Chapter Six
Zoey
B y the end of the day, no customers have come in since the heavens opened and the goon left. I peer anxiously at the deepening gray and the non-stop rain. He’s there behind me. I can see him, a wavery large figure behind me in the glass that runs with rivulets.
“Hot date?”
I almost laugh at that. I can’t really remember when I last had a date, hot or otherwise.
“No. Just thinking…”
He sighs, his fingers dancing lightly, fleetingly, over my shoulder, sending little shivers of awareness racing hot through my blood.
“Probably of firing me.”
I turn, but he doesn’t step back and we’re close. His heat surrounds me, along with his evocative scent that twines with the ever present smell of old books, and twists into something that makes my mouth water. I tip my face to him. “No. You’re sparkly new. The wrapper’s only just come off. You’ll get the hang of it.”
He smiles and threads a curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering a moment. “I hope so. You don’t know what this means to me.”
Magnus looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and instead he moves back and I follow him, down through the aisles of books as he straightens them even though they’ll never be straight. And it’s not like we’ve had teeming throngs of people in here, pawing over everything. Not with the rain and the storm. Not like that ever happens, anyway.
“Your gran?”
He doesn’t look at me, almost like he’s embarrassed. “Something like that. Yeah.”
I take a breath and lean against the Westerns. “Life has a way of working out.”
“Are you always some kind of eternal optimist?” He cuts me a quick glance, long fingers moving over the spines of old thrillers.
“Not really,” I say. It’s a bit of a lie, but if I admit that, I’ll sound like some kind of sickening Pollyanna type. “I just don’t see the point of letting things you can’t change get you down. Proactive is the way ahead.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He pulls out a book and pushes it back into its place. “Anyway, I should go.”
“You’re welcome to stay until this madness outside stops.”
“I’m a big boy, I can take it.” And he straightens, moves slowly past me, almost brushing me, and the slide of air between our bodies is like a gossamer kiss and I can barely breathe.
At the end of the aisle, he stops and the look he gives me makes my heart lurch. There’s something else going on, I can see that, like words dance on his tongue, but he won’t give them voice. But it isn’t my business. We don’t know each other. Not yet. I don’t want to chase him off.
He’s about to turn the corner into the center of the store and I find myself following. “Magnus, we don’t… I mean, you and I don’t know each other that well, but if you need anything, you know, even someone to sit with your gran or bring soup or something, let me know.”
He smiles, and it’s sad, and he just says, “You gave me a job.”
It’s not until long after he’s gone I realize he forgot the treats.
Magnus Simpson is smart, gorgeous, complex and has no idea what he’s doing.
It’s a few days later, evening, and I’m ready for bed. The skies are still heavy but no rain and Magnus…well…
He can’t use the register without making me work about three hours untangling the mess at the end of the day, and he also isn’t great at sales. Not that I’m into pushing people into buying things, which is good because otherwise I’d have to fire him.
But he’s great at organizing my shelves and he listens to me and I’ve also noticed an uptick in people coming in over the past few days.
By people, I mean females. Even the ones old enough to be his gran.
And they all make eyes at him.
I understand that, because it’s an easy thing to do.
Maybe he’s not great at his job because his mind is elsewhere, like on his gran. I keep going back to the conversation during the storm, the night he stood so close and made my stomach perform slow, sweeping loop the loops, when he touched my hair and looked at me with a softness, and the way he wouldn’t look at me, like he held something in.
Not about me. I’m not that girl, even though every so often I catch him looking at me, like there’s another layer, like there’s something… maybe something he wants to say, but doesn’t.
I make a hot chocolate, a secret vice and add extra marshmallows, even though it isn’t the hot chocolate season. I sip it as I fuss around the cozy but no-fuss apartment above the store.
Another reason I don’t want to sell.
Memories live and breathe in here. My family, my grandparents, and everyone who breathed life into this place and helped form it to what it is today.
Home.
A piece of old New York.
After the hot chocolate’s gone and everything is locked and done for the evening, I set out the recipes I’ll make first thing. I found an old bakery book in the last haul. I’m reading that tonight, and I’ll find something in there. It’s from the turn of last century and those recipes are always fun to play with and tweak.
I pull back the covers and slide into bed, holding the book. Tomorrow is the block meeting at O’Reilly’s, so I have a lot going on. With a yawn, I flick through the book, but my eyes are heavy and I’m reaching for the light when my phone buzzes.
“Suzanne,” I say after checking my caller ID. “What’s up?”
“I have a party to go to tomorrow, if you want to come along. You know, if you’re not all up in your silly store’s business.”
A tick of annoyance pings in me. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if we hadn’t met at college if we’d be friends. She comes from money, has a sweet duplex in the West Village, and a sweeter job at her father’s company doing… something.
But she’s got a good heart under all the snobbery. I sigh. “I found someone to work part time, so I’m training him.”
“Him? Do tell.” She practically purrs the words. “Unless he’s been hit with the ugly, then don’t.”
I roll my eyes up to the shadowed ceiling as traffic squeals outside and shouts of an altercation ring out in the air. “He’s cute, if you like that sort of thing. But you know, he works for me.”
“So? It’s time we took back the work space.”
“I don’t think so.”
“The party, you should come.”
I hate those kind of things. Besides, my job and saving my building takes up most of my time.
But Suzanne is sometimes easiest to handle by noncommittal vagaries. “Where is it?”
“Grab a pen!”
I jot it down faithfully, along with her instructions on what to wear. Then the sighs. “I am busy tomorrow, Suze, but I’ll try.”
“Saving the condemned? That’s not a thing, that’s torture, now, listen to this. I met this guy…”
And closing my eyes, I settle back for the story.
All the prices are wrong.
I don’t know how that happened, because I marked all the boxes and my instructions were clear. But when Magnus comes in, it’s like he’s got a sixth sense because even though I swear I’m my usual easy, breezy self, he suddenly straightens, like he’s the one in charge, zeroing in on a problem he needs to handle.
“What happened, Zoey?”
His poor, frail gran comes to my head. I turn up the smile wattage. “Nothing. Cookie?”
He catches my arm as I go to slide by him, and though his hold isn’t tight, it’s firm and his touch sends tendrils of heat through me, coiling and spinning in my blood. Those onyx eyes are intense on me and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.
Because that mouth of his is rich with life, and made for kissing.
I jerk back at the thought, but he doesn’t let go.
“I made macadamia, cacao, and pumpkin seed spiced cookies. High protein, full of healthy things.”
“Sugar?” Suddenly his gaze softens. “No. I just want to know what’s up.”
“There’s the meeting tonight about the bully of a billionaire’s take over, that’s all, and—”
“I don’t think it’s that.” He softens a little more. “If it’s me, tell me what to do to improve to keep the job.”
“It’s not in danger.”
“If I’m not doing a good job, it should be.”
“You’re fine.” It’s really hard to breathe and his thumb is drawing slow circles on my inner arm and the sparks those touches set off are like low lying electricity. “It’s just…”
Everything.
“Some of the books have been priced incorrectly.”
“You don’t charge enough.”
I go still. “Did you misprice them on purpose?”
For a long moment he doesn’t answer, then he drops his hand to his side and shrugs, looking sheepish and the whole intense moment is gone. “God, sorry, Zoey. I didn’t mean… I just thought the prices were old ones. I thought I was helping.”
“Well… ask.”
At that moment, the bell dings and someone comes in and the day begins.
Magnus is still there when I rush downstairs to make the meeting. We had a glut, and by that, I mean seven people right at the end of the day, each fussier and more indecisive than the last.
Normally, I don’t mind, but I want to get to the meeting.
I stop and stare. He’s got a feather duster in his hand and there’s some jazz playing low.
Magnus turns and gives a soft whistle. “All dressed up.”
“I put on lipstick. And heels. Low heels.”
“So I see.” The dimple appears.
“I thought you’d gone.”
“Well, I felt bad about the books, so I decided to do some cosmetic work.”
I raise a brow. “Dusting?”
“Dusting.” He looks about, then scratches his chin with the duster handle. “Zoey, do you want some company tonight?”
“Like a date?” The moment the words hit the air I want the ground to eat me. “No, of course not a date. Why would you want to go on a date with me? I’m your boss, and…” I stop. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say all that.”
He smiles slow and my knees turn weak. “If you like.”
“But what about your gran?”
“See, the thing there is, you have to play it low key.” A dark shadow crosses his face. “She’s independent, and… I don’t want her to think I’m hovering.”
“But she needs you.”
“Gran is proud and stubborn, and I drop in. I help her out. But the money… with the money I can… I can help.” He sighs. “At least a little.”
Questions push at me, but I don’t ask. Even though I desperately want to. “You should go have some fun.”
He nods, but doesn’t look at me.
The man’s a walking Adonis. Women drool over him. Myself included. He can’t be lonely.
Then again, maybe with his gran and his opting to focus on her, maybe he is. Maybe he just wants a distraction.
Because I’m suspecting it’s not just his gran is old and injured, but there’s something else there he’s not talking about.
“Magnus, I’d love some company.”
He grins and I almost demand smelling salts and swoon it’s so disarming and gorgeous. “I’ll get my coat.”
“That was…interesting. Haven’t most of them sold?”
People are out and about, going places. This isn’t a party central, happening place in Brooklyn. Too many hoods that loiter, too many empty and nailed up places.
I shrug and step over a broken bottle. “Most are in negotiations.”
“You’re the outlier. Wouldn’t it be easier for them if you sold?”
I give him a sharp look. “People who own can sell, and most have who want to just take the money and run. Others want to stay but don’t have a choice. You heard them.”
“Cities live and breathe and change. This place needs an injection.”
I stop and glare at him. “This place is having the oxygen sucked out. Let’s get this straight. The Sinclair family—whom I hate, especially this Edward who’s behind this. I’ve heard his name. The coward likes to hide behind his company name, but he’s just a pathetic man—is so rich, they don’t care about me, they don’t care about the neighborhood, they don’t care about you. They care about money.”
“You met him?”
“No. But people like him are all the same. Crush and destroy everything to make more money they don’t need. People here can’t afford to go elsewhere, but they’ll have to. Further out, probably into worse neighborhoods and those with jobs in Manhattan or around here will have to travel further. Kids will need to change schools. And people will have to either find something else or rebuild. Those who rent their buildings for businesses are also being priced out.”
He nods. “This is how the world works, Zoey. You change or you get swallowed.”
“I won’t change. I won’t get swallowed. I’ll sit there and they can damn well build around me. They won’t. I’ll be an eyesore. So—”
“Sometimes it’s easier.”
“So you’d let your gran just sit alone and you work a fancy job because it’s easier?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he nods. “I see your point.”
“I’m just…” Hopeless, that’s what I am, that feeling slides through me again. I’ve been told that before. My last boyfriend hated I stayed here, hated the store. “I’m tired. It gets to me. All the sadness and anger. No one thinks they can stand up to big business.”
“But you will?”
I smile. “I’m more stubborn than you think.”
My phone buzzes. Suzanne.
And suddenly, a really stupid idea comes to me.
“Do you want to go to a party?”