Chapter Four
Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. Books lay scattered across the floor like casualties on a battlefield, leather spines cracked open, pages splayed at unnatural angles.
“I am so, so sorry,” Emery gasped, dropping to her knees and frantically gathering the fallen classics. “I don’t know what happened. Well, I mean I do, my bag knocked into them, but I didn’t mean…”
The look on the French woman’s face could have frozen the Thames in July. She’d hung up the phone and was now staring at Emery with an expression that suggested she was calculating the exact cost of the damage down to the penny.
“What have you done?” she said, voice dangerously soft.
Emery clutched a copy of Pride and Prejudice to her chest like a shield. “I’ll pay for anything that’s damaged, I swear.”
A gray-haired woman who’d just entered tutted sympathetically. “Don’t worry, dear. Accidents happen.”
But the French woman wasn’t listening to either of them.
She was already on the phone again, this time having what sounded like a heated argument with an irate customer.
Emery couldn’t follow all the French expletives, but she caught enough to know that someone named McKeefe was very unhappy about something that had nothing to do with her book avalanche.
Taking advantage of the temporary reprieve, Emery scrambled to collect more books, arranging them into neat stacks. The other customers, sensing the tension, had drifted to the far corners of the shop, leaving Emery alone with her shame and a stack of Jane Eyres.
When the woman finally ended her call, she looked even more stressed than before, a tiny muscle twitching in her jaw. She ran a hand through her dark hair, dislodging a few strands from her elegant knot.
“I apologize,” she said to the waiting customers. “We’re experiencing some… technical difficulties today.” Her gaze fell on Emery, who was still kneeling among the books. “More than one, apparently.”
Emery opened her mouth to apologize again, but was interrupted by an older gentleman with a cane who'd just shuffled in.
“Morning, Eveline,” he called cheerfully. “Redecorating, are we?”
“Abe,” Eveline sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Not now.”
“Who's this, then?” Abe asked, peering at Emery with cheerful blue eyes.
“Nobody,” Eveline said at the same time Emery said, “Just leaving.”
But as Emery tried to stand, she realized she'd been kneeling on the tail of her loose shirt. She toppled sideways, sending another stack of carefully arranged books tumbling across the floor.
“For the love of—” Eveline began, but cut herself off as the phone rang again. With a glare that could have incinerated paper, she stormed back to the counter.
“You've got yourself in a proper pickle,” Abe chuckled, leaning on his cane as he watched Emery scramble to re-collect the books.
“Story of my life,” Emery muttered, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. She could hear Eveline's voice rising in the background, something about a discount and unacceptable service.
“Sounds like McKeefe's on the warpath again,” Abe commented, lowering himself carefully onto a nearby chair. “Always complaining about something, that one.”
Emery nodded absently, trying to figure out how to escape this disaster without causing further damage. The signing was definitely a lost cause now. Domi was going to murder her. She'd probably already sent out a search party, complete with bloodhounds and Emery's dental records.
“Let me help,” said a young woman who'd been browsing the poetry section. She kneeled down beside Emery and began collecting books.
Emery smiled gratefully and between the two of them, they managed to pick everything up. Then a shadow appeared, looming over them. The young customer hurried away, Emery found herself alone with Eveline, who was pinching the bridge of her nose as if warding off a migraine.
“Look,” Emery began, standing carefully (after double-checking her shirt tails). “I am genuinely sorry about this. Let me help you clean up properly, at least.”
Eveline looked at her suspiciously. “Don't you have a signing to get to?”
Emery glanced at her watch and winced. There was no way she'd make it now. “I think that ship has sailed.”
For a moment, she thought Eveline might throw her out anyway. But then the French woman's shoulders sagged slightly. “Fine. Since you've managed to single-handedly destroy my bestselling display, you might as well help restore it.”
As Emery moved to rearrange the books according to Eveline's precise instructions, she couldn't help noticing how other customers were approaching the French woman with questions.
Despite her obvious stress, Eveline answered each one knowledgeably, recommending titles with a passion that surprised Emery.
“Have you read 'The Secret History'?” an elderly woman was asking. “My book club suggested it, but I'm not sure.”
“Ah,” Eveline's eyes lit up. “Donna Tartt. Yes, it's excellent. Dark academia at its finest. If you enjoy complex characters and moral ambiguity, you'll love it.”
“If you like likeable characters, you’ll hate it,” Emery put in. Eveline scowled at her.
The woman looked doubtful. “I usually prefer something lighter.”
“Then perhaps this instead,” Eveline suggested, leading her to another section and pulling out a different book. “Still beautifully written, but with more humor.”
Emery watched, impressed despite herself. This woman really knew her stuff. And when she talked about books, her whole demeanor changed, softening from ice queen to passionate advocate in seconds.
Eveline left to answer the phone that was ringing yet again as Emery hastily began piling books up.
But when a harried-looking mother stopped by and asked for recommendations for her teenage son “who hates reading,” Emery couldn’t help but suggest three titles that had the woman nodding enthusiastically.
“You're good at this,” Abe commented, still ensconced in his chair, watching the proceedings like they were better than television.
Emery shrugged. “I read a lot.”
“So does everyone who comes in here,” he replied. “Doesn't mean they can match a reader to a book like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
The books were finally arranged in something like order.
Emery looked down at her watch and pulled a face.
10.45. Domi would be on the warpath. She was about to sneak out when she heard a crash from the back room, followed by a string of French curses.
She hesitated for a second, then moved toward the sound.
She found Eveline in the stockroom, surrounded by toppled boxes.
“Putain de merde,” Eveline muttered, pushing her hair back from her face with a hand that trembled slightly.
“Are you okay?” Emery asked softly.
Eveline jumped, clearly not having heard her approach. For a brief moment, her guard dropped, and Emery saw something in her dark eyes. Exhaustion, frustration, maybe even a hint of defeat.
Then the mask slipped back into place. “Fine. Just another day in paradise.”
Emery surveyed the scene. “Bit of an accident?”
“Brilliant deduction,” Eveline said dryly.
Despite everything, Emery found herself smiling. “Let me help.”
“Haven't you done enough?”
Emery wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, so she shrugged. “Think of it as making amends,” she suggested, already moving toward the boxes. “Besides, I'm pretty good at cleaning up messes. I make enough of them.”
“I’ve noticed,” Eveline said.
Together they picked up the books and stacked them back in their boxes. Emery couldn’t help but smell Eveline’s perfume, rich and fruity.
“You know a lot about books,” Eveline said as they stacked.
“I like to read,” said Emery carefully.
“You seem to know about publishing too.”
Emery paused, uncertain of where this was going.
Eveline stopped stacking. “I heard you talking to Abe about the profit margins on hardbacks versus paperbacks while you were picking up books.”
Emery hadn’t been aware the Eveline was listening as she’d chattered away while working. She took a breath. “Um, I have friends in the industry,” she said weakly.
“Right.” Eveline went back to stacking, her long fingers carefully picking books up.
Emery gulped. “Um… you seem sort of stressed,” she said, getting back to work. Not the greatest line she’d ever come up with, but anything to get Eveline off the subject of publishing.
Eveline sighed, her lips pouting in a way that Emery thought she’d have to remember so that she could write about it. “It’s been a day. A few days, actually. Between plumbing issues and my assistant quitting to do study abroad… I’m understaffed and overworked, rather obviously.”
“Right,” Emery said, biting her lip. She was trying not to watch Eveline’s profile. She really was a very attractive woman. Which probably explained why Emery couldn’t go for more than a minute without knocking something over.
“That and I have an order of yet more romance novels coming in, which I’m trying to clear space for in here.”
She said ‘romance novels’ in the way that most other people might say ‘toxic waste.’ This should probably be seen as a red flag, but Emery decided that she was thoroughly going to ignore it.
Mostly because she’d just had an idea. A crazy idea.
But one that would let her spend just a tad more time around Eveline, something she thought she might quite like.
Eveline could be inspiration for her writing, she told herself, just what she needed to force her out of her writer’s block.
At least that was the excuse she gave the more logical part of her brain.
The part that was yelling at her to remember that actually she already had a job and more than enough to do and that she really, really shouldn’t put herself in the position of embarrassing herself yet further in front of someone who was, let’s face it, quite massively appealing.
“I don’t suppose you could use some help for the day, could you?” she found herself saying.
Eveline stopped what she was doing and turned to look at her. She narrowed her eyes, then obviously decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Maybe,” she said.
“Because I could stick around for the rest of the day,” Emery said, hurrying to clarify just in case Eveline wasn’t getting what she was suggesting. “You’ve said yourself that I know about books and I don’t mind. If it would help, that is?”
She leaned against a box, trying to look casual and suave, and succeeding only in knocking over yet another stack of books.
Eveline studied her for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “Just as long as you don’t break anything,” she said.