"Antonio is going to be in the area selling those knife sets."

I slump to the bed. She's back to playing match-maker.

"I want to invite you two over for tea." Her gentle demeanor suddenly turns tyrannical as she sees something outside the window. Her foot catches the edge of the chair as she jumps up, sending it to the floor.

I look out the window but the only thing I see is a happy whistling woman walking her cute poodle. Uncle Jimmy leans over to pet the sweet little dog. The dog obviously knows Uncle Jimmy by the wagging of his tail.

I always heard a dog's heart is connected to his tail. This dog's heart must be very happy by the looks of his tail-wagging.

"Aww, look at the cute dog." My smile faces just as Aunt Grace shoves me out of the way of the window.

I fall down to the ground, catching myself but sacrificing the lives of two cockroaches under my right hand.

I get up just in time to watch Aunt Grace grab a brick from the pile stacked up next to the window. "I'll teach that bitch for whistling at my husband." Her arm is like an automatic machine gun whirling those bricks onto the street, but fortunately missing her target.

"Grace!" Uncle Jimmy screams, shielding the whistling woman from the bricks. "Stop that now!"

He ducks just in time before the latest brick zips past his head breaking and shatters against the pavement.

"That's right." Aunt Grace cries out to the woman who's now on the run. "You better get out of here. And stop flirting with my husband."

I'm paralyzed with fear. What the hell have I just witnessed?

"Damn you, Grace!" Uncle Jimmy calls up as he watches the lady run as fast as she could.

Aunt Grace doubles over in laughter. She is so proud of herself.

"Poor dog." She points out the window still laughing. "Look! She's running so fast, that dog is choking."

Pure satisfaction illuminates her face. "Now, back to tea."

"Aunt Grace, what just happened?" I don't know whether to get the hell out of here before the police come or call them myself.

"That slut has been after your Uncle Jimmy for weeks," Aunt Grace explains. "She thinks she's something walking that little dog and whistling while Jimmy waits for her to pass. She's enticing my man. She needs her own man."

She walks back to the window. I stand behind her looking at the woman Aunt Grace refers to as a "slut."

"I showed her whose prince he is." She slams the window shut.

The woman looks perfectly normal to me, in her black jumpsuit and tennis shoes pounding pavement down the street.

Stunned, I watch Aunt Grace. I don't know what she sees in my uncle. Uncle Jimmy is no prince. Maybe a jester, but certainly not royalty. But then again, I guess maybe he's her Bo.

And did this moment constitute an emergency?

Chapter Fourteen.

Before work I stroll downtown to Fountain Square, and am pleasantly surprised how at much it's changed. The square has been redone with a big screen television, like the one in New York's Times Square, along with several new stores and restaurants.

Many of the restaurants offer outdoor cafe tables around the fountain. Each table's umbrella has the restaurant name on it.

Today happens to be a Cincinnati Reds businessman's special. A ton of men are eating and drinking, getting ready for the big game against the Chicago Cubs, of all teams.

I wonder if Wilson is here since his work is down the street.

The square is more alive than I've ever seen it.

Saks is ready to embrace another designer. Gucci will sell well, especially with the re-invention of downtown.

The boutique is further along than I'd anticipated. When you enter Saks off Fifth Street, the boutique is just to the left. The bronze front with Gucci written in tan lettering sends chills up my spine it is so beautiful.

The construction crew will finish in a few days. Shirts, pants, skirts, shoes and accessories are already on display and the associates are ready to make their commissions.

I feel strange walking into a room in which all eyes are on me. Especially since the smiling faces are quivering with fear and the heads are twirling with gossip about "the new head honcho."

"Okay. You obviously know who I am, so let's get to who you are." I hear the words come out of my mouth, but am thinking: How did I get here?

We spend the next thirty minutes introducing ourselves and getting to know each other.

One of the new steamer associates catches me before I go into my office.

"Hallie?" There is a slight tremble in her voice. She rubs her hand down her short styled, Posh Spice look.

I admire her for wearing suck a cut. Not many people can pull it off, but she does it well.

"Yes, uh..." I turn around before I get into my office, where my much-needed cup of coffee is waiting for me.

"Beatrice," she says, maintaining eye contact. "This lady named Piper called. She's called twice today, asking all sorts of questions about your schedule this week."

"Go on, I'm listening." I want to dissect every one of her words, but damn, her eye contact is good.

"I told her I'm your secretary and would give you her message." Her eyes grow dark, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking. "She wants to know your schedule and what's shipping here."

"Secretary?" I stand up and begin pacing while rubbing my chin. I like the way this girl thinks. Piper never had a secretary. "Secretary? I like that."

"She said the same thing."

"Hold on."

I dial the New York office.

"Yes this is..." I continue my conversation, telling human resources about my new proposal.

I want a secretary, who I want and why I need her. With a little persuasion, they are on board. It couldn't have gone any better if I had a genie lamp and rubbed the heck out of it.

The associate sits with a smirk on her face. She knows I put my neck on the line for her and me.

"Congratulations." I smile. "You are my new secretary." We stare each other down. She is good at this eye-to-eye contact business. "That's what I'm talking about. You can do this. Stick with me, girl, and you will be running this place in no time."

She impetuously darts out the door.

"Wait!" She stops dead in her tracks. "What is your name again? I can't just call you secretary."

"Beatrice," she repeats in an upbeat voice.

"Great, Beatrice. You like coffee?" God, I hope she likes coffee.

"Yes I do." Her words met my sigh of relief.

"Run across the street and grab us a cup. On me." I wink and grab my wallet out of my purse.

I'm going to work my butt off to one up on Piper and the Michigan store. I'm sure she's only trying to get information to use it against me or to see what she's up against.

I can promise that, this store is going to surpass everyone's expectations. I'll be sure of it.

Week Three.

Beads, the creative addiction.

Author Unknown.

Chapter Fifteen.

With the boutique opening, time to myself has been scarce. Since it's my first Sunday off, I want to hang around and take it easy. And accepting a call from Piper is far from taking it easy.

"Hello?" I decide to take the call because I can't avoid her forever. I try to sound as upbeat as I can all while I make a nasty face at the phone.

Besides, it won't be so bad, not with the great opening week we had.

"You are one tough gal to get in touch with." I can picture Piper sitting in my chair behind my desk getting ready for the tourists to rush down Michigan Avenue. A big difference between Cincinnati and Chicago. Chicago is for the tourists, while Cincinnati is more local traffic.

"How can I help you on my Sunday off?" I cut to the chase.

The laughter in the background catches me off guard. She only called to be nosy. I listen closely to see if I can hear one of my co-workers from the Chicago store, but only laughter-male laughter.

Piper's voice is muffled, and I faintly hear her whisper, "one more minute."

"Sorry about that." There is little sympathy in her apology.

Why is she apologizing? Is she feeling guilty for shipping me off or taking Bo when my back is turned?

"I have been calling you all week to wish you good luck on the opening. But I can't get past the receptionist. Corporate told me you had a fantabulous week."

"Secretary, My secretary." I want to make sure I correct her so she realizes I have my own personal assistant. "Yes, I've had a wonderful week."

Then she launches into her made-up language.

Whoever came up with the idea of turning their poodle/schnauzer mutt into a made-up name like schnoodle because their poodle is a slut and got knocked up by a schnauzer is brilliant! Any cross-breed is a mutt, no matter how you spin it, but if you label it with designer..., badda bing! You've got yourself a gold mine.

Just like Piper. She puts words together and makes up her own language with words like fantabulous, ginormous, groceraunt, spanglish. Pipernomics has to be the best. She claims it's her ideas on the current economic status of the country. What the hell?

"It was a good week." I try to sound even more joyful and to ignore the giggles and kisses coming from her end of the phone.

"How is Cincinnati treating you?" She asks, snidely.

"It's fine." The less information I give her, the better off I am.

"Have you met some new friends?" she questions.

Ah, no! The ones I have now are fine. I wish I had the guts to tell her I'm not in the market for new friends.

"Work is keeping me busy. Speaking of work, I have to get back to the grind." I'm not going to have everyday conversation like she's my friend. She's only trying to gather ammunition against me and I don't even know why.

"Adios, Hallie. Have a good one." She laughs. "A little Spanglish for you."

I listen closely for more noise before the final click, nothing. I never figured Bo to like the Piper type. All prim and proper, not to mention giggly. Not a hair out of place. She doesn't even care about running. She always put me down for it and now he's off with her.

To help forget about Piper and her phone call, I lace up my shoes and head to the square.

Earlier, I read in the paper where The Running Store, in Hyde Park, is having a sale. I might as well run down there and check it out.

I tuck a few dollars in my running shorts just in case I decide to look there or elsewhere. If I'm going to run, I have to take care of my barking dogs.

When I joined my running group in Chicago, I spent an entire paycheck on running equipment. The sales lady told me she'd never seen someone bring in an entourage of friends to make sure the shorts look great. But it's a facade I have to keep up until Bo marries me and we have our first baby. Then I'll stop running and take care of his offspring.

Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Though I can't help but wonder what he'd think of Cincinnati.

With the image of my holding Bo's baby in my arms, I fail to see the One Bead At A Time door flew open, whacking me back into reality.

"Oh!" The woman at the door tries to catch me as I stagger around. "Are you okay? I am so sorry!"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." My heart is racing a mile a minute.

I can just see it now. If the door hit me a fraction harder, I would've been out cold in a hospital room with no one at my side except Aunt Grace in one of her goofy wigs.