7. All The Rage （Hattie） #2
“You just figured that out, huh?”
“Ta-ta,” she calls, fluttering a hand at me as she heads for the door. The bell dings again, leaving me staring at her in disbelief.
How is this my life?
Queen of bad choices.
First, there was that stupid librarian program when I didn’t have my head straight and I knew the stress would get to me, and now this.
Ethan Blackthorn.
A fake engagement.
My mother at a high-stakes family dinner where I’ll already be hyperventilating.
I could’ve lied.
I was the one who blurted out the dinner plans with Ethan’s parents.
The world feels darker and smaller, like I’ve been dunked in oil and tossed into a storage container.
All I want to do is scrub myself clean.
Everyone will know me as Ethan Blackthorn’s better half now. I’m no longer nice, anonymous Hattie Sage.
I’ll be Ethan Blackthorn’s fiancée. His wife.
Eventually, his ex-wife.
Holy shit, breathe!
No, I didn’t think this through.
I’m going to be a divorcée with a media footprint before thirty.
There are so many bad implications here.
It could limit my dating potential. Future boyfriends might be less forgiving if they know I married and divorced so young. I’m only twenty-five now.
And it’s not like I chose this.
It’s not like I looked at Ethan and thought ‘oh yes, marrying him would be brilliant.’
Jesus, no.
Marrying Ethan Blackthorn is my biggest fumble yet. Agreeing to this ridiculous plot has to be up there in my top five blunders. Maybe even gunning for first.
I return to my stack of books, trying to think of a way out of this, even though I know how screwed I am.
That’s the deal.
I signed a contract. I’m obligated to fulfill this disaster to collect my six-figure payoff.
Which suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s nearly enough for an engagement that’s bound to haunt me for the rest of my life.
My lungs are cement.
My throat clenches and I launch into a coughing fit.
Calm.
Calm down.
Mom will make this ordeal unbearable, but there’s time to fix that.
It won’t be easy.
Telling her she’s not welcome at a place she’ll be stampeding to get into feels a bit like yelling at the TV—not just pointless, but it makes you look unstable.
The thing is, she has a way of making you feel like you’re in the wrong for opposing her.
If I ask her to stay away, she’ll huff and she’ll puff and she’ll point out my many other failures, slinging dire warnings that I’d better not screw this up, too.
She really believes if I let her manage everything, I’d be ten times more successful.
Of course, that wouldn’t involve working with books, but she’s never understood that obsession, either.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
How the hell do I explain this to Ethan?
“Hattie,” Mr. Sneed snaps from behind me, his voice as sharp as always. “There’s a crazy man here to see you.”
“Crazy man?” I echo, dropping my hands and turning around.
Mr. Sneed wears a cardigan half off one shoulder and a scowl that could rival Ethan’s.
Stop thinking about him, smartass .
My boss folds his arms like my inability to process his bizarre statement offends him. “Yes. Crazy.”
“What do you mean? What’s he doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He throws up his hands. “Maybe because he’s offering to buy the entire store to accommodate your scheduling conflict.” He drops his hands again and narrows his eyes at me. “Do I call the police? Do you have a stalker?”
I shake my head.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no, no—
Blame my imagination. It’s clearly conjured up my own personal devil.
I’m cursing it even before Ethan rounds the corner—you guessed it—scowling.
“Hattie,” he barks.
Mr. Sneed draws himself up to his full height—which, compared to Ethan, is pitiful. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”
Ethan sighs and looks me dead in the eye.
There goes my chance to flee.
Besides, he’s blocking the way to the exit, and the fire door is blocked off with piles of books. Another task to finish on my long to-do list.
“Hattie,” Ethan snarls again. His tone tells me he’s about to lose his patience. “Tell this man who I am.”
“Oh.” I panic. The word fiancé feels ridiculously large in my mouth. “Mr. Sneed, this is my—my friend.”
Ethan rolls his eyes.
“Friend? I swear to God,” he mutters.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
Mr. Sneed looks between us warily.
“Friend?” he repeats. “You know him? Then why the hell is he bothering you on duty with these bizarre demands?”
“She knows me very well,” Ethan growls, shooting my boss a withering look. “We’re engaged.” The corner of his mouth twitches like the idea tastes sour, but he meets my gaze. “I’m serious, Hattie. This place is yours, if he sells. No more excuses for dodging dinner.”
“Ethan, no!” I say it as forcefully as I can. “No flipping way. You can’t just go around ordering people to—”
“Sir, if you’ll show me some proof to back up your offer, this place is yours today,” Mr. Sneed tells Ethan, not seeming to notice the steaming pile of betrayal he’s just handed me.
This. Is. Insanity .
“Mr. Sneed, no, you can’t!” I insist.
“He can, and I have the cash,” Ethan says to Mr. Sneed. He watches me drag my jaw on the floor. “We’ll talk later, after you’ve closed up. Do whatever the fuck you need to get done before I transfer the place and hand you the keys. Ideally by tomorrow.”
“Wait!” I reach out and grab his arm, trying to force him to stay and talk him down.
But if he notices, he gives no sign.
He just brushes my hands off him and turns around with a soul-shredding smirk.
Two seconds later, the bell dings and he’s gone.
The second I’m home and have some food in me—just so I can tick hangry off my list of reasons for feeling this annoyed—I pull out my phone and start texting Ethan.
Hattie: We had a deal, you psycho.
Hattie: Six months and not a second more!
Hattie: Half a million dollars and not a cent more.
Hattie: You’re NOT buying my bookstore!!!
It’s tempting to lose my shit.
Just yell at him for several wall-of-text paragraphs about how much of a colossal nightmare he’s being, but I rein it in.
Margot wouldn’t be proud of me. But if she saw what he just did…
Actually, I don’t know if it would bother her that much.
Why would it?
She was born with all the privilege a person could ever want. For her—for them —buying a small-time bookstore probably isn’t a big deal.
It doesn’t put a pinprick dent in a billionaire’s bank account. He probably had enough cash on hand to buy it outright when he walked in today.
Not that anyone uses cash-cash anymore.
Jerk.
The power imbalance is off the scales, so gaping it leaves me queasy.
I do not need some rich guy storming in and taking over my life by throwing around dollar signs.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it up.
Ethan: Too late. I’ve drawn up the transfer docs with Sneed.
Ethan: Congratulations. Figure out a better name than Sneed’s Pages. Fuck that.
My phone shakes in my hand as I stare at the screen.
Oh, it’s so tempting to hurl it at the wall.
I just wish I could shrink him down and lock him up inside it first.
“Asshole!” I yell.
Right on cue, my screen lights up.
ETHAN in bold letters.
He can’t be calling me.
“Begone Satan,” I snarl as I answer. “You’re about to apologize. Tell me. ”
“For what?”
“…for buying me an effing bookstore , Ethan.” I shoot up and start pacing, running a hand through my hair and freeing it from its hair tie so it falls down my shoulders. The tension headache squeezing my skull eases a little now that I get to yell at him. “And for acting like it’s no big deal.”
“Pages, I don’t get why you’re so bent out of shape,” he says sharply. I don’t think this man ever learned tact. “You love books. I need you to meet my folks. How is this not the easiest solution?”
“Not like this .”
That’s the worst part of this whole thing.
In isolation, he’s handing me a crazy fairy tale come true. I always wanted to own a bookstore and try my luck at calling the shots.
Maybe I could even find a niche that’s less susceptible to ebooks and AI slop slaughtering good, honest, life-giving words.
But not like this .
This… this is a travesty.
If it’s in the cards, if I’m meant to be the queen of books, I want to earn it honestly.
And with declining print sales and no startup money in the tank, it was a pipe dream.
Until now.
But this just makes me feel unworthy.
I don’t know if I really want to take over Sneed’s Pages and save it from drowning.
It’s a nightmare dished out on a silver platter, dressed up like a fever dream.
“What’s wrong?” he growls into the silence. “Can’t you see I’m removing an obstacle and giving you what you want? Have some common sense.”
The obstacle isn’t gone, though.
It’s just my responsibility, if I’m the owner.
Someone will still have to run the place unless I shut down for a while, which will eat into skeletal profits. Not to mention the jobs of the few other part-timers on payroll.
If I own it, I’m also responsible for the upkeep, the taxes, the insurance.
Holy crap!
I don’t have a clue how that adds up.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a slow, ragged breath.
Calm, calm.
Serenity now.
Mom always stressed the importance of finding your happy place and never losing your temper, never letting anger take over. Good advice from her New Agey health classes, I guess.
If only it was remotely possible to follow through.
No one—not another living soul—has ever made me want to lose my temper like Ethan does now.
“Common sense? You’ve just made this a thousand times more complicated than it had to be,” I tell him. “And my dream wasn’t having someone drop six figures on a bookstore for me. Why did you do it? You’re already paying a fortune for my cooperation.”
If I’d been left to my own devices, maybe I could’ve used that money to invest in my own shop one day.
Ethan goes quiet for infinite seconds that pluck my nerves, almost to breaking.
“Pages, here’s the thing,” he starts. Weirdly, there’s no arrogance in his voice anymore.
“You’re doing me a big favor, and I know it.
Sometimes I can come off rather—” He clears his throat.
“Brash. Impulsive. Whatever. But I haven’t forgotten how much I owe you.
You’re saving my company and my ass personally by going along with this.
Any amount is worth that if it helps make this easier on us.
On you. If you’re giving me back my inheritance, why can’t I give you a small bonus? ”
My heart twists.
“Oh,” I whisper.
I have no idea what to do with that.
…is Ethan Blackthorn being humble for once?
Doesn’t feel legit.
But it also does.
And before I can figure out what I’m supposed to feel besides raw confusion, he clears his throat again.
“Take this shit in the spirit it’s intended, Pages. I’ll see you soon for our dinner plans in New York.”
Then he hangs up, leaving me holding the phone in one hand, along with my bristling temper.