Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“Ethan, no!” I say it as forcefully as I can. “No flipping way. You can’t just go around ordering people to—”
“Sir, if you’ll show me some proof to back up your offer, this place is yours today,” Mr. Sneed tells Ethan, not seeming to notice the steaming pile of betrayal he’s just handed me.
This. Is. Insanity.
“Mr. Sneed, no, you can’t!” I insist.
“He can, and I have the cash,” Ethan says to Mr. Sneed. He watches me drag my jaw on the floor. “We’ll talk later, after you’ve closed up. Do whatever the fuck you need to get done before I transfer the place and hand you the keys. Ideally by tomorrow.”
“Wait!” I reach out and grab his arm, trying to force him to stay and talk him down.
But if he notices, he gives no sign.
He just brushes my hands off him and turns around with a soul-shredding smirk.
Two seconds later, the bell dings and he’s gone.
The second I’m home and have some food in me—just so I can tick hangry off my list of reasons for feeling this annoyed—I pull out my phone and start texting Ethan.
Hattie: We had a deal, you psycho.
Hattie: Six months and not a second more!
Hattie: Half a million dollars and not a cent more.
Hattie: You’re NOT buying my bookstore!!!
It’s tempting to lose my shit.
Just yell at him for several wall-of-text paragraphs about how much of a colossal nightmare he’s being, but I rein it in.
Margot wouldn’t be proud of me. But if she saw what he just did…
Actually, I don’t know if it would bother her that much.
Why would it?
She was born with all the privilege a person could ever want. For her—for them—buying a small-time bookstore probably isn’t a big deal.
It doesn’t put a pinprick dent in a billionaire’s bank account. He probably had enough cash on hand to buy it outright when he walked in today.
Not that anyone uses cash-cash anymore.
Jerk.
The power imbalance is off the scales, so gaping it leaves me queasy.
I do not need some rich guy storming in and taking over my life by throwing around dollar signs.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it up.
Ethan: Too late. I’ve drawn up the transfer docs with Sneed.
Ethan: Congratulations. Figure out a better name than Sneed’s Pages. Fuck that.
My phone shakes in my hand as I stare at the screen.
Oh, it’s so tempting to hurl it at the wall.
I just wish I could shrink him down and lock him up inside it first.
“Asshole!” I yell.
Right on cue, my screen lights up.
ETHAN in bold letters.
He can’t be calling me.
“Begone Satan,” I snarl as I answer. “You’re about to apologize. Tell me.”
“For what?”
“…for buying me an effing bookstore, Ethan.” I shoot up and start pacing, running a hand through my hair and freeing it from its hair tie so it falls down my shoulders. The tension headache squeezing my skull eases a little now that I get to yell at him. “And for acting like it’s no big deal.”
“Pages, I don’t get why you’re so bent out of shape,” he says sharply. I don’t think this man ever learned tact. “You love books. I need you to meet my folks. How is this not the easiest solution?”
“Not like this.”
That’s the worst part of this whole thing.
In isolation, he’s handing me a crazy fairy tale come true. I always wanted to own a bookstore and try my luck at calling the shots.
Maybe I could even find a niche that’s less susceptible to ebooks and AI slop slaughtering good, honest, life-giving words.
But not like this.
This… this is a travesty.
If it’s in the cards, if I’m meant to be the queen of books, I want to earn it honestly.
And with declining print sales and no startup money in the tank, it was a pipe dream.
Until now.
But this just makes me feel unworthy.
I don’t know if I really want to take over Sneed’s Pages and save it from drowning.
It’s a nightmare dished out on a silver platter, dressed up like a fever dream.
“What’s wrong?” he growls into the silence. “Can’t you see I’m removing an obstacle and giving you what you want? Have some common sense.”
The obstacle isn’t gone, though.
It’s just my responsibility, if I’m the owner.
Someone will still have to run the place unless I shut down for a while, which will eat into skeletal profits. Not to mention the jobs of the few other part-timers on payroll.
If I own it, I’m also responsible for the upkeep, the taxes, the insurance.
Holy crap!
I don’t have a clue how that adds up.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a slow, ragged breath.
Calm, calm.
Serenity now.
Mom always stressed the importance of finding your happy place and never losing your temper, never letting anger take over. Good advice from her New Agey health classes, I guess.
If only it was remotely possible to follow through.
No one—not another living soul—has ever made me want to lose my temper like Ethan does now.