3. hayes
THREE
hayes
S tepping into Shoreline Scribes, I’m enveloped by the scent of espresso and old books. The comforting aroma warms me. This store could pose some serious competition for FFJ Holdings, especially if the owner wins the bid for the retail location in the city. I drag my fingertips across my forehead in frustration, sighing as I stare at the table filled with autographed copies of the year’s biggest book.
Although FFJ sells prominent shelf placements to publishers—like the one responsible for the book I’m now holding, we couldn’t secure signed copies due to the author’s sudden surge in sales and fame.
Flipping to the title page, I curse under my breath. A signature and quote from the author mocks me. “These aren’t just signed,” I mutter to Andrew, who joins me at my side. “They’re completely personalized.”
Andrew takes another copy from the table and casually flips through the pages. “There’s an entire section in the back dedicated to signed books from local authors, including some from Boston.”
“This goddamn store has only been open for a year. There are no records of the owner having any prior experience. How the hell have they secured relationships like this already?” I place the book down and look around the store, noting all the newest releases made popular by social media.
My gaze falls on a small table displaying annotated copies of various titles. A sign with colorful lettering and perfect penmanship reads “Owner’s Thoughts.” Only five books are available, each adorned with multiple colored tabs and notes scribbled in the margins.
“Has she added anything new?” a patron asks, scanning the table eagerly. “I’ve purchased three of these so far.”
I raise an eyebrow. “She?”
The young woman barely notices me. “Um, yeah. Fallon? The owner?”
I didn’t pay much attention to the owner’s name when I reviewed the financial records, but now it’s clearly lodged in my mind: Fallon Madison. I should’ve been more diligent and at least searched for her social profiles.
Flashing a charming smile, I ask, “This is my first time here. Can you point me toward Fallon?”
Finally, she tears her eyes from the table to look at me. Her cheeks immediately flush a bright red, and she yanks her eyes away from mine. “Su-sure, of course.” Timidly, she glances around the store before pointing at an attractive man at the register. “That’s Thomas, her assistant manager. He’ll know where she is.”
I study Thomas, feeling an unfamiliar tension in my jaw. “Are they a couple?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think so. They’ve never overtly denied it, but I think they’re just friends. He has a boyfriend.” She lowers her voice to add, “But if it were me and I worked with him every day…” she clicks her tongue, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Wordlessly, I leave her side to continue exploring the store. Andrew is doing the same nearly, covertly snapping pictures of things that could be of interest later. Jace has found a woman to listen to whatever story he’s telling to hold her attention while holding a book I know he’s never read.
I detach myself from being Frank’s son and peruse the store as a customer would. Despite the towering bookshelves lining the walls, the store feels open and uncluttered. It isn’t modern or minimalistic; it’s unique. “Less is more” was clearly not Fallon’s motto when designing the place, and the approach worked.
I wander to the display in the front window, curiosity getting the best of me. As I suspected, the stacked books are a collection of classics. I pick up a copy of The Great Gatsby from the top of a pile and thumb through the pages. Again, I mutter obscenities when the words ‘First Edition’ jump out at me in italics.
Since FFJ’s stores are part of a chain, we don’t stock rare finds like the one in my hands. Our inventory consists solely of mass-market offerings and whatever is trending.
“It’s ironic to be in a bookstore when you can’t read,” a voice remarks beside me.
I startle and glance to my left. Standing next to me is a petite woman with bright green eyes glaring directly at me. Her hands are on her hips, and her face is etched with impatience. She is young, patronizing, and beautiful.
Irritation bubbles. “Excuse me?” I reply, not trying to mask my annoyance.
Without looking away, she tilts her head slightly toward the display, demanding he follow her gaze with a look. Sighing, I return my attention to the display and suppress a wince. Printed in bold letters on faux parchment paper, designed to match the theme of literature gone by, are the words ‘DO NOT TOUCH.’
The statement feels like another taunt.
“I would appreciate it if you return my first edition to its spot,” she says.
This is Fallon Madison? She’s our competition? She can’t be older than twenty-five. Her ivory complexion reminds me of sweet cream and dries my mouth. My eyes drift from her long eyelashes, which peek out under her long bangs, to the slight glimpse of her left shoulder revealed by her oversized black sweater. The sweater bears her university’s name in bold lettering and hangs loosely over black leggings, accentuating the slight glimpse of her curvy thighs.
Wavy black hair is a mess on top of her head, with strands poking out in every direction, yet it looks perfectly styled. And I realize a full minute has passed while I’ve been silently checking her out. And I’m still holding her book.
I didn’t consider the impression I wanted to make upon meeting Fallon, but this certainly wasn’t it. In fact, I wasn’t sure I should meet her at all—especially since I can’t reveal who I am: the son of the billionaire Boston businessman trying to outbid her.
Exasperated with my delay, Fallon takes it upon herself to retrieve the book from my hands and return it to its spot on the pile. “Would you like the name of a tutor?”
I glare. “You have quite a mouth on you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Or you’re just not used to being reprimanded.” Her gaze wanders from my shoes to my face, disinterest evident. “I think you wandered into the wrong store. J. Crew is a few streets over.”
“I know how to read,” I say through clenched teeth, though I’m unsure why I need to assure her. “Curiosity overpowered the need to inspect the display for warnings, but you’re the one at fault.”
Fallon crosses her arms over her chest, immediately taking a defensive stance. It’s a futile effort, given that she’s over half a foot shorter than me. “I’m sorry?”
“I forgive you,” I reply with a smug smirk.
Her agitation with me is evident in how her mouth draws into a tight line. “Again, you seem to misunderstand.”
I didn’t misunderstand. I’m just enjoying irritating her. “Books like these should be behind plexiglass or in a display case, at the very least. You shouldn’t have them out if you don’t want people to touch them. It’s too tempting.”
Fallon shrugs condescendingly. “Or perhaps an adult should read the sign and have some self-control.”
My stare hardens as it zeroes in on her. “Self-control isn’t always possible around something so rare.”
She seems undeterred by me, though I pick up on the faintest flare of her eyes. She is rare—at least in a business sense. Being as successful as she is at such a young age is impressive. Physically… well, she also seems pristine, which adds to my already cemented dislike of her.
Fallon gestures behind me with a lazy wave of her hand. “The exit is behind you.”
My lips part in surprise. “Are you asking me to leave?”
To aggravate me further, she shrugs her left shoulder. “It wasn’t an invitation to stay.”