I smile. She’s not the first to undermine me, though she may be the last. I’m tiring of this.
“I’m assuming you’re not the manager. Can I see the manager?”
The woman is getting annoyed now. “There’s no need for that. I think instead I should call our security guard to escort you out.”
“Get your manager.” My voice is firm and perhaps a bit too loud because a woman comes out of the back.
“Barb? Is there a problem here?” the older woman asks. She looks at Barb and then at me.
“Yes! This woman wandered in here off the street. She insists she needs to look at dresses, wants to try them on even. I’ve explained to her that she’ll not be able to afford anything in the store and now she refuses to leave.”
I step toward the older woman. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes, I am.”
I hand her my b
