2. hayes
TWO
hayes
I stare out the limousine window as the picturesque city of Sanderling, New Hampshire, comes into view. Known for being one of the biggest cities in New Hampshire and situated right along the coastline, the seacoast city is one of my favorites to visit. It is just a short ride away from Boston—under an hour when I ride my motorcycle.
Focusing on the historic lighthouse in the distance while sipping on beer from the cooler, I’m only half-listening to the two idiots I brought along with me. I’m still unsure how my two best friends talked themselves into tagging along on such a quick trip, even if we’re rarely separated. It’s partly why I’m so often in trouble with my father—even at twenty-seven years old.
Three years after graduating from Boston University, my father, Frank Fitzgerald, has finally increased the pressure on his one and only child to step up in the family business, FFJ Holdings. ‘ It’s time you learn how to become me ,’ he told me before I left to embark on the overnight trip to Sanderling. My father’s expectations are heavy, and bringing Jace and Andrew with me was a welcome distraction from the looming responsibilities. The weight of my father's expectations and the conflict between my personal desires and the family business create a constant internal struggle.
“Fitz tapped her first,” Jace says, garnering my attention. Fitz is the nickname I’ve had for years—longer than I can recall. Andrew awarded it to me when we were kids, but Jace quickly adopted it and never called me anything else. I’m not sure he remembers my actual name anymore.
I raise a single eyebrow in an inquiry into who Jace could be referencing. I have a roster of women I call to spend the night in my penthouse in Boston, but I rarely share women with any of my friends—especially Jace. Our friendship has always been a tangled web of competition and grudges that never seem to fade, adding a layer of complexity to our relationship.
“Raquel,” Jace continues with a half-grin.
Andrew clears his throat and diverts his attention to the passing scenery, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, I return my focus to the shrinking lighthouse as the limousine crosses the bridge into the city. Raquel was my favored on rotation, but she wanted more from me, and I wasn’t willing to offer it to her. I wasn’t aware she slept with Jace, but it makes sense. She wasn’t pleased when I ended things between us, and sleeping with my best friend probably seemed like the best revenge, but it only ensured she would never be invited into my bed again.
“Remind me why we’re here again,” Jace says with a sigh, taking the cue to drop the subject.
“Assessment,” I reply.
Jace pops the top off another beer and takes a swig. It’s his third in an hour. Despite how often we partake in drinking, Jace doesn’t hold his alcohol well. Allowing him to come into the small bookshop with me could do more damage if Jace acts rudely or incoherently. I don’t need another one of my father’s threats of losing my inheritance.
“Maybe I should visit the store alone,” I continue. “It won’t take long. I can meet you somewhere afterward.”
“Unnecessary,” Jace says. “The hottest women are always in bookstores.”
“That’s not what this trip is about,” Andrew chimes in with a sigh. “Frank will expect an actual assessment from Hayes. This shop was voted as the best new business in the city. It’s giving FFJ Holdings competition in the market.”
Like me, Andrew was coerced into working for my father from a young age, as Andrew’s father did before his death. We don’t play huge roles in the company—we haven’t honestly played any role thus far—but that’s changing. Despite our initial lack of involvement, we both feel a strong sense of duty towards the family business.
Apparently.
Jace, however, was not offered a position at FFJ. I know that contributes to his bitterness toward me, but Jace’s father does well enough on his own. He doesn’t own a company but works in tech for one of the largest international cybersecurity companies. Jace’s future is set.
Jace’s disinterest in logic is apparent as he grins at Hayes. “Please, daddy. Let me go to the bookstore.”
“Christ,” I mutter, my frustration evident in my tone. Jace's playful antics, while often effective in easing tension, only serve to exacerbate my frustration at the current situation.
Andrew pinches the bridge of his nose. “That made me so uncomfortable, Jace. Please don’t ever do that again.”
The plea only eggs Jace on further. “Daddy Fitz, I’ll be so good. I’ll behave, I promise. ”
I crack the slightest grin when Andrew starts chuckling while shaking my head. “Fuck off, Jace.”
* * *
Shoreline Scribes is situated along a strip of shops facing the coastline, immediately giving points for the view alone. The seaside vibes of the row of stores are a massive draw for tourists.
We stare at the glass door from across the street, memorizing every detail we can and watching the steady stream of people walking inside. The bookshop is a charming one-story building with a weathered, inviting facade—like a cozy reading nook. Vintage-style stickers of classic novels adorn the frosted glass pane door, encircling the hours and operation. In the left window, a coffee bar with the newest tech in coffee machines is inviting and mouthwatering. On the right side, book spines of every color are arranged in knee-high stacks.
“The owner knows how to market,” Andrew says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I don’t enjoy reading but want to walk in, if only for the espresso alone.”
“Business major,” Jace adds. Even his voice carries a hint of being impressed. He points to the shops on each side of the bookstore. “Scribes stands out compared to its neighbors. It’s… cozy. As a bookstore should be.”
We side-eye him.
“You know I’m not wrong,” he defends. “It’s winter. Imagine your favorite Christmas movies. If they included a bookstore, this is exactly what it’d be like.”
Andrew sighs deeply. “He’s right. It’s what FFJ is missing.”
I read the hours posted on the door and check the time on my phone. “They open late and close early, which means it’s operated by the owner and two employees at most. Frank’s assistant gave me the numbers before I left, and they showed them in the green. The owner keeps costs low and outperforms a store in the Boston metro area.”
“It explains why he wants the expansion,” Andrew says.
Jace leans against the door of the limousine. “Expansion?” He looks around. “Expand to where ?”
“The city,” I answer. “That’s why we’re here. Shoreline Scribes has placed a competing bid in a new retail space in the heart of Sanderling.”
“And because the owner is so heavily involved in replenishing the local economy here, Frank’s bid isn’t being given priority as it normally would,” Andrew explains further.
Jace crosses his arms over his chest. “And he’s afraid if Shoreline Scribes performs well in the city, the owner will start looking at Boston next. I get it.”
Though Jace acts carelessly most of the time, he has moments when he reminds us that he also graduated from Boston University with a business degree. His GPA rivaled mine, though Andrew has both of us beat.
“Why not offer to buy them out?”
Andrew and I don’t need to exchange a look to answer that question—FFJ can’t. It isn’t that the company is floundering, but since our designer gave into the minimalistic approach and gave our chain of stores a makeover, sales have plummeted. Jace is correct in that aspect—customers want the look and feel of a cozy bookstore. There seems to be a vast difference between feeling like a customer and feeling like a friend.
Shoreline Scribes feels like it’s owned by someone who could be your best friend, and that’s just from the outside. And if the owner is aware of that, approaching with an offer will show where FFJ’s weakness lies.
But that isn’t something they could share with Jace. FFJ Holdings doesn’t fuck around with their NDAs. And even though I stand to inherit the company someday, it doesn’t free me from the requirement to keep my mouth shut.
“It’s being discussed,” is all Andrew replies.
Jace rubs his palms together before sliding them into his jacket pockets. “Well, fuckers. I’m going inside to get a cappuccino. Maybe I’ll pretend not to know how to make one, and an unsuspecting woman will assist me.”
“You’re an idiot if you think any woman is ever unsuspecting,” Andrew says dryly as he follows Jace inside.
I, however, linger back for a moment and study the spines of the stacked books in the window. They’re all classics, just like the stickers on the door. Not only that, but the books are also first editions. I recognize them without needing to open the cover. They are bent and curled at the edges, faded and discolored but pristine. The owner is either a collector or an avid reader, which means they didn’t open a bookstore just because it’s trendy.
An inkling lodged in my chest like a bullet tells me that the person I’m about to meet will be challenging. And there hasn’t been a challenge yet that I haven’t conquered.