Chapter Five
Rosalia
Sunlight streams through the front window of Novel Idea as I unlock it. The rays illuminate the “Road to Derby” poster I’d hung to attract racing enthusiasts. There are eight weeks until the big day, and already tourists are trickling into Louisville, their numbers set to swell as May approaches.
When I hung the sign I was full of excitement. Now, it feels like a countdown to the death of all my dreams.
I stare down the mostly empty street, melancholy holding me tight. A shiny black car with tinted windows crawls past, probably looking for Paige’s bakery. Besides her place and my bookstore, Whiskey Row’s other businesses don’t open until around noon.
Leaving the door open to let in the spring breeze, I turn from the street and head inside.
The familiar scent of paper greets me. The old hardwood floors creak beneath my feet as I make my way to the checkout counter.
The quiet, sleepy sounds mingle with the occasional creak of the old building settling.
I scan the stuffed shelves lined with rows upon rows of books.
A heavy sigh escapes from me, and the urge to cry returns.
No surprise, it’s been hanging out with me since the phone call from the lawyer, Daniel, two days ago.
The non-renewal notice still sits open in a tab on my laptop, the corporate letterhead mocking me every time I catch sight of it.
Sixty days. That's all I have left in this space I’ve poured my heart into.
Sixty days to somehow find a new location, gather enough money for security deposits, cover renovation costs, plan for the inevitable lost revenue during the move, and somehow keep paying off my original loan.
Dad’s worried voice plays on repeat in my mind.
“Rosie, honey, are you sure you can handle this?” I’d been ridiculously confident when I called him with my grand plan three short years ago.
So sure that moving to Louisville and opening a bookstore was exactly what I needed.
I’d convinced him I could do this, and he’d believed in me enough to put his house on the line for my loan.
Now I can’t even look at his number in my phone without feeling like I might throw up.
How do I tell him that in two months, I might cost him everything?
Last night I stayed up until three in the morning running numbers, calculating and recalculating, hoping I’d find some magical formula that would make everything work.
First month’s rent, last month’s rent, security deposit, moving company, new shelving, signage, permits—the total kept climbing to an impossible sum.
My store brings in steady money, but not nearly enough for this kind of financial hit.
Not while I’m still paying off the original loan for the bookstore and helping Dad with his remortgaged home payments .
Pushing my worry aside, I leave the checkout counter for a much-needed caffeine boost. At the beverage cubby, I start a pot of coffee. The rich aroma fills the air. I close my eyes and lean against the counter, savoring the moment of calm before a busy day.
I look up at the sound of footsteps on the threshold. “Good morning,” I say automatically.
A man who looks a little familiar strides toward me, wearing a suit that practically gleams at the seams. Even my untrained eye can tell that nothing on him is off the rack.
His light brown hair is neatly styled and looks as expensive as his suit.
He is incredibly good-looking and moves with a calculated grace, but his handsomeness is marred by clinical detachment in his gaze.
“Good Morning.” He extends a hand, his cufflinks glinting. His voice is smooth, as if accustomed to commanding attention. “I’m Thorne Blackstone.”
The name hits me like a blow. Blackstone.
Sebastian’s brother. I should’ve recognized him from the papers and social media. His eyes and hair are lighter, but there’s no mistaking that perfect jawline, full lips, and Greek nose.
I start to reach for his hand, then pause.
The calculating assessment in those cold blue eyes makes my skin prickle with warning that goes deeper than just his last name.
His eyebrow arches slightly at my hesitation, and his smile sharpens.
I force myself to complete the handshake, but his grip is like a trap closing.
“A Blackstone in my bookstore. What did I do to deserve the honor?” I ask dryly.
He chuckles. “Do I sense sarcasm?”
“I’ll admit, I tend to like people better when they aren’t tossing me out onto the street.”
“I take it you received the lease non-renewal notice.” Concern cloaks his words, but there’s a predatory gleam in his eyes, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
“My sixty days aren’t up yet.” Keeping the tinge of desperation from my voice is impossible.
I run my fingers down the plastic buttons of my powder blue rayon blouse, acutely aware of how it's faded from too many washes.
Between the scuffed flats and worn heels, this outfit is like a physical manifestation of my dismal bank account.
He holds up his hands. “I’m not here to lock the doors early. In fact, the opposite. I have a proposition.”
I rub my eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.” Whatever deal he’s about to offer, I’m certain it won’t come cheap. To make matters worse, I suspect he knows exactly how few cards I have left to play.
“More like a gift horse. Perfect for Kentucky, right?”
“Depends on the gift.” I move behind the check-out counter. For reasons I can’t name, I need a barrier between us.
“How about a new lease? Five years, locked in rate.”
I step back. “Why would you offer that when your company sent me an eviction notice two days ago?”
“Let’s just say I have my reasons.” His smile is practiced, hollow.
“And those reasons are?” I press, not willing to take the bait so easily.
“Does it matter?” He shrugs one expensive shoulder. “You need a place for your books, I can provide one.”
“That’s not an answer,” I press.
“Why,” he shoots back. “You should focus on what matters. Saving your store.”
His evasiveness bothers me, but desperation makes me swallow the rest of my questions. “You’d put it in writing that I get to stay?”
“Learned a lesson about getting things in writing, did you?”
Embarrassment curls in my stomach. “Yes.”
“I’ll have my lawyer draft the contract today.”
“Will your lawyer be the same one who told me to get out?”
He holds up an index finger and ticks it back and forth like a pendulum. “The Blackstone empire, not me personally, honey. But I do have the power to stop it.”
I cross my arms against the tightness forming in my chest. His non-answers are making this worse, but I can’t let it go, and ask, “And why are you personally getting involved with my mess? ”
Thorne pauses, as if carefully choosing his words. “Sebastian has been making some... questionable decisions lately. Decisions that affect not only my family’s legacy but also the families who work for us.”
My stomach drops. “Sebastian? What does Sebastian have to do with me or my bookstore?”
“His judgment is compromised. He’s pouring money into feel-good projects while our core business suffers. If he continues, we’ll have to cut jobs—lots of them.”
I recall the Louisville Business Journal article I’d skimmed last week about Blackstone’s board questioning new investment directions. At the time, I’d thought it was typical corporate politics, but maybe there was more to it.
“If I can demonstrate his reckless nature to our board, they’ll reconsider some of my changes.” Thorne’s voice turns confidential. “That’s where you come in.”
The polished way he delivers this makes me wary, but major layoffs at Blackstone would hurt more than Bardstown. The whole region depends on that company.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I need you to date him,” Thorne says bluntly.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?” Did he know that Sebastian asked me out right before the phone call that’s ruining my life?
“Just a few dates. Enough to get him to invite you to the annual Blackstone Bourbon Classic.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s our company’s derby party.”
“And then what? I ask innocently if he’s mentally fit to run the company?”
His lips twist into a tight smile. “You’ll need to take the folder he’ll bring to the party.”
A horn honks outside, followed by an angry shout. I flinch, but Thorne doesn’t even blink. His focus is unwavering as if the world outside these walls is irrelevant to whatever game he’s playing.
“Take? You mean steal?” I ask, appalled .
His voice stays level, matter-of-fact. “Not steal. Retrieve. Sebastian’s planning to bankrupt us with his pet projects, and the board needs to see his written plans.
He’ll bring a red leather portfolio to the party, stamped with our logo.
You can’t miss it. The folder’s stuffed with his ‘visionary’ ideas that will destroy our family business. ”
I inhale, and the earthy scent of books mixes with Thorne’s expensive cologne. The combination turns my stomach. It’s the scent of my failure.
Thorne’s deal could save me.
I can’t do it. My head shakes back and forth. “No.”
He stills. “Why?”
“Because all of this makes me feel gross. Dating a man to get him kicked out of his family’s company?” Anger bubbles inside me. The more I think about the offer, the sicker it makes me. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”
My heart flips at the fury that flashes over his features. Then it’s gone as quickly as a lightning strike, and his easy smile returns. “Welcome to corporate America, honey,” he says with a shrug. “Sometimes you have to make tough decisions for the greater good of the company.”
“Well, it’s not for my good. How do you think he’ll feel about me when he finds out my part in your scheme?”
Thorne runs his tongue along his front teeth. “How do I put this delicately? He’ll be furious about the board situation, but you as an individual, you’re unimportant to him.”