Chapter 118 Shameless
Luxury boutiques like the Thorn Birds trained their staff to be sharp. These attendants dealt daily with nobility, society wives, and chart-topping celebrities. They could glance at a customer's outfit, instantly gauge the price range, and from there decide exactly how much warmth—or frost—to put into their welcome.
To them, Amelia and Belle were obvious: clothes worth less than a thousand combined, and clearly underage. In the attendant's mind, they were just here to browse, not buy, unable to afford even the cheapest silk scarf in the store. Letting them in would waste time and take up the slot of a real client.
So she didn't even think before stepping in front of them.
"What?" Amelia's brows pulled together as the woman blocked her path. "Why can't we go in?"
The attendant had been about to claim the store was at capacity, but then realized—what if they waited outside? She switched tactics without missing a beat, her voice cold and elevated. "Sorry, we don't serve minors."
"We don't serve minors?" Amelia's gaze chilled. She knew exactly what this was. The woman assumed she couldn't afford anything here and was trying to keep her out.
The Thorn Birds attendants were supposed to be rigorously trained. Amelia hadn't expected that, in just a year of her absence, the brand's standards had slipped this far—judging clients by their clothes, inventing rules on the spot. That was the kind of behavior that tarnished a label's name.
"Aside from the limit of three clients at a time, I don't recall The Thorn Birds having a rule against minors entering," Amelia said evenly.
The attendant blinked, surprised that the plainly dressed girl could recite store policy. Had she shopped here before? She didn't look the type.
But she'd already committed to her lie. "We just don't," she said flatly. Her chin lifted. "I'm the attendant here. Do you think you know our rules better than I do?"
Belle tugged at Amelia's sleeve. "Maybe we should just go to another store…"
Amelia squeezed her hand lightly, reassuring her, then looked back at the attendant without a flicker of emotion. "You admit you're just an attendant? Then your job is to serve customers, not cherry-pick them."
"If you insist the store doesn't serve minors, fine." She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped the record button. "Repeat what you just said, into the camera."
Her eyes flicked to the badge pinned to the woman's uniform. "Your ID is Z679. I know The Thorn Birds' complaint hotline. If this rule is real, saying it again shouldn't be a problem. But if you're lying to block a customer, I believe the penalty is half pay docked for the month. Own your words."
"You…" The attendant's eyes went wide. She hadn't expected the girl to stand her ground, much less start recording. And she knew the hotline, knew the penalty system. A ripple of unease went through her, making her knees feel unsteady.
The store manager, hearing the commotion, hurried over with a practiced smile. "My apologies, miss. This employee is new and not yet familiar with our policies."
"Of course we serve minors. Please, both of you, come in. I'll personally assist you."
Amelia didn't press further. She gave the attendant a cool glance, then slipped her phone away. The manager ushered them inside, shooting the woman a glare over his shoulder.
What an idiot. In this day and age, judging a client's wallet by their clothes was a rookie mistake. The wealthiest customers often dressed down—slippers, sweatpants, messy hair—because they lived nearby and didn't need clothes to prove their worth. Only the newly rich plastered themselves in logos. True affluence was in the bearing, not the branding.
This girl had the bearing. She could easily be the daughter of a noble family. And instead of welcoming her, the attendant had tried to push her out.
The Thorn Birds high-end boutique was expansive, with sections for women's wear, men's wear, handbags, accessories, and fine jewelry.
"Please, take her around," Amelia told the manager, nodding toward Belle. "Anything she likes, wrap it. I'll be looking at other items—send someone else to assist me. I'll settle everything together."
"Right away," the manager said warmly.
The attendant lingered near the doorway, peeking in, earning another sharp look from the manager. Fool. Nothing in this store cost under five thousand, and this client was casually spending in the six figures. Eight-thousand-a-month staff shouldn't be sneering at customers who drop that much without blinking.
Amelia began selecting gifts for her five brothers—Kevin, Chris, Ryan, Zander, and Tobias—as well as Dorian, Asher, Leroy, and Michael.
For Kevin, she chose a pale gray tie clip, understated and perfectly suited to his steady, composed style. For Chris, a watch—his surgeon's hands were beautiful, and the watch would complement them, a return gesture for the necklace he'd given her. For Ryan, a pair of uniquely designed sunglasses; he'd look devastatingly cool in them. For Zander and Tobias, two different fragrances: one a distant, meditative sandalwood, the other a crisp, clean wood scent.
For Dorian, a necklace. For Asher, a wallet. For Leroy, a pen.
Michael's gift she had already decided on before entering. It wasn't in the display, but she'd have the staff fetch it when she paid.
She sent the items to the counter for wrapping, then went to find Belle. The girl had picked only one outfit, likely balking at the prices. Amelia didn't hesitate—she pointed out four or five more pieces that would suit her and had them all wrapped.
They made another circuit of the store before heading to the counter, where Amelia's selections were stacked neatly in packages.
She was about to pay when the cashier's expression tightened. "I'm sorry, miss… we can't sell you these items."
Amelia froze. "What?"
"A premium member purchased all of these before you. Our policy is that higher-tier members get priority. Since all items are one-of-a-kind…"
Someone had bought everything she'd chosen? Before she could respond, Amelia turned and saw a familiar face.
On the sofa sat a woman in a tailored white suit, makeup flawless, posture regal, chin tilted high. Her eyes swept over Amelia with open disdain.
"Of course," the woman said, her voice dripping with contempt, "the country-raised illegitimate girl who latched onto the Johnson family. Now you stroll into a luxury store and drop a million like it's nothing."
Anna's lips curved into a cruel smile, her gaze sharp enough to cut. "All you think about at your age is how to bleed a man dry… truly shameless."