Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ella
“How has no one read I Remember You by Cathleen Davitt Bell? Easily one of the best and most ROMANTIC YA books I’ve ever read! A time warp with a softie, simp hero? Sign me up!”
—Ameerah’s Staff Pick
Everyone who has lived in New York knew this city was special, but New Yorkers knew it best. It was easy for someone to romanticize the city when they first moved there.
To take in the excitement of turning onto a new corner and being completely blindsided by what they saw in the best way.
And some even thought the subway was charming—all kinds of people stuffed in a train, living their own lives all together.
But soon enough that romanticization would wear off.
They’d want to return to driving to the grocery store instead of wading through slushy piles of snow in January.
Or one crazy person on the train would leave their heart pounding for an hour after their stop and they’d look up how hard it’d be to break their lease.
I, however, had never wanted to leave New York. I’d seen all the different hues of the city, dark and bright, and loved them no matter what.
When I moved to Hell’s Kitchen, though, I was worried that the color would dim.
And I mean, the name Hell’s Kitchen didn’t come from nowhere, but even in my little studio, with my bed pressed against the wall by my window and a small futon in the middle of the room, I considered New York my own kind of paradise.
My life was loud. My house, my work, and even right outside my window. I had worried I’d get lonely all by myself in a small apartment. But I learned to value the little quiet and alone time I could get.
Like Leo, I liked to take Sundays off. Technically, I was supposed to have Monday off, too, but I couldn’t leave the store unsupervised for that long. Especially since we had Napoleon throwing a fit every day.
I’d spent the day running some errands and catching up on the important things in life (I was switching off between Latitudes of Longing by Shubhangi Swarup and Vanderpump Rules).
When you’re working on your feet for most of the day, rotting on your couch was a necessity.
I should’ve been focusing a little harder on my book, but my curiosity had gotten the best of me.
I was stalking Henry Martin.
His LinkedIn picture was staring back at me.
His smile was shy, almost small. Whenever he was in the store, I tried not to ogle him.
But now I got to study him. He had a strong jaw, and in this picture he was clean shaven.
His nose was narrow, a little turned up at the end.
I never got to see him smile in the store, but now I wished I could.
He had a little gap in his front teeth that was completely endearing.
Okay, let me rephrase: I had been stalking him obsessively. I knew a scary amount about him right now.
It had started with just his LinkedIn. But his town in Tennessee—Knoxville—had plenty of articles about him as a footballer.
He played not only at his high school, but his college, too—the University of Tennessee, where he studied business and economics.
(There might’ve been a few videos that I watched of his games.
Then zoomed in and watched again.) He lived on a farm when he was growing up that had award-winning cattle.
(The Knoxville News Sentinel wrote an article about it).
In college, he graduated summa cum laude.
He was a member of the animal welfare club and 4-H.
And the board games club, interestingly enough.
But no matter how hard I searched Instagram or Twitter, I couldn’t find any social media for him. Or any relation of him to The Last Page.
Although I sufficiently felt like a creep, it did prove to be valuable, because from his LinkedIn I learned he’d been working at a business consulting firm for the last few years.
I half expected it to represent Annie’s Bakery or some small business in his hometown.
But the website listed big companies like Party City and Red Lobster. Granted, they’d both gone bankrupt.
Under his own little tab on the website, there were the companies he’d worked with: Poppi and Duracell to name a few, both of which were thriving.
I’m sure he wouldn’t list his failures, but scrolling through his tab, there were so many successes.
Major national chains that had survived because of his professional input.
January marked the last month Henry worked at his firm. Afterward, there was nothing else. No mention of The Last Page or anything.
But it wasn’t like we needed Henry or his help. Henry’s job was to save businesses, so it seemed, but we didn’t need that. We were a New York staple, in the same league as Katz’s Deli.
My investigation (better word than stalking, right?) was interrupted by my phone buzzing beside me on my bed. When I saw it was Julie, I frowned before quickly answering. She was closing the store tonight but shouldn’t be done with her closing duties for at least another half hour.
“Hey, everything okay?” I asked.
“To be clear, I was forced to call you. Under duress.”
“What’re you talking about? That’s not our code word if you’ve been kidnapped.” I began whispering, “Is this a hostage situation?”
“She can’t be kidnapped, she’s an adult,” Jack called out in the background.
“They all threatened to spam your phone, so I just went ahead and called.”
“Why am I the only one that doesn’t have your cell number?” Joey pushed. “I thought we were friends.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because you would’ve spammed me with ‘911’ texts an hour ago, Joey.”
“For good reason!”
I pushed my laptop off my chest and sat up.
“Today’s my day off—this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
“Absolutely not!” Mabel cried. “I could be dead tonight and this wouldn’t be resolved!”
“Mabel, you go to a kickboxing class three times a week, you’re not going to die anytime soon,” Ameerah said reassuringly.
“That’s because I’d kick the grim reaper’s ass.” Mabel scoffed.
“Okay, okay. Can we get on track please? What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“We’re quitting,” Jack said.
“And I want my severance!” Mabel said.
“Can we keep our name tags? I’d like a memento before we go,” Daniel said quietly.
“And our bookseller discount? Don’t veterans get to keep it?” Stewart asked.
“It’s an actual veterans’ discount. It’s not for old booksellers,” Rich replied.
“Oh. Well, I’m sure she can make an exception.”
“No one’s quitting,” I said with a sigh. “What could’ve possibly happened that would make you all want to quit?”
“It’s not great,” Julie muttered.
“You know how tomorrow is Ren’s birthday?” Ameerah said.
“Yeah, I’m getting the cupcakes before I come in.”
Joey cried out. “No! You’re not.”
I frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
“At closing, Henry gathered all of us and gave us more bullet points from his manifesto.”
“A little harsh, guys,” I said.
“It’s true!” Joey interjected. “We’ve been really amenable to all the changes—”
“Have you?”
“But this was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Mabel said matter-of-factly. “We simply refuse to participate in a dictatorship any longer.”
“Can someone tell me what he did?”
“He took away the Magnolia Bakery cupcakes,” Ameerah said, her voice soft and sad.
“And the stools at the info desk.”
“And he said there’d be no holiday bonus.”
“People, people, people,” Joey said, exasperated. “It’s all about the cupcakes. The other stuff is touch and go, but no Magnolia Bakery cupcakes? Nowhere else in the city has that frosting, that lightweight cake!”
“It’s obscene,” Jack spat.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do on birthdays?” Mabel asked. “Go to Wegmans like plebeians?”
Don’t ever let anyone tell you readers are shy.
“Let’s backtrack. Why would he take away the holiday bonus? It’s April.”
“Because he’s a sadist.”
“The cupcakes, people!” Joey shouted. “We can’t lose sight of what’s important here. This is exactly what Big Bakery wants you to do!”
“Big Bakery may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stewart muttered.
“Stewart is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard,” Joey replied.
“Alright now, let’s not get ugly,” I interjected.
“Too late for Joey,” Stewart said.
“Hey!”
“Enough, enough.” I furrowed my brow.
Obviously, I hated the changes as much as anyone else. But in my mind it was all temporary, Henry figuring out his way in the store and making changes to swing around his dick. There must’ve been something else going on, though, if he was making such long-term changes, like cutting bonuses.
I’d been willing to overlook plenty, but the time to scare Henry out was over. I had to fix this for the booksellers.
“I’ll take care of this. Don’t make any rash decisions. First thing tomorrow, I’ll talk to Henry and sort everything out.”
“You’re a godsend,” Joey said.
“No,” Daniel said. “She’s a Leo-send.”