Fifties. Tall. Thin. Platinum blonde hair blown out perfectly. Big diamond earrings. A white puffer vest over a black athletic top. Expensive leggings. White sneakers that had never seen a gym.
She was holding her phone in one hand.
She had her other hand on her hip.
“Clean it up?” she snapped. “Clean it up? You shouldn’t even have this job!”
Henry flinched.
Like she’d thrown something at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I was stocking. And the cart—”
“I don’t care about the cart!”
“I was just trying to—”
“I asked you for one bottle,” the woman said. Loud. Louder than she needed to be. “One bottle of cranberry juice. From the cart. Because the shelf was empty. How hard can that be?”
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