Chapter 1 #2
“Drink. Take a breath. Remember you’re a bad bitch and that James Pierpont is a smug, tiny man.
You have your whole life ahead of you. You have friends and tons of people who love you.
He’s going to retire soon and have no one to spend time with in his family’s dark, empty mansion for the rest of his life. ”
I arch an eyebrow at my friend. “Retire? He’s 42, Verity. He has decades to think of ways to sabotage me.”
Damn. I only casually hated that guy until today.
His smug attitude was fun to make fun of.
And I like the way his tailored clothes fit him.
Every morning at work, I enjoy secretly guessing whether he’s going to greet me with a scowl, a sneer, or a peer down his nose.
I keep a tally on a notepad in my desk about it for my personal amusement. So far, the scowl is in the lead.
I open my desk, rip off the page with the tallies, crunch it up, and toss it in the trash.
Turns out James is an even bigger jerk than I thought, all behind the armor of a keyboard.
Figures.
“Man on the internet negates everything nice. Full story at 11.”
“Forget that guy,” Verity says. “We can both hate him for real now.”
“I’m not ready to be in the forgetting mode. I’m still in vengeance mode,” I say.
“Oooh. Say more.”
I only grunt, taking a drink of coffee and letting the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg flavors warm me. Verity is right. I am a bad bitch. I can’t let that man get under my skin and make me feel defeated.
Who is James Pierpont, anyway? Big fish in a little pond, that’s who. A man who thinks he can torch my dreams with one simple email because he has that much influence.
Well, anybody can be a keyboard warrior.
Not me. I do battle in person.
An idea begins forming in my head. Thank you, coffee.
“Is that smile a good thing or a bad thing?” Verity says, leaning back against my desk.
“That depends on your definition of bad,” I say.
“Oh shit. I really should have kept that email a secret,” she says.
I look up at her concerned face. “On the contrary. I’m grateful you showed it to me.”
“What are you going to do?”
I blink and smile at her as the idea fully forms in my head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Verity’s eyes widen. “You’re going full petty, aren’t you?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
She pushes herself off the edge of my desk when I stand up. “You know I’ll do crimes with you, just let me know if I need to call my lawyer.”
“Nothing illegal is in the works. Don’t worry,” I say, heading to the elevator. “I just had a great idea for story hour.”
Upstairs, the brooding man at the reference desk blinks at me from behind his wire-rimmed glasses as I flounce by, coffee in hand.
“May I help you?”
I toss an “I’m good. Don’t get up on my account.”
When Verity and I are hidden in the stacks, I have to pause for a moment to gather myself with one hand on a shelf for balance. My head is swimming at the look he just gave me.
Seeing James up close is a whole other thing. Damn those perfectly full lips, the shiny salt and pepper hair, the scruff, and dark eyebrows. Someone so mean doesn’t deserve to be so strikingly handsome.
I remind myself of my mother’s adage, “as within, so without.” Meaning that James’s black heart will make him ugly and totally unappealing one day. One day soon, I hope.
After I gather my breath and my resolve, I carry on.
“What are we looking for?” Verity hisses.
“The 1930s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, the really old one with the cool illustrations.”
Verity whispers, “That’s, like, a rarity, Tabby.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to rip it up? Use it for toilet paper? Because I gotta say, that’s quite a way to go viral when losing your job, and frankly, I’m here for it.”
I snort-laugh. “No!”
In the corner of my eye, James is pacing back and forth—not wanting to crowd us, but also such a control freak that he needs to know what we’re doing in his department.
Finally, I see it.
I snatch the book off the shelf and flounce out as breezily as I flounced in, this time with my full emotional armor on. I am immune to his hotness because he’s ugly inside.
James sees what’s in my hand and is horrified.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, pausing briefly, trying not to make eye contact.
He glances between me and the book I cradle in my arm.
“Ms. Francis, what you have in your hand is a special edition…” He goes on to list the book’s provenance, as if I don’t already know it.
“Yeah,” I say. “And?”
I take a sip of the latte I carry in my other hand. All the remaining color drains from James’s face.
His throat bobs, and then he reaches for the book. “Please, Ms. Francis. Allow me to put it back for you.”
“I’m borrowing it for children’s story hour,” I say. “I’ll put it back when I’m finished.”
James splutters, at a loss for what to say next. God, it feels good to wipe that smug look off his face. He looks genuinely terrified I’m going to spill coffee on his precious book. Who knew I had such power?
“I promise I’ll behave,” I say, giving him a wink, then spin on my heels and make my way toward the employee elevator and hit the “down” button.
With a shocking amount of stealth, he follows Verity and me onto the elevator, and I’m startled when I turn around and see him standing there.
“Whoa!” I say, laughing. “Remind me to put a collar with a bell on you.”
“Ms. Francis. There are procedures and protocols for borrowing reference books.”
Ugh. Why does he insist on using my last name? Why so formal? I hate him. “I know, but it takes a lot of red tape. Whoever came up with the system needs their head examined.”
“Oh god,” Verity murmurs under her breath, knowing what I’ve just unleashed.
The elevator descends as I smile up at the tall man in the sweater vest. I don’t know which makes my stomach drop—the elevator’s descent or the gray, hawklike stare of my enemy.
I remind myself that he’s the one with the problem.
He went out of his way to disparage the children’s annex.
I personally had no substantive beef with him until today.
I actually like the reference department.
It smells like old leather-bound books, lemon Pledge, and whatever spice is in that tea that James drinks all day.
His eyes narrow as he repeats what I’ve said. “Whoever came up…Ms. Francis, I came up with that system when the public library system hired me ten years ago,” he says quietly, though the vein in his forehead seems like it’s starting to stick out.
He goes on, “I’ve been working here longer than you’ve been in the work force at all, so if you don’t mind—”
James exhibits extraordinary restraint when he’s offended. Watching him work to maintain a kind of zen while barely tolerating me is fascinating.
The elevator stops at the second floor. Verity steps off. “I’ve got to tidy up some loose ends. Meet you at 4. Enjoy story hour, kids!” Verity blows us a kiss, and she’s gone.
The vibes that James puts out are especially unsettling while we’re alone in the elevator, no matter if it’s just a one-story descent.
“Well, the system needs some work,” I say, unwilling to backtrack my statement.
“Regardless of what you think of my system, I can’t let you leave the department with that book,” he insists.
The bell dings as we’ve reached the first floor. “Looks like you just did.”
“Ms. Francis…”
“Call me Tabby,” I say, smiling, then turning to step out of the elevator.
He follows close behind.
“You’re not going to let children put their hands on that book, Tabitha,” he says, right on my heels as I stroll over to my desk in the tight-but-cozy children’s section. Hm. How presumptuous of him to assume Tabby is short for Tabitha. Which it is. But still. I hate him.
“Now, James, what’s the point of having a historically significant item in our library if I can’t let children touch it?” I flutter my lashes for good measure.
“Oh my dear god.”
“Listen,” I say, setting the book down on the trolley with the picture books. “If you want to supervise me, you can, and I’ll let you take that book straight back to where I got it from when I’m done.”
“I’d like to take it back right now,” he says.
“But children are starting to arrive,” I say. “Look at how cute they are. You wouldn’t want them to miss out on such a rare opportunity, would you?”
He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “It’s not the taking of the book I object to. It’s just that protocols…”
Wow, he is seriously discombobulated. I’ve never seen him make that face. But now he looks like I’ve turned his world upside down by taking one little book out of its proper place.
“…and systems. I get it. You can spank me later for being naughty.”
He blinks. “Why would I thank you for this?” he says, misunderstanding.
“That’s not what I said. I said you could spank me later.”
As I say this, I tremble inside while maintaining a cool and flirty tone on the outside. I have no idea what possessed me to say “spank me.” I must have a screw loose.
James wipes a tiny speck of moisture off his top lip. To my delight and relief, he doesn’t say another word as I begin story hour.
He remains in my peripheral vision like a specter as I read from a picture book about Hansel and Gretel. The children, meanwhile, eyeball James like he’s an uninvited weirdo. Eventually, I ask the children, “Who of you has heard of the Brothers Grimm?”
One or two raise their hands.
I say, “Well, I have a big surprise for you all.”
I reach for the book, but James is too fast for me.
He snatches it off the trolley and adjusts his tie, that smug look returning. The color has come back to his cheeks, too.
He’s suddenly radiating confidence, and I let him have it.
I watch, astonished, as James steps forward and shows the book to the crowd of children. Happy to take a break, I lean back and listen.
The man is extremely well educated, no surprise. I even learn a few things. What is surprising is how engaging James is with the children, provoking them to laugh not once but three times.
None of this changes the fact that he’s still a stick-in-the-mud who wrecked my presentation with his email, heading me off at the pass.
Some time later, Verity peeks into the children’s annex at the sound of children’s laughter. She looks from me to James and back to me.
“What’s happening?” she mouths, looking confused.
I give a subtle shrug, my eye wide.
I can tell from her expression that she’s just as shocked as I am.
After story hour is finished, James grips the ancient book to his chest, gives me a curt nod, then spins on his heels in the direction of the elevators.
I grab my things and prepare to head out to the fall festival with Verity. “Miracles never cease,” she says.
“Right?” I say. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”
I chuck my empty cup into the trash in the lobby, then tie on my scarf.
Verity squints at my lack of fashion sense and takes it upon herself to redo my scarf.
“Imagine him saying my department was overrated and overblown and then doing that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “How dare he be good with children?” I almost feel bad about fucking with him.
Verity smirks. “He also said a modernized children’s annex was trendy.”
My petty attitude has returned full force, and I’m remembering why I wanted to mess with him in the first place.
“What a stuffed shirt. What an absolutely high-minded jackass. How does a person trash me one day, then march into my department and perform like that? He just had to show off doing my job.”
Verity watches me, wide-eyed, giving a slight nod in agreement. Her energy seems to have shifted.
I know I’m taking it too far, but I’m worked up now.
“He’s all bark and no bite,” I say. “Anybody can say anything they want in an email, but in person, he’s just a fuddy-duddy.”
“The children looked like they were enjoying him,” she says.
“Don’t you get on his side now,” I say.
“I’m not,” Verity says, giving me big eyes. “I’m just saying that people can hear you.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I think everyone ought to know what he’s like. He’s probably one of those anonymous people on the internet who downvotes everyone out of spite, but he’s never had to scrap with anyone in real life.”
Verity just stares at me.
“What?”
“Um…”
My stomach plummets like it did in the elevator. I have a feeling more than just Verity has been listening to my rant about James Pierpont.
“He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”