Chapter 8 - The Contract on the Table
I pulled my business ledger from beneath the counter and opened it to the recorded order slip and the certified invoice.
"June asked me to make this as a sisterly gift, Mrs. Vance. Then she demanded five thousand dollars from me to stay away."
"I sent her an invoice for my standard commercial labor hours, which she refused to acknowledge."
Eleanor read through the line items, nodding slightly as she verified the yardage and the technical terminology.
She reached into her leather handbag, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and drew a personalized checkbook from the interior pocket.
Without asking a single question, she wrote a check for fifteen thousand dollars and laid it squarely over my order slip.
"The gown belongs to Vance Mills now," Eleanor stated, her voice ringing with the finality of a board chairman.
"My family does not accept stolen labor, nor do we permit charlatans to wear our heritage textiles down an aisle."
"What are you going to do about the wedding, Mrs. Vance?" I asked, looking at the check that could fund my shop's expansion for five years.
"My son Gene is a good man, but he has been blind to ambition before," she replied, carefully re-zipping the garment bag.
"He needs to see what kind of character he was about to invite into our boardroom and our home."
She lifted the bag and looked around my modest workspace one more time.
"Do you have a portfolio of your custom pattern drafting, Miss Miller?"
May you like
"I have three binders in the back office," I said, pointing toward the shelf.
"Bring them to my private residence tomorrow morning at ten," Eleanor commanded. "We are launching a heritage restoration line, and I need a head of design."
