Chapter 1No Makeup, No Problem

I was in a rush to change out of my sewage-splashed clothes, but the sales associate blocked my way to the fitting room.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, but you can't try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it."

I frowned but understood the policy. "Fine. I'll just buy it, then. I'm in a hurry."

She quickly snipped off the tag but then made no move to take my card.

Losing my patience, I tried to grab the blouse to change, but she blocked me again.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, but you haven't paid yet!"

I shoved my credit card in her face, my voice rising. "Well, maybe you could actually take my money, then?!"

Her face remained a mask of professional courtesy. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, but I don't have the authorization to process payments. If you could please wait for about forty minutes…"

…

* * *

While waiting at a red light, a speeding car hydroplaned through a puddle right at the crosswalk.

I was standing at the very front. I took the full force of the splash.

My white silk blouse was instantly a mess of splattered ink, and even the hair on the left side of my head was dripping.

"What the hell!"

"Jerk must be late for his own funeral!"

"This is insane! Every time it rains, I get splashed at this intersection!"

"Son of a… did anyone get the license plate? Let's report that bastard…"

The other pedestrians who'd been hit started cursing a blue streak. My own blood was boiling. But my client's flight was about to land, and I was in a rush to get to the airport. I didn't have time to chase this down.

Going home to change was out of the question.

Luckily, there was a boutique just ahead.

I walked over, dabbing at my hair with a tissue.

I had barely stepped over the threshold when a young woman in a sharp black suit greeted me warmly. "Welcome, ma'am. My name is Angela, your personal sales consultant. How may I help you today? Would you like a recommendation—"

"No, thanks. I'm in a hurry. I can manage on my own."

Angela's smile tightened at being cut off.

I paid her no mind, grabbing a white blouse off the rack and heading for the fitting room.

But Angela stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, but you can't try on a white blouse with makeup on. It would be a shame if you got foundation or lipstick on it."

I frowned. "It's a button-down, not a pullover. It won't touch my face. Besides, I'm in a rush. If it fits, I'm wearing it out of the store. I'm not just trying it on for fun."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, ma'am."

Seriously? My first instinct was to turn and leave. But a quick glance around revealed… there were no other clothing stores nearby.

As I hesitated, I met Angela's eyes. They held a hint of a smirk.

"Ma'am, you're quite dirty, and your hair is still dripping. You'll definitely stain the new clothes if you go in like that. And if you came out and claimed the blouse was already dirty, well, I'd have no way to defend myself, would I?"

The corner of her mouth twitched downward.

The anger that had been simmering inside me all morning finally erupted. "Well, yeah! The only reason I'm here buying a new shirt is because mine got ruined! I'm trying to give you my business!"

"And obviously, I'd clean myself up before I change, but first you have to let me into the fitting room! Or what, you want me to stick my hands up my shirt and wipe myself down in the middle of your store? You want me to strip right here? Huh?!"

Angela just smiled, not saying a word, continuing to block my path.

Furious, I threw the blouse down. "Okay, fine! I won't buy it. I'm leaving. Happy now?"

"Wait…"

Angela’s hand landed on my shoulder. I slapped it away instinctively. "Don't touch me! What is this, a hostage situation?"

"Ma'am, you've misunderstood me. That's not what I meant…"

"I don't care what you meant! Get out of my way!"

I stormed out, pulling out my phone to call a cab. Suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist.

Angela was blocking me again.

"What is wrong with you?" I seethed, wrenching my arm free and turning to let her have it.

But Angela let out a little cry and collapsed onto the floor.

In her hand was a hairdryer.

"You…"

When she looked up, her face was a mask of tearful vulnerability. "Ma'am, you misunderstood. I was trying to tell you that we have towels and a hairdryer. You could dry your hair here first…"

I froze.

Angela scrambled to her feet and solicitously guided me to a chair, ready to blow-dry my hair herself.

Snapping out of my daze, I quickly stopped her. "I'm so sorry, I completely misunderstood. I can do it myself."