Chapter Seven
Sebastian
I stare at Novel Idea from my Bentley. The book-shaped sign above the door swings lazily in the Tuesday evening breeze.
A quick glance at my watch confirms it’s nearly closing time.
The once-charming facade now mocks me. “I’ll let myself out, but stay near,” I tell Tom.
“I’m not sure if this will take an hour or five minutes. ”
He nods, but I don’t leave. Instead, I open the middle console and remove a glass bottle of water.
Unscrewing the cap, I take a huge swallow.
Pretending I’m happy to see Rosalia is going to be difficult.
When I’d first asked her out, it had been because of a simple attraction.
Now, thanks to Thorne, nothing is simple.
The bet has poisoned what could have been. She and I are playing the same game, only for different stakes.
How am I supposed to pretend for the next six weeks?
Six long weeks of forced smiles and hidden agendas until the derby party.
Six weeks to either win her heart or lose my place at the head of Blackstone Distillery to my brother.
I’m an idiot to risk all I’ve worked for.
God knows what Thorne could do to the company if he were to take over.
My phone rings on the seat. I glance at the caller ID and my mood drops further. The ringing cuts off, going to voicemail. I wish I could ignore the memory of our last conversation as easily as this call. Yesterday, I made the mistake of answering.
“What do you want?” I’d snapped.
“Good afternoon to you too, brother,” he drawls.
“Again, what do you want?”
“The bet’s on.”
The sentence lands like a punch to the gut. Rosalia seemed different, but she is just another person willing to use me for her gain. “It’s been days. I assumed she'd refused.”
“She took her time getting back with me,” Thorne admits.
Anger flares in my chest. “You, asshole, did you pressure her?”
“No, jackass. I left her my card in case she changed her mind. The pretty little book mouse called me this morning asking for her cheese.”
The implications of the bet slam into me.
And not just for Rosalia. “The distillery is more than a business,” I tell him.
“It’s our family legacy, and I’ve poured my heart into making it better.
I won’t let you dismantle everything I’ve built or treat our employees like nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet.
” And he would undo all the progress and prioritize profits over the well-being of the employees.
Why hadn’t I considered my employees? Yes, Rosalia’s bookstore is important, but so are the jobs of those who work for me. Thorne can’t win .
My brother snorts. “You should have thought about that before agreeing to the bet.”
“This bet, it’s a mistake. For the distillery and Rosalia.”
“Get over yourself.” His voice takes on that patronizing smoothness he’s honed through countless negotiations. We’re giving her the opportunity to keep her little store, which she wouldn’t have without us.”
“It’s because of us that she’s in this situation.”
“Regardless,” he says with an air of indifference. “She agreed, and I’m halfway to winning. Start packing.”
“Fuck you, Thorne.”
His condescending laughter filters through the phone. “Enjoy your dates with Rosalia.” He hangs up, leaving me alone with my disgust and worry.
She has no idea about the real game being played. Rosalia thinks she's choosing between her integrity and her livelihood, but she's actually just a pawn.
“Sir?” Tom asks.
He’s staring at me, probably wondering why I’m sitting like a statue, not getting out of the car.
I rub a hand roughly down my face. The guilt and anger have been driving me to distraction ever since I learned Rosalia had accepted my brother’s deal.
I can’t decide if I’m disgusted with myself or disappointed in her.
“Lost in my head. I’m going,” I tell him, opening my door.
Getting out of the car, I straighten my suit jacket. I push open the door to Novel Idea. The bell overhead chimes softly, but it might as well be a fork scraping on glass.
The bookstore is nearly empty now, the day winding to a close.
As if pulled by a magnet, my gaze lands on Rosalia at the counter.
Her hair is slightly disheveled from a long day’s work, a strand falling across her cheek as she chats with an elderly woman.
A tangle of emotions tightens around me: desire, longing, anger, and shame.
“Same time next week for the book club, Mrs. Abernathy?” Rosalia asks, smiling as she hands over a receipt .
“Wouldn’t miss it, dear,” the woman replies, patting Rosalia’s hand. “You take care now.”
Mrs. Abernathy shuffles toward the exit, passing a table filled with kids around twelve or thirteen years old packing up their bookbags. I overhear them discussing an upcoming science fair. A boy drops a book with a robot on the cover in front of a girl.
The picture pulls me even farther into the past, to a conversation I’d had with my father when I was around the same age as those kids. I’d come home from school excited about a new friend I’d made in science class.
“Dad, I invited Lennox over to work on our robotics project together tomorrow,” I’d told him excitedly.
“What’s the boy’s last name?” he’d asked.
“Hayes.”
Dad pushed the paper he’d been looking at aside, giving me his full attention. “His Pa works at the distillery.”
My bony shoulders had hunched in a shrug. “So?” I hadn’t understood why that mattered or why my father’s expression was so stern.
He pointed to the chair across from his massive desk. “Sit down. It’s time we had a talk.”
I’d obeyed, even though I’d had the urge to run and cover my ears.
“You need to be careful about who you let into your life.” He pinned me with his cold and authoritative stare. “People will always want something from you, whether it’s money, status, or connections. They’ll pretend to be your friend, but in the end, they’re using you for their gain.”
“Lennox isn’t like that,” I’d protested. “He’s a good guy.”
My father’s laugh was a harsh, humorless sound. “That’s what they all say. But trust me, son, everyone has an angle. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be. In this world, you can only rely on yourself and maybe your family. Everyone else is just looking for a way to exploit you.”
I’d ignored the advice, thrilled to find a kindred spirit, someone who’d shared my love of science.
We’d spent countless hours together, talking about our dreams and aspirations.
But as time went on, Lennox began to ask more and more questions about my family, my vacations, and the perks of being a Blackstone.
At first, I’d been flattered by his interest, eager to share my world with my friend.
But as time passed and we entered high school, Lennox started asking for favors—small ones at first, to borrow money he never paid back, or an invitation to exclusive Blackstone events and parties.
I was happy to oblige, believing that’s what friends do for each other.
It wasn’t until I overheard Lennox talking to another classmate that the truth sucker-punched me. Lennox was bragging about how he’d befriended the “Blackstone jerk” for the perks.
I shake my head, pulling myself from the painful memory. Rosalia is arranging bookmarks while chatting with a blonde woman. The soft lighting catches in her hair, giving it an amber glow. Despite everything, my pulse quickens.
Anger surfaces, although I’m not sure if it’s aimed at her or Thorne. I’d been looking forward to this coffee date, but his phone call and her agreement tarnish it. The betrayal stings.
Guilt follows quickly. Am I any better? I’d agreed to the bet first, treating her livelihood like a poker chip. I press my fist against the knot in my chest.
She’s wiping down the counter and laughing at something the blonde woman said.
I think her name is Paige, and she owns the bakery a few doors down.
And is Rosalia’s closest friend. She turns in my direction.
Her eyes widen, and she pales before glancing away, no doubt remembering our coffee plans made days ago before this bet complicated everything.
Did she think I wouldn’t show? She doesn’t know about my brother’s asinine bet, so maybe it’s the guilt of agreeing to her deal with him.
Rosalia straightens her shoulders and gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hi, Sebastian. I’ll be ready for our coffee date as soon as I close up.”
There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place. Resignation? Determination? Whatever game we’re playing, she’s decided to face it head-on.
So will I. “No rush,” I reply, aiming for casual but landing somewhere near stiff.
Paige slides off her stool. “Text me when you get home.” She gathers her purse from behind the counter and gives me another once-over as she passes.
Rosalia turns to the group of kids at the table. “I’m sorry, but the shop’s closing in ten minutes. Do you need help finding anything before you go?”
A girl with thick glasses looks up. “We’re good, Ms. Rosalia. Thank you for letting us work on our science fair planning here.”
“Anytime. Your project is on renewable energy, right?” Rosalia asks.
A boy nods enthusiastically, shoving a book into his already stuffed backpack. “We’re going to build a working solar panel!”
“Sounds impressive,” Rosalia smiles.
“Thank you,” chant several voices on their way to the exit.
The easy way she connects with the teenagers doesn’t feel calculated. But then again, Tiffany had been good with kids too, when it served her purposes. I want to believe this is different, but wanting something doesn't make it true.
I stand awkwardly by a new releases display, pretending to examine a hardcover while she moves through her closing ritual. She counts the register, powers down the computer, and adjusts displays that don’t need adjusting.
“It’ll just be a few more minutes,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes as she flips through a ledger, making final notations.
“Take your time,” I reply, studying her methodical movements. Is she dragging this out to avoid being alone with me? Or just being thorough?
Finally, she locks the cash drawer, grabs her purse from beneath the counter, and approaches the door. She flips the sign to “CLOSED” and turns the deadbolt with a decisive click.
“Ready for coffee?” she asks, still not quite looking at me directly.
Time to place our bets and play our games.