Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
IT’S A DATE
EZRA
Something about this place feels so far from the city.
People don’t speak loudly; they don’t bump into each other. They take their time, like consideration is their priority.
And walking among them, in a T-shirt and shorts, makes me feel like I belong in this ebb and flow. This slowed down version of life where easy living comes naturally.
“Timmy, watch where you’re going,” a woman calls after a young boy after he nearly bumps into me.
My smile is met by a pair of stern eyes as the woman gathers her child and ushers him away from me.
It’s a reminder that I don’t belong here, with these people who only deign to change instead of desiring it.
I miss the freedom and anonymity of the city and wonder what the hell I’m doing here when I see her, a phone against her ear and a paper bag in her hand. Chinese food, by the looks of the paper menu stapled to the brown bag. Her face isn’t stoic, the way it usually is when she isn’t actively engaged in something that delights her. Which is rare.
I haven’t seen her smile since the day I met her.
Right now, her face is pinched together in frustration as she rushes across the street, her long dark locks trailing behind her frame.
She walks like she doesn’t know how fucking beautiful she is—like she’s some object people maneuver around, barely tolerating her.
I watch as she unlocks and pushes the bookstore door open, and before I can think better of it, I’m crossing the street, holding my hand out to the car honking at me.
I should leave her alone. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to see me. Everyone on this strip has either turned me away or told me to fuck off before turning me away. But this quaint town with its lakeside properties is a hotbed for tourists, projected to potentially make me millions with the right maneuvering.
And this woman, with her wallflower ways, excites me in a way that is completely separate from all of this. When Ivan went back to the city, alone, I stayed behind, feigning the desire to keep trying to win over the locals. In the days since the last time I saw her, I tried to think of ways to somehow end up right where I’m headed without looking like a crazed stalker.
An anxiousness I didn’t know I was capable of feeling sits in my chest as I open the door, the bell jangling over it signaling my presence.
“I’ll be right with you!” she shouts from somewhere in the back.
I assume she’s inside some sort of office or storage room, and I walk toward the door that’s cracked open, wondering what has her attention. I should respect her privacy, but my desire to know everything about her has me forgoing proper etiquette.
“I understand.” Her voice is a murmur. Not the kind that’s telling secrets. The kind that’s hiding one. “That isn’t an option for me.”
I’m not sure what’s being said on the other end, but the way her hand reaches up to cover her mouth says it isn’t good.
“How long do we have?” From where I stand, I can see her profile and her eyes widen at the answer. “Seriously, Ben? Two months?”
She nods, even though the person on the other end can’t see her. “Yes. I’ve already sold anything I’m willing to part with.” Her hand hits her thigh, and I watch her body bend toward the top of her desk. “No. I’m not giving up the house.”
Silence.
She’s still as she receives whatever the person on the other end is saying, and then, “Please save yourself the trouble of explaining to me that this isn’t your decision.” She slams her cell down on the desk and taps it a few times, likely making sure the call has ended. “Shit,” she mutters to herself. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”
The wheels in my mind are turning just as she spins, as if remembering someone had entered the store and she’d have to cancel her pity party—panic party, rather—for now.
Wide brown eyes assess me before she closes them, taking a deep breath and throwing her hands in the air.
“Oh my God , why are you here?” she asks, her voice edging on a sob. The tears want so badly to be seen, but she fights to keep them from falling.
Her lips are pressed together as she stares at me with a fury I want to toy with.
But not right now.
“You’re in a tighter bind than I originally understood.” I wish words could hold her, could take the weight from her small frame and carry it all away.
“And you’re even more of an asshole than I originally understood,” she says, setting her jaw as she blinks her unshed tears away. As if she’s preparing to spar instead of being saved. I so badly want to save her and it…confuses me.
I admire the way her words curl from her lips, angry and defiant. I’ve heard her swear more in these last few minutes than in the few times we’ve spoken.
She shoves her way past me, and I’m stuck smelling rosewater, a nostalgic smile on my face.
“Eloise,” I start, turning to follow her.
One look at the smile on my face and her nostrils flare. “Why does the sight of you make me sick to my stomach?”
Why does the sight of you remind me of what it felt like to be inside of you?
I don’t dare say it, deciding I’d rather not get slapped and escorted out by a mob of angry small-towners.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say, watching as this strong woman’s lip trembles as she attempts to control her emotions.
She continues to blink back tears and squares her shoulders.
She has no idea what her inability to succumb to failure does to me.
I imagine pulling her top down and watching her body shiver as I press my lips to her pulse. Perhaps she’d battle me all the way to her inevitable orgasm.
The beautiful bits of her body I’ve seen haunt me, causing me to continue without thought. “I’ll back you. Help this place out financially.”
Desperation has her listening to words she wouldn’t normally.
Her eyes speak of distrust, and I don’t blame her.
Because I’m thinking of all the ways I want to make her scream my name as I step toward her.
“What do you want in return?” She presses her lips together, and I try to keep my focus on our discussion. Because I’m still trying to figure out what it is I want. Aside from another glimpse of an exquisite smile from her.
Here we are.
Don’t fuck this deal up.
“Truth or dare?” I ask, waiting patiently as she regards me.
Her face twists and a tear falls. She turns away to attempt to hide it, but the sight of it tugs at my heart. I’m torn between wanting to erase the words I’d said and wanting to wipe the tear sliding down her cheek. Neither are an option, so I continue to wait on her.
“You want to play truth or dare for the bookstore my parents built?” She turns back to glare at me before twisting fully away from me. “Is my life that much of a joke to you?”
“I haven’t been this serious about something in a very long time,” I confess, letting the truth seep into the conversation. Only as much as I think she can handle. “Truth”—I place my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face me again—“or dare.”
Her lips part, her eyes unblinking as she whispers, “Dare.”
I swear my swallow is audible, and I breathe in just enough to push my next words out before I lose my nerve. “I dare you to spend a summer breaking the rules with me. Say yes, follow through, travel, have more amazing sex.”
“If you want to get laid?—”
“I can walk out of here and find plenty of women who’d be more than willing to take this opportunity.” I can see her features start to sour, and I let go of her shoulders. “But this is the first and only time I want to offer this. Be my companion in exchange for my assistance.”
“You want to buy me.”
“I want to enjoy you.”
“What’s the difference?” she asks, impatience biting at her tone.
“You’ll enjoy it too,” I assure her.
In most cases, when dealing with potential deals, silence is a good thing. Silence means thinking and weighing options.
Silence means you’ve struck gold.
And the sweet silence that pulls at my pleasure has me wanting to smile. Common sense tells me to refrain.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” she finally says.
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, and I mean it.
But I pray you do.
Somehow, she’s made her way behind the register again, and I think about the first time I ever saw her. It’s enough to make me push, to keep showing up, to keep chasing the way it felt. I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who’d walk alongside a stranger in the middle of the night, the town sleeping around us.
And sure, yes, I’ve met women—plenty—who’d fuck me in a bookstore. Or anywhere I requested, for that matter. As cliché as it all sounds, it feels different with Eloise.
She wasn’t looking for a savior.
And I never wanted to be one until I met her.
It was me that got her. Not my father’s name, not my business, not the possibility of being taken care of by me.
Her denial of the opportunity intrigues me. A woman with every reason to say yes, denying the option to be helped.
“I need some time to think,” she finally utters, her words heavy and slow.
“Understandable. How about we have dinner tomorrow?” I suggest, hoping my eagerness doesn’t push her too far.
“I’m sure we can handle this over the phone?—”
“What kind of businessman would I be if I handled something so personal over the phone?” A simple quirk of my brow has her lips pressing together.
“A sensible one.”
“A cowardly one,” I challenge, trying my hardest to keep from grinning. This is business, after all. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come up with your terms.”
“Surely I can have the weekend.” She places her hands on her hips and I shake my head.
“You may not. I have to head back to the city by Monday.”
Suddenly, I wish I was wearing a suit. The urge to adjust my tie or shake her hand after nearly sealing a deal is burning within me. The power move, the need to express my satisfaction at finally being able to stand in a room and have a conversation with her without being asked to leave.
She’s starting to look a lot like the Eloise I met the first night, in her short shorts and gray T-shirt. She’s a small woman, but her legs…I imagine the shapely length of them around my waist.
“Why does it feel like I’m striking a deal with the devil?”
She’s starting to sound like her, too.
“Because you’re surprisingly pessimistic for a woman dealing in happily ever afters,” I answer.
I’m entranced by the way her lips spread, as if she can’t help it.
Her smiles are rare. She makes me work for them.
And then it’s gone so quickly, I wonder if it was there at all.
But I’m not deterred; my work ethic is unmatched. “I’ll be here tomorrow night to pick you up.”
She shakes her head. “My sister will be here. I assume you still have my email from all the failed attempts at contacting me.”
She squares her shoulders, and it’s as if her vulnerability has dissolved. I’m almost afraid to look her in the eye, I’m so entranced by the puzzle that she is.
“Send me the details, and I’ll meet you,” she confirms as she stares down at the register, shuffling papers, seemingly dismissing me.
“It’s a date.”
“It’s a business meeting ,” she corrects, not bothering to look up at me before I turn to leave.
It’s a date, I think to myself with a smirk.