“I’d like to try those in an eight and a half, please.”
The sales associate looked at Naomi Ellis, then at the shoes displayed behind glass.
For a moment, she said nothing.
The pair Naomi had pointed to sat beneath a narrow spotlight near the center of the boutique, a deep burgundy leather pump with a hand-finished heel and a tiny gold emblem embedded near the sole.
The price card read $1,850.
The associate’s eyes returned to Naomi.
“They’re part of our private collection.”
Naomi nodded.
“I know.”
“Appointments are usually required.”
“I understand.”
Naomi glanced around the nearly empty store.
There were two other customers.
One was sitting near the front while another employee wrapped a purchase.
The second was looking through handbags near the far wall.
No crowd.
No line.
No obvious reason an appointment should matter.
Naomi smiled politely.
“If you have an eight and a half, I’d still like to try them.”
The associate’s smile tightened.
“What kind of event are you shopping for?”
Naomi paused.
“A dinner.”
The woman looked down at Naomi’s shoes.
Simple black flats.
Then at her coat.
Dark wool.
No obvious designer logo.
No diamond bracelet.
No expensive handbag.
Naomi had spent the morning at a warehouse on the south side of Chicago reviewing a distribution expansion.
She had changed out of steel-toed shoes in the car but had not bothered changing anything else.
The associate glanced toward the register.
Then back.
“These begin at eighteen-fifty.”
Naomi’s expression did not change.
“Yes.”
“I saw the price.”
A younger sales associate arranging boxes nearby stopped moving.
The first woman continued.
“We have some very similar styles in our introductory collection.”
“I don’t want a similar style.”
Naomi pointed again.
“I want to try that shoe.”
The associate exhaled through her nose.
“I’m just trying to save you some time.”
Naomi studied her.
“From what?”
That question created the first crack in the conversation.
The associate blinked.
Then smiled again.
“The private collection has a different purchasing process.”
“What process?”
“We prioritize established clients.”
Naomi looked around once more.
The store occupied almost six thousand square feet on Michigan Avenue.
Cream limestone.
Soft carpeting.
Brass fixtures.
Custom glass displays.
Every detail had been designed to make the room feel expensive without appearing loud.
Naomi knew precisely how much the flooring cost.
She knew who manufactured the brass shelving.
She knew the company had spent nearly $4 million renovating the location eighteen months earlier.
She also knew there was no policy requiring an established-client profile before a walk-in customer could try a pair of shoes.
She knew that because Naomi Ellis owned the company.
Not the store.
Not the building.
The entire company.
And nobody standing in the boutique seemed to know who she was.
Naomi had not planned the situation.
She had not entered wearing inexpensive clothes to test employees.
She was not conducting an undercover inspection.
She was simply trying to buy shoes.
That distinction would become important later.
“Could you check the size?”
Naomi asked.
The associate looked increasingly irritated.
“Ma’am.”
“My name is Naomi.”
“Naomi.”
The woman lowered her voice as though offering confidential advice.
“Those shoes are difficult to maintain as floor inventory because clients can scuff them during fittings.”
Naomi nodded.
“That makes sense.”
“So we don’t bring them out unless there’s a reasonable likelihood of purchase.”
There it was.
Naomi remained silent.
The younger employee near the boxes looked over.
The first associate realized how the sentence sounded.
She added quickly:
“It isn’t personal.”
Naomi’s voice stayed calm.
“What determines reasonable likelihood?”
The associate’s shoulders tightened.
“Experience.”
“Meaning?”
“We’ve been doing this a long time.”
Naomi glanced at the name tag.
LAUREN PIKE
SENIOR STYLE ADVISER
“Lauren, I’m asking to purchase a product your store has for sale.”