Chapter 8
Aiden
I can’t get a read on her. Sylvie reminds me of a hummingbird. Always moving, always looking for the next thing to do, full of energy and life.
She looked distinctly nervous when I asked her if she had a boyfriend, and really, it was stupid of me to ask—it’s none of my business. But if she does expect to have help setting up her business, then I can easily step aside and let it happen and not worry about her.
I mean, it’s not necessarily worry for her so much as myself and the whole downtown of shops here, right?
If her bookstore does well, then we all do well. This area, running a small business here, is truly not a competitive sport.
“A rising tide lifts all boats, right?” I add when it seems like she’s avoiding me with noodles. Not that avoidance via carb loading is something I disapprove of.
“I mean it,” I tell her, as she continues to silently chew, a muscle ticking in her jaw. “If you do well, you bring in more business downtown. It helps all of us.”
Still, no response, though she does seem to give a slight nod of understanding. Her eyes are downcast, focused on her noodles, and I can’t blame her there.
“Here’s what we’ll do tonight,” I tell her, rushing forward with a plan of action. “If you think To Be Read is a good name, we can file your business paperwork—”
“I already have the IRS stuff, the EIN and the LLC info sorted out with the finance guy and the lawyer. I just have to tell them the name I pick for the… what’s it called…” She frowns. “BDSM?”
I wheeze, thinking she’s fucking around, but her eyes are wide and guileless. “Not BDSM.”
“Oh,” she bites her lip, sunset color rising in her freckled cheeks. “Yeah, that’s not the one I meant. Ha.” She snaps her fingers a moment later. “DBA. Doing Business As, right?”
“Yep. Not BDSM unless you wanted to have a very different business model than the one we were talking about.”
Our gazes meet, and something heats between us. I don’t want her to look away. I want to do something about this feeling that keeps building every time she smiles at me.
Which is reckless and stupid and another sign that I need to get laid.
Immediately, and not by this woman who couldn’t be less my type if she were actively trying.
It’s just too bad that the pool of candidates here in New Hopewell isn’t quite big enough, not even with the autumn tourist season only a couple weeks away.
I don’t want to shit where I eat. Or something.
Well, that thought was enough to kill the mood. I make myself laugh.
“That definitely isn’t the kind of business model I want.
” Her voice is prim and proper. “Not that I have anything against it. I was planning on stocking a lot of romance novels, like I said. I think it’s a wonderful way for people to explore what they want in relationships and bed, as well as what they don’t want. ”
There’s a note of academic, librarian-adjacent scientist in her voice, and it makes me wonder how much sexual experience she has had and not just read about. It makes me want to hear her tell me about what, exactly, she’s read in these books, and what, exactly, she’s wanting to explore.
Call it a librarian fantasy or whatever, but my blood heats at the idea of her letting down her hair and showing me everything she’s fantasized about.
I shift, relieved as fuck that we’re sitting down and she won’t be able to tell I have a massive hard-on just from hearing her talk about romance books.
I need to get my shit together, and fast.
“Website,” I say, and she glances up at the brusque word.
“Huh? BDSM website?”
If I knew her any better, I’d think she was downright fucking with me, but she bats those long dark brown eyelashes and bites her bottom lip.
“I’m confused,” she says apologetically. “There’s just so much to do, and so many acronyms.”
“Not BDSM.” God, now I’m thinking about showing her what that means.
Holding her hair up in a knot in my hand, calling her a good girl and seeing her reaction.
“DNS. Your domain. If you want that name, I can get your domain bought and start building the bones of your website. You’ll want a mailing list, so you’ll need a newsletter service and shipping that integrate.
There are a few different platforms that could work, but I like the one The Salt Circle uses and I think it’s a good one to start with until you need something different. ”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she says, shaking her head fervently. “That’s like, way too much work to ask anyone that I’m not paying.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in your money.” I put my hands up in the air again, and she narrows her eyes at me, a shrewdness I haven’t seen yet on her face.
Unveiling each of these little expressions, these tiny bits of her personality, is endlessly entertaining. I want to take my time, learn them all, like they’re some handbook to understanding her.
“My body, then?” She looks as surprised as I am by the random question, and I blink at her for a few moments, trying and failing to regain my equilibrium.
I’m tempted to tell her yes, her body, that’s what I want—and maybe a part of that is true. But how many bodies have I had? Too many, and though I’m curious about her, though I definitely want her—that’s not what this is about.
“Sadly,” I drawl, “I am more interested in a business partnership than anything. I think that with the rise of Booktok and all the other book spaces right now—” I pulled that reference out of my ass and thank my lucky stars that Em is constantly on social media and keeping Jack, and me by extension, in the loop.
I clear my throat, getting back on track, all while she squirms in her seat.
“I think that a Salt Circle and To Be Read Bookstore team-up this fall could really help us draw a new audience.” I pause, letting my brain soak on the idea, which really is a pretty good one, if I do say so myself. “We could call it the Circle Back Book Club.”
“That is a horrible name.”
I lean forward, pressing my forearms against the table. Something creaks under the floorboards and I hastily sit back as she appears to stifle a laugh. “But you do like To Be Read Bookstore.”
She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, her lower lip slightly poofed out as she mulls it over. “You know, I am afraid of stroking what appears to be a humongous ego, Aiden, but I actually really do like that name.”
“Oh, it’s not my ego I want you to stroke,” I tell her.
She pins her gaze on me, one eyebrow arched, either out of annoyance or daring me to keep going, I don’t know.
I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell having fun.
“It’s my bank account, Sylvie. Now.” I rub my hands together. “Let’s get a laptop and get this website shit sorted out.”
“I’m not stroking anything, but hey, if you want to set up my website, I’m not going to stop you. I have about eleventy-million things to do.”
“You just start getting settled in, and let me work my magic.” I lean back further, interlacing my fingers and stretching my arms in front of me. The leg of the chair wobbles, and I balance back upright.
“Is falling out of your chair part of the magic?” she asks drily.
“Only if you land on top of me,” I tell her.
This time, there’s no denying the red that rises up her throat, and I feel slightly guilty for flirting with her.
But mostly, I love all of her little responses to me.
Especially the ones that are out of her control.
This might be trouble, flirting with Sylvie might be trouble—but hell, I haven’t had this much fun in months.
Besides, she gets a new website out of it and I get a new business market. Bookstatokagram or whatever they’re calling it.
I might not be a big reader, but I can certainly appreciate untapped potential.
Sylvie stands up, stretching long in front of me, her eyes closed as she elegantly rolls a shoulder, her slight curves moving in all sorts of enticing ways.
Oh, I can appreciate untapped potential, alright.