Flirting with Disaster (22 page)

Chapter 48

After a history class full of cheerful recounting of the Great Plague of London in 1665, complete with running sores, bleeding from the ears, and putrid stenches, I was ready to present my fabulous idea to Penny. We grabbed our book bags and headed out of class.

“You know how Ashley was saying at lunch that she had no jeans and how both Alison and I had to put our jeans back when we were in London because Ashley couldn’t find anything?”

“Are you still not over that?” Penny teased.

“Kind of,” I admitted. “Anyway, I think most of us have a hard time finding great jeans. And who wants to pay a hundred pounds for a pair of jeans that doesn’t fit perfectly? But I also don’t want to wear jeans that make me look like Farmer Brown.”

“Agreed.” Penny wasn’t pushing me, though I could tell by the blank look on her face that she wasn’t tracking yet.

“So . . . when I was working with Becky, she sent me home with a stack of catalogs. I looked through them and found a lot of cool things, of course. One of the coolest was for a company that licenses out the right to make custom-fit jeans. The retailer—in this case, Be@titude—buys a license to sell custom jeans within a certain area, like Wexburg plus twenty kilometers all around. Then they get the exclusive right to custom-fit jeans for anyone. A perfect fit. So what if I asked Becky if she’d be willing to be the licensee for this area, and we put that in my article, and then a lot of people went into her store to buy the jeans?”

A little smile appeared on Penny’s face, but she wasn’t exactly jumping up and down with enthusiasm like I’d hoped she would be. “What makes you think people will run right out and buy them, even if it’s in the article?”

“We’ll take a picture of someone wearing the jeans. Like . . . you!” I said. “You could wear them, and we’ll take a snap of it and run it alongside the article with some comments from you.”

Penny giggled. “Thanks, Savvy, but I doubt if hordes of people are going to descend upon the shop just because I’m wearing the jeans. Now, if it were someone like Ashley . . .”

We sat on a bench at the edge of campus. “You want me to give Ashley
more
publicity?”

“I want you to give the
shop
more publicity,” Penny said.

I nodded. “Yes . . . that does make sense. And if Ashley likes them, everyone else will too.”

“Exactly,” Penny said. “But you have two hurdles before you can even get to that point. Getting Ashley to agree to model them. And getting Becky to take the risk on investing in the license.”

Chapter 49

I decided to text Ashley.

Hey, Ashley, it’s Savvy. I wondered if you had a minute to meet me so I could talk about an idea with you. It’s about fashion, so of course I thought of you.

Hey, I wasn’t above a little ego stroking for a good cause.

She texted me back a few minutes later.

All right. You can come by tomorrow morning after ten. I’ll alert the butler to expect you.

Hooray! I had an audience with the queen.

My chauffeur—um, Dad—drove me to The Beeches after breakfast. Well, after
their
breakfast. I was too excited and worried to eat. I’d brought the catalog to show Ashley . . . even though I hadn’t asked Becky yet. To be honest, I wasn’t sure whom I should ask first. If Ashley wasn’t behind it, then I couldn’t ask Becky to waste her licensing money. But if Ashley said yes and then Becky said no, Ashley was going to be peeved, to put it politely.

“I’ll just park down here then, miss, shall I?” Dad said.

“Ha-ha,” I said. “Quit joking and start praying!”

I hopped out of the car and walked up the long two flights of buttery stone steps toward the double-door entrance to The Beeches. I didn’t even need to tap on the door knocker. As soon as I reached the top flight, the butler opened the door.

“Hullo, miss. Miss Ashley is expecting you in the sitting room.” He indicated the pinkish room to his right. I’d been there before, months ago, when The Beeches had been having an open house for the National Trust.

I headed in that direction, wishing like everything that my shoes didn’t squeak like sick ducks every time I stepped on the polished wood floor. The door was already open, and Ashley was sitting at a large mahogany desk with a brand-new computer, doing her homework.

“Hullo, Savvy,” she said, her voice neither warm nor cold. “Come on over here.” She indicated an upholstered wing chair near her seat.

“Thanks,” I said. “I have an idea—a fashion idea—that I’d like to share with you.” I ran down the details as I’d explained them to Penny, leaving out the fact that I’d asked Penny to model first. “Because you’re very fashion forward, I thought of you to model them. Last time we featured The Beeches in the newspaper, there was a great response. I have every reason to believe we’d have the same response this time.”

Ashley nodded at me. “I can see why you’d like to have me model,” she said. “So you’re suggesting The Beeches for the launch, then?”

Launch? I hadn’t even thought of a launch, but I wasn’t going to let her know that. Nor would I ever have had the nerve to suggest The Beeches for anything. But if she was suggesting it . . . I worked really hard at keeping my forty-three muscles straight. “If you think it’s a good idea, then of course I agree,” I said.

“It’d have to be next Saturday in order to get it done before the end of the year,” she said. “A week from today. And your article is coming out . . . ?”

“This Thursday. Two days before the launch.”
Please, God, let Becky say yes, or else I’m dead and you might as well just get a broom and sweep me up. Ashes to ashes and all that.
“Is that too short notice for your mom to get things ready?”

Ashley laughed. “My mum doesn’t get things ready, Savvy. We have staff.”

I almost mentioned that Be@titude was the store that lost all of its computer stuff because of her e-card, but I didn’t think that guilting someone into anything was good form. Not that it would be successful with Ashley anyway. I’d learned my lesson, and I let God work.

A minute went by, then two. I could hear “the staff” putting away the breakfast service in the dining room nearby.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it. I’ll talk with my mum about the launch and text you shortly.”

“That is
so
great!” I said. “Thank you so much. I mean, it’s going to be like you’re wearing a Stella McCartney.”

“No need to pour it on, Savvy. I’ve already agreed,” she said, but not too unkindly.

I had to stop myself from hugging the butler on the way out the door.

Chapter 50