Vanessa followed her gaze. For a moment, she said nothing. Then her eyes moved slowly over Amara’s blouse, trousers, and plain shoes.
A faint smile appeared on her face.
“That particular piece is one of our most exclusive designs,” Vanessa explained, her voice smooth but condescending. “It’s not really for everyone.”
Amara looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
Vanessa gave a small, rehearsed laugh, as though Amara had misunderstood something obvious.
“It simply means that some of our customers prefer a different style. Perhaps something a little more accessible, or something that better suits your needs.”
“My needs?” Amara repeated.
“Of course.” Vanessa folded her hands in front of her. “We have a lovely selection in another section. I’d be happy to show you something more appropriate.”
Amara turned her head fully toward the saleswoman.
Her expression changed—not into anger, but into a stillness that made Vanessa’s smile falter.
“No.”
The single word landed between them.
Vanessa blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no.” Amara held her gaze. “I didn’t ask you to choose a different bag for me. I asked to see that one.”
Vanessa straightened her shoulders, visibly uncomfortable with being challenged.
“I’m only trying to provide the best possible service.”
“Then provide it.”
For the first time, Vanessa had no immediate response.
Amara pointed toward the display again.
“I want to see that exact handbag.”
Her voice remained controlled, but there was unmistakable authority in every word. She wasn't asking for permission to be treated with respect. She was making it clear that respect was the minimum standard she expected.
Vanessa glanced at the bag, then back at Amara.
“Before we proceed,” she said, forcing a smile, “I should mention that this design is priced considerably higher than some of our other pieces.”
Amara's eyes narrowed slightly.
“And?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“It may not be what you're looking for once you see the price.”
Amara stepped closer to the counter.
“That's an interesting assumption.”