked,” she hissed.

“Look again,” I sneered.

Mr. Selfridge watched all of this with neutral interest.

“I didn’t take her credit card, Mr. Selfridge.”

“You’re such a liar,” Tiffany sneered.

Mr. Selfridge cleared his throat and said to Tiffany, “Perhaps you’d be willing to place the contents of your hand bag on the counter top, young lady?”

Tiffany glared rusty daggers at me. “Fine.” She up ended her bag and everything spilled out like a garbage truck emptying its load at the dump. I was surprised a cloud of dust didn’t billow up. How did she find anything in there? I thought my purse was bad.

Tiffany spread the contents out on the counter until it looked like landfill. “It’s not here,” she grunted.

“You’re sure you didn’t lose it someplace else?” Mr. Selfridge asked.

“Yes. I used it to pay for my museum ticket. I have the receipt right here.” Tiffany held the slip of paper up to show Mr. Selfridge. “See?”

Mr. Selfridge nodded. “And the card is not in your wallet?”

“No! Do you want me to pull out every credit card to prove it?”

“Yes, as I matter of fact, I do,” Mr. Selfridge said calmly. At least he was on my side in all this. “May I see your receipt from purchasing your museum ticket?”

Tiffany jammed it in his hand.

He examined it. “We’ll check the number on the receipt against the cards in your wallet.”

This was such a waste of time. Tiffany had run out of good ideas about how to ruin my day so she was grasping desperately at anything she could think of to piss me off. Whatever. I was over it and over her. She was a nuisance at best.