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)
But what’s done is done, and there’s no way I regret doing it.
That ratty place is better off in her hands. She could sell nothing but dirty gardening books and it would still be a massive improvement.
“You can tell me what’s new. I won’t bite your head off,” I say, rolling my shoulders and strolling across the room to the couch for the harbor view past the window.
My unruly brain snaps back to the way she tasted on the beach.
Ever since then, I’ve been doing my damnedest to forget, but the kiss returns to haunt me every time I try to banish it from my head.
That memory’s a siren song I can’t silence, repeatedly assaulting my senses.
Hattie’s soft, full curves in my hands.
Hattie’s lips, sweet as wine, drugging me to the brink of madness.
I was so fucking hard when I ripped myself away from her and marched back to the house. Ten more seconds and I would’ve been grinding against her like an animal.
Even Ares is better behaved in the humping department, for fuck’s sake.
Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I exhale between my teeth so she doesn’t sense the gutter my mind is stuck in.
I’m lucky I have Cooper Daley’s bullshit to hide behind.
It’s nothing new.
My mind’s been spinning since she showed up earlier this evening, wearing a cute button-down and leggings.
A far cry from the elegant dress last time, but somehow just as appealing.
Hell, maybe more so because she’s in her element.
Learning Cooper Daley ambushed her at the bookstore made me furious enough to forget the sexual static between us for five seconds, but now that there’s nothing but the sound of Hattie chewing her lip, it’s all I can think about.
Fucking helpless man.
Losing my wits over a kiss.
It’s pathetic.
Too long since I last got laid, perhaps, and I have zero interest in hookups right now.
Hattie and I are engaged.
Boning some random girl would be mighty disrespectful and an invitation for Portland to curse me again for the same sin.
Also, no matter what kind of raging asshole she thinks I am, I’m not about to cheat on her. I don’t care if we’re not technically ‘together.’
I’m not disgracing myself and humiliating her and making this harder than it is.
Easier said than done when the only person my cock seems to be interested in is her.
She walks around and perches on the armchair beside the sofa, drawing her legs up under her and wrapping her arms around them.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Ethan,” she admits. “Bookstores are in decline across the whole industry. Fewer people are interested in showing up for print, so I’ll have to change something drastic.”
“So do it.”
“The question is how. Right now, we sell every genre, but I’m thinking we’re going to have to niche down. Really think about the market and what buyers we can appeal to. Who even visits bookstores anymore if it’s not for school? What are the demographics in Portland?”
“Market research,” I say idly. “An important aspect of any business.”
“Right. But I don’t have tons of data or endless time for research,” she says, like it’s my problem. “Either way, I’ll figure something out. I’m not throwing this opportunity away. It just feels like a lot right now.”
“You need inspiration.”
“Wow,” she deadpans, pushing up her glasses. “Helpful.”
“What do you want me to say, Pages? You’re a damn brainiac and you breathe books—why wouldn’t you have this down?” It’s my turn to throw her an incredulous look.
A wild dimple pops in one of her cheeks.
I stare at it too long.
“Easy for you to say,” she says. “You weren’t thrown into this headfirst without a day to prepare.”
“Close enough. I dove into the family business on a whim when it seemed like my last option. Without Gramps connecting me with a few people in the office, I would’ve been lost,” I say. “But I figured you’d find some way to blame me. No good deed ever goes unpunished.”
“It is your fault.” Her lips curl, teasing. “You’re the reason why I own a bookstore I don’t know what to do with.”
“Tough break, Pages.” I lean closer on my elbows, not looking away from her face. “What if I said you’ve got this? Because if anyone can turn around a musty-ass store that’s probably been failing for years, it’s the dork who’d dive into the harbor for a chance to meet some big-time author.”
She flushes.
I definitely should feel the victory surge at the sight.
Goddamn.
“But,” I say, leaning back, “only if you rename it something besides Sneed’s Books for starters. The name has to go.”
“And here I was thinking you loved it. So much history.”
“The name is only half of it. The vibe sucks, reminds me of a school library. You’ll be busy for sure with that awful place.”
“Why awful? Because it has books?” She tilts her head, silky hair pooling on one shoulder. “Did you forget how to read when you left Portland?”