"I'm describing what I've experienced," Diana said. "You decided what I could afford before you knew my name, refused to finish serving me, and asked me for documents you haven't requested from other customers. You have also suggested that my questions are evidence I don't belong here. I would like an explanation."
"My explanation is that you're being disruptive," Patricia said. "I'm the manager of this store. I decide when someone has crossed a line."
Diana heard the phrasing and felt the last of her hope that this could be dismissed as clumsy salesmanship slip away. Patricia had been offered multiple opportunities to correct her conduct. She could have said she was sorry for the wait, called Kevin to assist, or simply completed the transaction. Instead, each opportunity had prompted another attempt to reassert who possessed authority and who did not.
"Then I would like to speak with your manager," Diana said.
Patricia stared. "I just told you. I am the manager."
"Your district manager, then. Or the person who supervises you."
"No one above me works at this location," Patricia replied. "You're speaking to the person who runs this store."
Diana glanced toward the sunburst emblem high above the register. "You run this location," she said carefully. "That isn't the same as owning it."
The distinction should have been ordinary. In a company with forty-seven stores, nobody at the local level had absolute authority, no matter how expensive the merchandise. But Patricia heard the correction as a challenge to everything she had spent the past eight months constructing about herself. The store's success had become proof of her personal superiority, and she could not imagine being contradicted by someone she had already dismissed.
"This is my store," she said. "My staff. My responsibility. And I don't need a stranger explaining my job to me."
Diana looked directly at her. "Your store?"
"Yes. My store. I decide who gets served and who doesn't."
The words were public, unmistakable, and impossible to hide behind a later explanation about service efficiency. Ashley had returned from the stockroom and was standing near the entrance to the consultation area. Her hand moved toward her mouth, and she caught herself before anyone noticed. Kevin's jaw tightened. Marcus could see the conversation approaching a point where his own conduct would be tested.
"You've decided I don't deserve service," Diana said.
"I've decided you're wasting time and raising concerns about security," Patricia shot back. "Frankly, you've been behaving like someone who's trying to find an opportunity to take something."
"Are you accusing me of theft?"
"I'm saying I don't know what your intentions are. And you certainly don't look like someone who can afford the Aurora necklace."
Mr. Blackstone set his glass down sharply enough that the base clicked against the table. His wife looked at Patricia with a new expression, one in which discomfort had finally become disapproval. Diana noticed both reactions, but she did not turn toward them for rescue. She had survived too much to mistake an observer's eventual sympathy for the same thing as speaking when it mattered.
"You haven't seen me touch anything without permission," Diana said. "You haven't identified a missing item, a security concern, or a violated store rule. Your only evidence seems to be what you think I look like."
Patricia pointed toward the entrance. "Then get out. Leave right now."