Chapter Five #2
I choke out a surprised laugh. “That’s delicate?”
He shrugs again.
I recall my easy conversations with Sebastian, his flirting the last time he’d been in the store. I’m not buying what Thorne is selling. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but Sebastian doesn’t treat me like I’m inconsequential.”
“That’s probably because he wants to fuck you. My brother has a way of making women feel special. But once he has them… the charm fades. Just ask hi s ex-wife.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Is that really how Sebastian sees me? “E-excuse me,” I stammer.
“Don’t slap the messenger, honey. I’m just telling you how he is. He loves the chase. Not the prize. And—”
“I’m not your honey,” I bite out. “And If you’re about to make some analogy about how I’m a crappy prize, you can see yourself out of my store.” My unexpected boldness sends shockwaves from my chest to my stomach.
“You mean my building? The one you get to keep for another two months—unless you help me." Thorne’s gaze sweeps the empty store with theatrical slowness. "Though honestly, opening a bookstore on Whiskey Row? A street famous for bourbon, not books?” He practically sneers the word. “Maybe you’re better suited to being an employee than an owner.”
“I opened five minutes ago,” I sputter. “I’m doing great. I cater to locals, tourists, readers, and the bourbon industry. My place is the calm oasis before my customers head out to the distilleries and bad decisions.”
“Bad decisions, huh?” He grins, and a dimple appears on his left cheek, but the sight doesn’t make my heart flip as it does around Sebastian.
I don’t return his smile. “Is this what rich people do for entertainment? Manipulate people’s livelihoods for corporate games?”
“This isn’t a game,” he says, his voice suddenly hard. “I’m trying to protect my family’s legacy.”
I can’t tell if he’s worried about the distillery or if he’s angry because I’m not falling in line. What’s real and what’s an act?
“Why me for this scheme? There must be dozens of women who’d be eager to date a Blackstone.”
“Because you’re the easiest—”
“Excuse me!”
“Settle down, honey. Rumor is, he’s interested in you.
” He slides his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks.
“If you smile pretty and stroke his…ego, I’m sure he’ll invite you to the Blackstone Bourbon Classic.
While there, take th e portfolio.” He snaps his fingers.
“The next day, I’ll have my lawyers draft a five-year lease of this building for you. ”
The burst of cheerful chatter announces the arrival of several customers who step through my open door.
Their laughter bounces off the bookshelves, filling the space with an infectious energy that contrasts with my unsettled state.
I greet them with a forced smile, unable to fully register their faces.
Thorne lowers his voice. “I need your answer by tomorrow.”
“This is insane,” I whisper back. “I might not mean anything to him, but he will be angry. Who wouldn’t be?
And even if you remove him from his position within the distillery, he’s still a Blackstone.
He could do worse than just kick me out of this building.
His money and connections have the power to crush me completely.
He might blacklist me with vendors, ruin my reputation in town, make sure I can’t keep my doors open. ”
Thorne waves off my concern. “Sebastian has bigger fish to fry than some bookstore owner who played along with his brother’s game.
Trust me, I know how he thinks. He’ll be angry at me, not you, which is nothing new.
” His eyes harden. “I, on the other hand, don’t share my brother’s restraint.
Something to consider before you turn down my generous offer. ”
Thorne’s barely veiled threat scares the hell out of me, but what am I giving up of myself if I agree?
If I refuse, there is a very good chance I won’t be able to reopen the store or my programs. And it feels like I’m erasing my favorite book.
First, the colorful descriptions are removed, followed by the supporting characters, until all that remains is a thin plot that barely resembles the story I’d imagined for myself.
But at least I will be able to look at myself in the mirror each morning. Sure, my integrity won’t pay the bills, but it’s the only thing they can’t take from me.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I tell him.
His head jerks back. “Why not? Don’t you care about your business?”
Fury surges through me. “You don’t deserve an answer to that question when you’re treating my livelihood like a bargaining chip. But, yes, this place is everything to me. ”
“Apparently not, if you’re willing to let it go without a fight.” He counters, straightening his expensive cufflinks.
“This isn’t a fight. It’s a transaction where I’m supposed to sell my integrity along with the books. I'd rather lose the store than become that kind of person.”
“Integrity,” Thorne scoffs. “Is that what losers call their fear of taking risks? Let me tell you something about the real world—principles don’t pay bills. They just make failure feel noble.”
“I have other options.” They are slim but better than this crap.
“Do you really?” His gaze tracks over me, from my coupon-clipped haircut to the frayed cuffs of my blouse.
At this moment, I’m acutely aware of every patch and stitch holding my world together.
His eyes narrow. “I had my people look into your finances, Rosalia. I know you still haven’t paid off your original loan.
That your father remortgaged his home for your startup costs.
Do you have the money to move? The cost of new rent, security deposits, renovations, and lost revenue.
I know you’ll never secure another loan with your credit history. ”
A cold wave washes over me, starting at my scalp and rushing downward. How dare he invade my privacy? “You had no right,” I hiss.
“I have every right to know who I’m doing business with,” he counters, clearly unfazed by my outrage. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re not exactly in a position to turn down my offer.”
“My store is doing just fine,” I retort, lifting my chin. “I’ve built a loyal customer base, and my sales are steady. I’d have been fine if your company had stuck to its agreement.”
“What agreement? I’ve read the contract. There’s no mention of letting you rent indefinitely.”
The earlier cold turns to heat that creeps up my neck and floods my cheeks.
I’d been so excited about finding the perfect spot on Whiskey Row that I’d signed the rental agreement without a lawyer.
The Blackstone’s leasing agent had assured me that as long as I was a good tenant, renewals would be automatic.
I’d believed her and never thought to get it in writing.
“It was a verbal agreement,” I say, the words sounding pathetic even to my ears .
Thorne’s eyebrow arches slightly as he grins.
It’s a look of pure condescension, as if I’ve confirmed every assumption he’s made about my intelligence.
“Regardless, you don’t have enough to cover a move and your debts.
Not in the time frame you need. Face it.
Without my help, you’ll lose everything you’ve worked so hard for. Your father will lose his house.”
I rub my clammy palms on my shirt. He might be right. My financial position is precarious, and his offer could be my only chance to save my store. But, again, the cost is too high.
“No.” I fight back the tears that threaten to spill. “I don’t need your pity or your condescension. I’ll find a way to save Novel Idea without your help.”
Thorne drums his fingers on the counter, glancing around the store as if bored.
“Fine, call around, see if you can find another place without my help. If it doesn’t work, give me a call.
” He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a card from a small gold case.
“Hell, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you look all the way up until the Derby party, and if you find something, then back out of our deal.
Leave one of the most popular streets in Louisville. No hard feelings.”
He strolls toward the exit. Before passing through the door, he reaches up, hitting the antique bell. Its cheerful jingle now sounds more like a warning bell. The desolate tone pierces me.
His broad form moves down the street and from my view. I turn the thick cardstock over in my hands, running my thumb over the embossed lettering. His bold signature mocks me.
Is he actually giving me an out? It sounds too good to be true. Thorne Blackstone doesn’t strike me as the type to make genuine concessions. More likely, he’s confident I'll fail, which isn't great for my confidence. Not that it matters. I have to try.
I lean back and hold the card over the garbage. That’s where it belongs. But I can’t seem to let it fall.