Chapter 2 The Chemical Equation
Chapter 2
the chemical equation
“Who said I wanted a kiss?” Summer snapped—and, man, was she ticked.
Wes’s gaze dropped from her bra to her stilettoes, admiring the complete package that was Summer Russo, and grinned. “Those peek-a-boo panties you have on.”
Her cheeks went red, but he didn’t think it was from embarrassment. Unlike a moment ago with Dr. Dildo, there wasn’t a trace of sweet or nice; she was all fire and brimstone.
She looked him square in the eyes. “Maybe I wore them for me.”
“Then, by all means, you do you.” He let his gaze lazily catalog her every inch. The way the pastel pink looked against her olive skin, the way the strap of those cheeky-cuts hugged her generous curves. If she weren’t such a pain in his ass, he’d take the time to appreciate that ass.
But after weeks of her being a burr in his side, for example starting a petition to close his bookstore down, he shrugged as if unimpressed.
He heard her mumble “Dick” under her breath. For some reason, that made him smile.
“I can’t now that you’ve invaded my personal space, not to mention broken into the shop.” She circled her finger. “Do you mind?”
He turned around. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“It’s PRI-vuh-see not PRIV-uh-see.”
“Since my country was essentially the birthplace for your language, it’s PRIV-uh-see.”
“ For my language? It’s the birthplace of my language.”
“Do you like to argue for argument’s sake?”
“Only with you.”
He could hear the rustling of fabric, the sound of a zipper echoing throughout the bookshop.
“Then I shall count myself lucky.” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “So I guess you won’t be seeing Dog Boy again.” He didn’t know why he cared, but on some sick level he did.
“He’s a doctor.”
“He doles out Playboy and little plastic cups all day.”
“He’s making babies.”
“There are better ways to make babies.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a weighted pause that seemed to grow and crackle.
“You can turn around now.”
He did and couldn’t hold back a smile. She was wearing a pair of distressed jeans and a TEAM CUPID shirt that fit her to a tee, placing the T and D in a losing battle with her breasts. Her hair was twisted into a messy knot on her head, secured by a pencil. Then there were those glasses that made her look like a coed clashed into a wet dream of a librarian. Couldn’t forget her attitude—always dialed to “nut-crusher” around him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and some of her earlier flames had been snuffed out. She looked tired and worn down, and his chest gave an annoying pinch.
“I came to tell you to move your car.”
“It’s a free country. I can park where I please.”
“As long as it’s not blocking the entrance to the parking lot. The construction guys are done for the day and can’t pull out.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“I’m paying them for every minute they sit there.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t park in my parking lot. There are signs specifically stating that the spaces are for customers only.”
“The signs are hand-painted on foamboard.”
She ignored this. “Why are you in my shop?”
“The door was unlocked, and I didn’t want anyone breaking in.”
“Said the B&E asshole. My door was definitely not unlocked. The sign was definitely flipped to CLOSED . I should call the cops and report you for breaking and entering.”
He watched her slide a covert glance at the door, and when she looked back his smile conveyed all she needed to know. He’d caught her.
“Made myself an espresso, hope you don’t mind.” He jerked his chin toward a cup of steaming coffee sitting on the end table next to him. He picked it up, burying his nose in the rising steam, and gave a sigh.
“I mind.” Summer marched over and snatched it out of his hands, then polished it off in a single gulp. Her eyes watered from sucking down such hot liquid, but she put on a brave face. “This has been fun. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
“That’s your best comeback? A clich é ? I’m disappointed, love.”
“I added the ass part, making it a twist on a well-loved cliché, crumpet .” She walked over and opened the door and stood like one of the yellow Sphinxes from The Neverending Story , ready to shoot lasers at him. This was not going as planned.
“I’m sorry that I invited myself in.” It wasn’t the first time he’d had to invite himself in. In fact, he’d had an entire life of being on the outside waiting for someone to open the door. After a while, he’d gotten tired of waiting and instead became assertive. Blunt, concise, to the point—that was how he now lived his life.
Summer blinked as if genuinely shocked at his apology. Almost as shocked as he was. Apology stemmed from regret, and Wes was too strategic about his every move to form regret. But if his project were to come in on time, he needed to call a truce. It was imperative that the Ridgefield BookLand location opened without a hitch.
Now who was using clichés?
“I’m not sorry to show you out,” she said.
He let out a long, tired breath. Anger was exhausting and he was angry. At his dad for dying and leaving him a business he’d never asked for nor wanted. At his half-brother, Randy, for being inept at running a billion-dollar enterprise. And at himself for agreeing to the terms of his father’s will. He should have walked the moment the lawyer had explained that Wes and Randy only had a year to grow the company, or it was forfeited to the board. Just like Wes had been forfeited the moment his father had found out that his mistress, Wes’s mother, was pregnant with his bastard son.
Wes felt as if his life had been full of being forfeited. Which was why he always led with his head instead of his heart. If he even had a heart anymore.
“I have a proposition that I think will solve both our problems.”
“If you say it’s in your pants, I don’t feel like being underwhelmed tonight. So that’s a hard pass.”
God, she was prickly.
“If you let my guys park in your lot, I’ll rent the space until construction is complete.”
She paused, and he could hear her mental calculator clicking away, see the dollar signs in her eyes. Not that he was surprised. In his experience, money was like catnip and women were tigers ready to pounce. Summer though, she was more of a bobcat. Short in stature, but vicious if provoked. And he loved provoking her.
“What about after?” she said. “When your customers use my lot, making it impossible for my customers to park?”
She wanted to play hardball—fine. He knew that everyone had their number. “A thousand dollars a day for each spot taken.”
She didn’t even balk. “No deal.”
“You don’t mind if customers from Drip and Sip or Critter Couture park there.”
“Drip and Sip and Critter Couture are allies. You, Mr. British Bully, are not.”
“Are you saying we’re at war?” he asked.
She placed her hands on his chest to push him out the door, but that didn’t stop the warm sensation from moving through his body like he’d been struck by a live wire. Then she shoved him hard and there he went—stumbling over the threshold and into the cool evening air.
“May the best bookshop win!” she said, then slammed the door in his face, the jingling bells mocking as she flipped the signed to CLOSED —but not before flipping him the bloody bird.