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Authors: Sullivan Clarke

Personal Shopper

BOOK: Personal Shopper
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Personal Shopper

 

 

Sullivan
Clarke

(c) 2010 by Blushing Books
O
and Sullivan Clarke

 

 

 

Copyright (c) 2010 by
Blushing Books(r) and Sullivan Clarke

 

All rights
reserved. No part of the book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

Published by Blushing
Books(r),

a
subsidiary of

ABCD Graphics and
Design

977 Seminole Trail #233

Charlottesville, VA
22901

 

The trademark Blushing
Books(r) is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

 

Clarke, Sullivan

Personal Shopper

eBook
ISBN: 978-1-60968-350-4

 

 

Cover Design by ABCD
Graphics

 

 

Blushing
Publications thanks you whole-heartedly for your purchase with us!

 

There are
plenty more stories such as the one you've purchased from Blushing Books! Visit our online store to view our might
selection!

 

http://www.blushingbooks.com

 

This book
is intended for adults only. Spanking
and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only,
intended for adults. Nothing in this
book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity
or the spanking of minors.

 

Chapter
One

 

 

"Mommy, why can't you come to my Christmas
play?"

Laura McCaffrey
looked down at the adorable face of her five-year-old son and felt her heart
lurch.

"Because, Evan,
Mommy has to work. It's the busiest time of the year and we have bills to pay."
She glanced over at the growing stack on the kitchen counter, the source of the
gnawing, ever-present worry in her stomach. "You remember what Mommy told you?
That this is the busiest time of year for her?"

"Well, I think
it's stupid," the little boy grumbled. "Why can't people just do their own
shopping.
"

Laura stuffed
her son's Thermos into his lunch box and zipped it shut. "Because some people
are very busy and don't have time." Now finish your toast. "The bus will be
here in a few minutes."

Outside it was
bitter cold. Laura could have watched Evan and his friends board the bus from
her apartment window, but she was too protective for that. As always, she stood
on the walk, her breath coming in steamy spurts, until her bundled-up son and
his friends had managed to board the bus that would take them to Little Friends
Day School.

The tuition bill
from the school was among those sitting on her counter. Her ex-husband had
promised to pay it by last Tuesday. When the money hadn't come she broke down
and called him. His new girlfriend answered the phone and when she heard
Laura's voice slammed the receiver down on the counter and called for Clay.
"It's her," she said.

Clay had told
her not to
worry,
he'd send the tuition money by
Saturday. Today was Monday and still there was no money. If she didn't have it
by Friday, Evan would have to leave Little Friends and the only friends he had
ever known.

Laura turned and
walked back into her apartment building, stopping by Mr.
Harker's
apartment first to give him the rent before going back to the warmth of her
flat.

Pouring herself
another cup of tea, she sat down to make her list. She'd had several packages
to wrap and deliver before meeting her newest client --what was his name again.
She picked up her day planner and flipped to the Post-It note she'd pressed
into the December section.

"Maximus
Greenway." The named sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. The man's
receptionist had called her and scheduled an appointment for 11:30 a.m. It was
a downtown address; that meant a big, lucrative account.

But she knew if
she didn't hurry, she wouldn't make it. After a quick shower, she towel-dried
and brushed her long brunette hair and let it air dry as she wrapped presents -
a pair of size 6
Ugg
boots, a cashmere wrap and nine
sets of Cross pens, for Mrs.
Tighlman
, a
bleach-blonde new money socialite who lived in The Gables, a gated community
just outside of town. Putting the gifts into a labeled bag and quickly jotted
out an invoice, taking careful note to add the gift wrap fee before stapling a
copy of the Ms.
Tighlman's
charge account receipts
onto the corner.

Glancing at the
clock, she rushed out to load the bags into the back of her Jeep Cherokee and
climbed into the driver's seat. As usual, the aging vehicle was reluctant to start
and Laura prayed for patience she needed to gently coaxing the engine to turn
over without flooding it.

Finally, it
rumbled to life and she pulled out into traffic, ignoring the ill-tempered horn
blasts of other drivers. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her
exit and the crush of city traffic fell away as she reached suburbia.

The Gables sat
on the fringes of a cluster of working class homes. Laura pulled up to the
little guard house that sat in front of the huge wrought iron entry way. A fat,
red-faced man lumbered out as she rolled down her window.

"I'm here to see
Clarice
Tighlman
."

"Just
a minute."
The guard disappeared back into his little office, picked up the phone, nodded
and then waved her through. The gates opened remotely and Laura drove through.
The
Tighlman
house was on Blue Heron Way, ironically
named since the road stood on filled in wetlands. Laura glanced as her watch as
she guided the Jeep Cherokee into the circular drive. She was making good time
and she smiled. Being a personal shopper was a lot more work than people
realized, especially this time of year when she spent hours enduring long
lines, rude sales people in quest for the perfect gift to be given on behalf of
someone who didn't care to take time to shop.

But getting paid
made it all worth it. Since starting Personal Touch Shopping Service three
years ago, Laura had built up a reputation for good customer service. She
required her clients to at least meet with her first, to talk about the
recipients, so she could best pick the perfect gift. For going the extra mile,
she commanded a premium price, which she got. But she didn't feel guilty. She
worked very hard and her status as a newly single mother meant every cent was
spent as soon as she put it in the bank.

A weary looking
Hispanic woman answered the door. "I'm here to see Mrs.
Tighlman
,"
she said.

"Si - yes," the
woman said, smiling. A moment later, Roberta
Tighlman
came
flouncing to the door, her heels clicking on the
marble floor.

"Laura," she
said, with a big smile. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mrs.
Tighlman
," Laura said, holding up the bags. "Here's the
rest of your Christmas shopping!"

"What a relief,"
the blonde woman said. "And you caught me just in time. I'm on my way out to a
Junior League meeting."

"Oh, that's nice,"
Laura said. "But...is it possible for you to pay me before you leave, Mrs.
Tighlman
? That's my policy - to get paid when I deliver the
gifts."

Ms.
Tighlman
turned towards a mirror on the hat tree in the
foyer and hurriedly put her earrings on, speaking not to Laura, but to her
reflection. "Oh, dear, I wish I had known you were going to insist on payment
today, but you see, these gifts are for Alan's corporate clients, as you know.
So he'll need to pay you."

She turned to
face Laura. "And he's not here."

Laura felt her
stomach twist. "Well, when can I catch up with him?"

"Not
for a few days, dear.
He's in Massachusetts setting up a new office." He
won't be back until Friday night. And you know how the weekends are for us this
time of year.
Party central."
Mrs.
Tighlman
smiled. "Just come by on Monday and I'll make sure there's a check for you."
She traced an "X" across her fake breasts. "Cross my heart."

"Oh, OK then,
see you Monday," said Laura. "I hope everyone likes their gifts."

"I'm sure they
will, dear," said Mrs.
Tighlman
, taking the bags from
Laura and handing them to the maid before ushering Laura out of the house. "You
come highly recommended."

Those
recommendations were the only reason Laura didn't press the
issue,
she told herself as she pulled out of The Gables and headed back towards the
city. Word of mouth had built her business and if waiting a week to get her
money kept her from getting a reputation as a difficult shopper then she'd just
have to wait. It still irked her, though. Her agreement clearly stated that
payment must be rendered when the gifts were delivered.

She tapped the
steering wheel nervously. Now she was really in trouble. Both the heating bill
and Evan's tuition were coming due at the end of the week. She'd counted on the
Tighlman's
money to pay at least part of it.

She was pleased
when her next three clients paid her without question. Mrs. Price, a
middle-aged wheelchair bound food critic, had been one of Laura's first
clients. As always, she was complimentary and generous, giving Laura a tip in
addition to her fee and a coupon from the local delicatessen. After Laura
dropped off the rest of her gifts, she took advantage of the free meal before
heading over to meet Mr. Greenway.

"Please let this
client be the one that I need," she prayed. "Something has got to change for
the better. It just has to."

***

Maximus
Greenway's suite of offices occupied the entire fifth floor of the Merrick
building. Laura arrived ten minutes early for her appointment, giving herself
enough time to get her information together in the one bundle she'd present to
her newest client.

She was
surprised when she wasn't made to wait. At exactly 11:30 sharp Mr. Greenway's
receptionist, a prim-looking young woman with short blonde hair, ushered Laura
into his office. The man behind his desk was on the phone, his back to her.

"Yes, yes, I
understand the wrong system was put in the delivery van, but that's no excuse.
The driver should have turned his ass back around and driven back to the
warehouse to get the right one
..
We both know there
was no need to put the Wilcox's off for another day." He paused. "Yes, I know
Carl has been with us for a long time, and I'm not saying this is a terminal
offense - this time. But if it happens again, it will be. Our motto is 'Security
on Demand' and that means we install when we say we will. Now, because Carl has
been here so long I'm going to let it go this time, but if it happens again,
he'll answer to me personally. Got it? OK. Bye, Joe."

The chair
twirled around and the phone was returned to its cradle by the man behind the
desk as he stood, smoothed his tie and extended his hand. He was a handsome
man, just entering middle age. Glasses and a receding hairline did nothing to
diminish his good looks. Laura thought he looked like the handsome high school
principals she never realized were handsome until she reflected back on them in
her adulthood.

"Laura
McCaffrey, the personal shopper, I presume. I'm Max Greenway," he said with a
smile and then motioned to the phone. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean for
the phone call to go on as long as it did."

BOOK: Personal Shopper
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