(MASON'S POV)
The boutique smelled like vanilla candles and new linen, the type of soft luxury that made my chest loosen for half a second. Lumina Threads. I'd dreamed of standing behind that counter one day, folding silk shirts, helping someone else find the version of themselves they were too scared to wear. My fingers brushed the edge of a display table, heart doing that hopeful little flutter I usually crushed before it could hurt me.
'Just ask,' I told myself. 'Hi, any part-time openings? I learn fast. I love this stuff.'
The bell above the door chimed like a warning.
Mike Evans swaggered in first, letterman jacket slung over one shoulder, three of his football goons flanking him like bodyguards in sneakers. Tina, Becky, and Jenny trailed behind, perfume clouds and perfect ponytails. Their eyes locked on me instantly.
