The Indie – Summer
THE INDIE
SUMMER
Two Nights Later
“Bryan, can you bring two copies of The Nightingale to row sixty, please?” I spoke into my walkie-talkie.
“Roger that!” My coworker spoke back. “Coming over in a few.”
I glanced at my order sheet and looked at the prices of the books. For some reason, they were far cheaper for stores to buy here, and it made me want to consider switching from the company I was using.
But that would mean putting money in Adrian Sinclair’s pocket…
“Here you go.” Bryan handed me the books. “I’m going to nap for like an hour.”
“Wait a minute.” I glanced at the covers. “This is To Kill a Mockingbird, Bryan. I said The Nightingale.”
“What does it matter?” He shrugged. “They’re both about birds, right?”
Oh my god! “They’re two completely different books by completely different authors.”
He stared at me blankly.
“How would you feel if you sat down expecting a sweeping historical novel about love and war and wound up in the middle of a Southern gothic?”
“I wouldn’t be in that scenario at all.” He laughed. “I don’t read.”
Obviously. “Well, how do you think the customer would feel if they got the wrong book because of your mistake?”
“Not too bad, since we guarantee replacements within twenty-four hours in that scenario.”
I held back a sigh. “Go take your nap.”
“Thanks.” He disappeared, and I walked off in search of the right book.
When I was right in the middle of Kristin Hannah’s backlist, footsteps sounded behind me.
“So, you lied to me on the night we met.” Adrian Sinclair’s deep voice made me freeze. “That’s deeply disappointing, Miss Summer Connors.”
So much for ‘zero chance’ of him showing up here…
“I think you have me confused with someone else, whoever you are.” I refused to turn around.
The last thing I needed was another look at him; he’d invaded enough of my daydreams already.
“I need to talk to you for a moment,” he said. “Can you turn around, please?”
“I’m clearly busy right now. This is a high-stakes job.”
“Half of your coworkers are asleep…”
Already?
“It’s still hard work,” I said. “You can send me an email if you like.”
“I walked around that entire event searching and asking for you—” He ignored my comment. “And you’d been right in front of me without me even knowing it.”
Can I afford to quit this job yet?
“Surely you’ve seen our cover story in The New York Post this week…” He moved closer, placing it atop the box I was staring at. “I personally think we look rather good together. Do you?”
Unfortunately, yes.
“Again, sir,” I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not going to be unfair with you when I open my store across the street from you,” he said, “but you should know that I play pretty dirty when it comes to getting what I want.”
“You know,” I said, finally turning around to face him. “You come off way too confident and egotistical for someone who has ‘ASS’ for their initials. You know it doesn’t cost much to change your middle name, right?”
“How much will it cost for you to stop playing games with me?”
My brain short-circuited at his smile.
It was totally lethal and unfair.
“To be honest, Miss Connors,” he said, “I’m shocked you’ve been able to stay in the book business this long.”
Okay, fuck you. I bit my tongue and picked up another box.
“I read on your website that you started the bookstore out of passion, but I couldn’t find any notes about your experience running a business.” He moved even closer to me. “Please don’t tell me Slow Burn was your first company.”
“Mr. Sinclair…” I stabbed a seal with a box cutter. “I would really like it if you left me alone to work in peace.”
“Answer my question and I’ll consider it.”
“Yes.” I glared at him. “Slow Burn Books was my first company, and it actually means something to me. You probably can't say the same about half the stores in your soulless empire.”
“My ‘soulless’ empire is employing you with a very decent job right now.”
“You promised you would leave after I answered your question.”
“I said I would consider it.” A slow smirk crossed his lips. “And I did.”
“Why are you working here?” he asked. “Is this part of some sabotage plan for me?”
What? “I was planning to work here long before you bought it.”
“Okay…But why?” He was close enough for me to inhale his scent, and I hated how fucking good it was. “It doesn’t seem like you need the money.”
My grip tightened around the box cutter.
“Maybe it’s just a temporary learning thing,” I said. “Maybe I just want to see how a local printing and production company works.”
“Because it’s cheaper than the one you use for your store?”
“How do you know that?”
“I didn’t become a billionaire by making lucky guesses.”
“I know. It was by getting greedy.”
He flashed his smile again, and I needed to get the hell away from him.
“I’m going to tell Human Resources to have a look at the security cameras later this morning,” I said.
“For what?” He arched a brow.
“So they can give you a warning or keep you out of a lawsuit for harassing one of your employees.”
“How am I harassing you, Summer?”
“You’re standing far too close to me and asking deeply personal questions. You’re also calling me by my first name instead of being professional.”
“I asked about your business experience, Miss Connors.”
“Exactly. That’s beyond personal to me.”
He stared at me for several seconds, looking beyond amused.
Then he took one step back. Then another.
“Is this better?” he asked.
“Being completely out of my sight would be best.”
“In that case—” He stopped talking as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he kept his eyes on mine.
“Yes?” he answered. “No, that’s not what we agreed to at all, Benjamin…I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
“We should schedule a private meeting sometime this week, Miss Connors,” he said. “When and where can you meet?”
“Nowhere and never.”
“Excuse me?”
“You just told me you’re going to fight dirty with me, and you think I want to have a cordial coffee with you?”
“Fair enough.” He slid his phone into his pocket.
“Enjoy the rest of your shift in peace, Miss Connors.”
He gave me one last lingering look—one I was already saving for the next time I was in bed—and then he disappeared down the aisle.