Chapter 19
“This shirt is so soft.” Jenna muttered. Annelise laughed as her new cousin reached up and rubbed the fabric through her fingers as her head lolled into the corner of the leather sofa.
The three of them sat across, rotated in so they could put their now bare feet up onto the ottoman in the middle. Annelise was exhilarated, ecstatic, and exhausted. Her assistant and her newest employee clearly were, too.
“How does she have enough energy to comment on the shirt?” Alice moaned from the other side, and Annelise chuckled again.
It was about all that she could muster, and she had to agree with Alice.
They'd locked the door behind the last customer barely five minutes earlier.
The three had managed to keep a nice professional front until Annelise thanked the couple and turned the bolt.
Annelise and Alice had looked to each other, eyes wide, as they both sagged against the door.
“Is it usually that crazy?” Jenna asked.
“It’s usually crazy,” Alice said. “But this was a bit much.”
“And you just open randomly?” Jenna asked next. Though none of them moved, they did appear to be able to have a conversation, and Annelise sighed. She was about to answer, but Alice jumped in again.
“The boss lady here heard about a company that didn't have any stores and only did pop-ups. They would just release the information online—what city and where they would be—and lines would form.”
“Well, you can't pop up with these items,” Jenna managed to wave one hand behind her, “but you just open when you open. Create demand. Nice.”
“That's the idea,” Annelise told her, her own head tipped back against the couch. She was looking at the ceiling, though her eyes threatened to fall shut. They were supposed to close at ten o’clock, but it was after midnight already.
“Can I order a pizza?” Alice asked.
“Knock yourself out,” Annelise told her, knowing it meant the company card, but it was the least she could do for them right now.
Normally, she ate better, cooked at home in an effort to feed Story, make sure that she got something in her, remind her to water the garden occasionally.
But like many things Story touched, the plants all seemed to bloom and fruit on their own.
It was hard to stay on a witch about doing something she could just cast on. Story was the master.
“Before we got started,” Annelise let her head loll to the side, to look at Jenna as she answered, “I advertised heavily out to the lawyers, to the estates sales. I spent months curating my own collection, putting all my savings into renting this warehouse, building the office.” She waved a hand around the place, proud of how she’d done it.
She’d had to sell the luxury before she had the money for it, but she’d made it happen.
“Then I did a four-hour grand opening. I sold most of what I had before realizing I’d underpriced myself. Then I started to see that ‘high demand’ and ‘exclusive’ might be better than ‘always available’.”
If she hadn't turned her head slightly, her cheek resting on the leather of the back of the couch, she might not have seen the gears start to turn in Jenna's head. Annelise would never have considered herself a marketer, but Jenna was. Maybe she should hit her cousin up for some additional ideas.
“After I hired Alice, we did some math and pretty quickly figured out the cost of staying open on regular hours wasn't worth it, so we stayed with this method.”
“I think the flooding and us being closed for longer than usual drove some extra business tonight,” Alice offered as she hung up her phone from ordering.
Annelise only half paid attention to what Alice got them, and she thought to herself for a moment that one of them was going to have to get up and go to the door. She wasn't willing to place any bets on any of the three of them having the energy for it.
“I thought it was supposed to close at ten o’clock,” Jenna commented. “I expected to run over. I know retail. But I’m surprised how far over.”
“Well, we closed the doors at ten o’clock,” Alice commented as if they’d somehow made their mark.
Annelise added, “If we're selling, we keep selling. We just don't let any new customers in.”
“When do you need your very soft shirt back?” Jenna asked.
Annelise had quickly discovered the benefit of her and Alice being dressed somewhat alike: black pants or skirt, bright pink shirt.
They'd bought them in different styles but all in the same color so that if anybody needed to find them at an event, it was easy for anyone there to point across the crowd and say, her, in the bright pink shirt.
She'd handed one of her spares to Jenna. And her new cousin jumped into the sale with less than twenty-four hours training and nailed it. Jenna was a pro. “You were amazing.”
“I think she's responsible for everything the Emersons bought,” Alice added.
Though Annelise truly believed she couldn't, Alice slowly moved to her feet and headed to the small fridge. Pulling out two cans of soda, she then asked Jenna what she wanted.
Accepting the drink, Annelise sighed as the cold aluminum hit her skin and gave her enough to muster the energy to pop it open and take a drink. “Look, if you never return the shirt, I'll be fine. Give it back whenever you can, and if you want to come do another event with us . . .”
She let it trail off, but Alice added a quick, “Hell, yes.”
By the time the pizza came, the exhaustion had taken over. Whatever high lingered after the event had since faded. They ate quietly, just needing the food. Then Alice headed home, and Jenna exited quickly after her. She’d offered the other bed at her hotel room, but Annelise said no.
She was becoming used to this place. After staying over at the Elborns on a previous night, she’d found she appreciated the bed, but felt like a guest. Tonight, she wanted to stay here again. Wanted to linger in the success of the sale, not have to go anywhere.
She didn’t even change. She could handle the wrinkled clothes later.
She couldn't handle the mess, so she poured the soda cans down the sink, turned on the faucet, and enchanted the water until the bowl was sparkling.
Picking up the pizza box, she pushed it into the recycling can just outside the front door along with the soda cans, then bolted her doors one last time, and simply laid down on the couch.
The edges closed in to happy successful dreams and smiles.
But she felt like she’d just fallen asleep when the banging noise woke her up.
Disoriented, she looked around to see sunlight coming in the windows.
It was still early, but Annelise blinked and leaned forward, bare feet hitting the hardwood as she realized she hadn't even pulled the blanket over herself last night. Now she stood, tugging at the short and swishy black skirt, making sure it was down, as she realized the noise wasn’t banging but something else.
Blinking, she spotted the pink buttons of her shirt scattered across the floor.
Her hand reached up, but her shirt was on and closed, and the vision disappeared like it hadn’t been there.
Her attention turned back to the person at the door, who was actually knocking like a sane person.
She had her hand on the knob ready to turn it before she realized she wasn't awake enough to make decisions, and she shouldn't answer the door looking like this.
Closing her eyes, she checked the other side.
Jolting, she shook her head. She was awake now. Rowan Velasco stood outside A is for Antiques. She didn't even think, just turned the knob and opened it to see him there in the flesh.
Stepping inside, he brushed past her, and she tried to ignore the sensation of touching him.
Had it been fifteen years? But he simply set down an ancient leather briefcase that made her antique-loving heart flutter, and he looked at her oddly.
Damn. He was checking her up and down, taking in the wrinkled clothes and—Jesus, what did her hair look like?
His breathing was heavy, as if he had run all the way here.
Didn't he work outside of Richmond? Hadn't he chosen to drive the other direction out of Belle Hollow than the one she did for so many years?
Her spell had held. She hadn't seen him at all, and then this week the floodwaters had erased all its power.
He'd been everywhere. And she’d been fighting the rising tide of emotions along with everything else.
Hate. Anger. Need. Desire. And the hard knot of hope.
She watched as he kicked the door shut behind him and looked at her as if there was something very important to say, but he didn't say it.
She stepped back, one bare foot on the cool hardwood, then the other as he stepped forward, closing the space between them.
It was electric and she struggled to even form words.
He was dressed for the day, professionally put together, buttoned-down shirt that her fingers itched to peel from him.
His eyes darted down to her side, and she realized she was rubbing the tips of her fingers with her thumb.
She wasn’t casting a spell, the nervous gesture just looked like it. He would know.
But he paid no attention. It was only a few steps until she’d backed into her own desk, unaware of what was truly happening here. Only that her heart was beating with such force it might rip out of her rib cage.
“You shouldn't do this to me,” he demanded.
“Do what?” She was too startled by the accusation to complain as his hands closed around her hips and lifted her to the desk.
His mouth on hers was almost harsh, like a punishment for the time they'd spent apart. Even so, she relaxed into it. She couldn’t help it.
Couldn’t fight whatever hold he had over her.
She knew this, knew him, knew the way he touched her.
Maybe it was because she wasn't fully awake yet. Maybe the Velascos had more magic than they were supposed to. The spell wrapped around both of them as her arms curled around his neck, her legs coming up and over his hips, holding him to her.
They moved at the same time, her hips coming up, his pushing forward, and she couldn't fight the breathy sigh that escaped her. As if the chain holding him back had snapped, he grabbed the front of her shirt, and she saw the buttons fly onto the floor in the same pattern she'd seen.
No, she thought. The image was destiny? No, not him.
But she couldn't fight the feeling of his touch, his hand rougher now than it had been when they were teenagers. He slid his open palm up her leg until he encountered the slim strip of fabric. Then he was grabbing for it, tugging at the sides as she gasped for air and moved her hips to help him. She worked at his shirt but didn’t fling his buttons as he had hers.
It was gone. And so was hers. Magic? She had no idea, but imagined a spell swirling around them, locking them in this haze of lust and need.
She was opening the front of his pants, setting him free.
Sliding her fingers along his length elicited a groan she knew well.
The devilish delight she took in it forced her to do it again, and again, until he retaliated.
With one hand he found her hot and wet as the other moved to strip her bra and push it to the side.
His mouth closed, hot and silky, over the tip of her breast, and she recognized the voice begging him to take her.
Hers. From a past she thought she’d long since buried.