The officer raised one brow, calm as ever.
“You got cameras?” he asked the security guard nearby.
The guard nodded. “Yes, sir. We do.”
“Good. Let’s take a look,” the officer said, already walking.
The guard followed him. Chase stayed behind, arms crossed, lips twisted into a smug little smile.
He looked like he’d already counted the victory in his pocket.
I sat back down.
Minutes dragged.
Ten passed. Then fifteen. The boutique had gone quiet. I could hear Chase pacing behind me now.
His footsteps weren’t confident anymore. They were uneven, fast, then slow. His shoes scuffed the floor in sharp bursts.
At the twenty-minute mark, the officer came back. His expression was different now. Firmer. Cooler.
Chase looked up. “You ready to cuff her?”
The officer didn’t blink.
“Actually,” he said, “we saw you, sir. On camera. Slipping that box into her bag while she was changing.”
For a second, Chase just stood there.
Then his face turned the same color as the mannequins — white, hollow, frozen.
The officer continued, “Now, I could arrest you right now for false accusation and tampering with evidence—”
“Wait,” I said, standing up quickly. “Don’t.”
Both men turned to me.
“It was a misunderstanding,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I asked him to hold it for me. He must’ve thought the bag was mine and just… dropped it in.”
The officer looked at me long and hard.
“You sure about that?”
I nodded. “For now.”
He shrugged. “Your call.” And just like that, he turned and walked out the door.
Chase approached, face red and splotchy.
“I… I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Save it,” I said, cutting him off. “But I will be back. A lot.”
He blinked. “Why?”
I gave him a tight smile.
“You’ll see.”
Two days later, I returned.
Same flip-flops. Same heat.
Chase’s eyes widened when I stepped in.
“I—listen, I meant what I said. I’ll make it up to you. Really.”
I smiled. “Good. You’ll have plenty of time.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
His phone rang. He answered quickly.
“Yes? Everything’s fine. Just helping customers.”
He paused.
“The new owner? Today? What does she look like?”
There was a pause. His face changed.
“Flip-flops?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
He looked up at me. Really looked.
I crossed my arms and grinned. “Surprise.”
He didn’t speak for a moment.
His eyes dropped to my shoes, then lifted slowly to meet mine.
“I didn’t know,” he said finally. “I swear I didn’t—”
“I know,” I said softly. “That’s the problem.”
His shoulders sank.
I stepped closer.
“People like you think money dresses a certain way. Speaks a certain way. Walks in heels.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“But class?” I said. “Class is how you treat people who you think can’t do anything for you.”
He nodded slowly.
“I believe in second chances,” I added. “That’s why I’m not firing you. Yet.”
He looked stunned.
“You’ve got a lot to learn, Chase. But if you’re willing, I’m willing.”
He swallowed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
I gave him a wink.
“Oh — and it’s Callie. Not ma’am. And these flip-flops?” I smiled, turning to leave. “They’re staying.”
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