Chapter Three #2
"No limits!" I shout back.
Two hundred partially intoxicated readers size him up, considering their chances of getting him out of here. Fifty seemingly decide they can take him. They step forward like they're ready to go to war.
Lincoln breaks exactly like I knew he would, backing up a step. "Christ, I'm going. I'm going!" He holds his hands up like he's pleading for mercy, his eyes on the large group slowly advancing toward him. "Just…fucking stay right there, ladies."
"Ahh, come on!" a brassy redhead near the front calls. "Chase scenes are our favorite."
"And you're so pretty, you don't even need a mask," someone else yells.
"Fuck my life." Lincoln looks at me like he's ready to strangle me now. Honestly? Totally worth it. I think that's actual panic in his gaze. And is that sweat dripping down his brow? "This isn't over, sweetness."
That's the second time in ten minutes that I've heard similar.
"Oh, but it is." I bat my lashes at him.
"I'm counting to three, and then I'm setting them loose.
" I lean forward like I have to tell him a secret.
"And just so you know, they read cowboy romance.
They could probably MacGyver a lasso out of a bra, a shoestring, and a hair tie.
In fact…" I reach behind me like I'm going to slip my bra off.
"I will be back," he growls, making a beeline for the door so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. And damn, watching him go is something. That ass is a work of art. Too bad it's attached to a man with no soul.
"Are you kidding me?" I growl three hours later, coming to a dead stop in the parking lot when I spot Lincoln leaning against a dark SUV pulled up beside my car. He was supposed to be long gone already!
"Uh-oh," Jazz sing-songs beside me. "Looks like he's back for another round."
"Whose side are you on here?" I mutter, crossing my arms to glare at Lincoln as he pushes away from the SUV and strides toward us.
"I'm on the side of you getting laid by that fine specimen of a man," my best friend says, earning a high five from Olive. "We can go back to hating him afterward."
Loralei just laughs and then slaps a hand over her mouth like she didn't mean to do it.
"You're all dead to me," I sniff.
"My feet hurt enough for me to be okay with that right now," Loralei mutters, earning a nod of agreement from Olive.
Jazz just shrugs like she's fine with being disowned.
Cassia Murphy's quiet laugh spills out around us. "Do you want me to send Cord to deal with him?" she asks.
I glance at her husband, briefly considering it. He has muscles for days, and he wrestles bulls for a living. I bet he can take one real estate demon in a suit. And then I sigh. "No, thanks. I'll deal with him."
"Cool. See you tomorrow." Jazz blows me a kiss, linking her arms through Loralei and Olive's to practically haul them away. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"Like there's anything you wouldn't do," I grumble.
"Exactly. Have fun!" she says with a wicked cackle.
Ugh. I need a new best friend. Mine is evil.
Cassia and Cord trail after them a little more slowly, his arm around her waist. They look cute together, not at all like they fit. Maybe that's why they do. They're polar opposites.
As Lincoln closes the distance between us, I seriously contemplate ducking back into the store and locking the door.
But I decide not to do it, mostly because I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
I prefer being the one who sent him running for the hills, thank you very much.
Besides, whatever he came to say can't be worse than what he already said, right? Right.
I stand my ground, waiting for him to reach me.
"No need to bribe anyone into chasing me off this time. I come in peace," he says, waving a white pocket square like it's a flag.
I roll my eyes, biting my lip to fight the smile trying to form. I do not need to soften right now. He's the enemy, even if he is one not above resorting to humor.
"They could have taken you," I say. "It's a pity you didn't stick around."
"Are you kidding me?" He quirks a brow at me, a smile tugging at his lips. "I know when I'm beaten, sweetness. Two hundred intoxicated women eyeing me like I'm the key to their next shopping spree is fucking terrifying."
I laugh despite myself. "They wouldn't have hurt you. Much. Just played with you a little."
"Says you. They were ready to fuck me up on your command."
"And yet, you're still here."
"I'm persistent."
"That's one word for it. What do you want now?" I ask.
"To talk," he murmurs, his voice whispering across my skin like a kiss as he tucks the pocket square away. "I'm not here to give you high blood pressure."
"Too late for that."
"You usually have that many people show up for readings?" he asks, leaning against the side of the building with his arms crossed.
"Depends on the author."
"Your store is popular."
"Romance is the best-selling genre in the United States.
It brings in over a billion dollars in revenue every year.
At any given time, the bestseller lists are stacked with books written by and for women.
And yet, most stores don't cater to romance or women.
The genre is still seen as the redheaded stepchild of the book world.
Would you like to know why?" I ask and then wait for him to nod.
"Because the industry is still dominated by men who think their opinions and books are superior to those written and read by women.
So yes, my store does well. It's probably one of the few places in Santa Maria where women are allowed to like exactly what they like without being judged for it. "
"Men are idiots."
"Sometimes." I cock my head to the side. "Some actually support us. But I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that."
"You'd be surprised."
I snort, not sure I believe him.
"I mean it, Lilah. Despite your opinion of me, I'm not the devil."
"No, you're just trying to run me out of business to build god only knows what," I say. "And you'll win because men like you always win, right?"
He grits his teeth, refusing to answer, which is answer enough.
He'll play dirty if that's what it takes.
Guys like him always do. It's not like you reach billionaire status by being the good guy.
At least, most don't. They get there by lying, cheating, stealing, and strong-arming their way through the competition.
There are far more Jeffrey Skillings in the world than there are Chuck Feeneys.
I saw it often enough growing up. My dad has always been one of the good ones, but a lot of his clients are terrible people who do equally horrible things to earn the money they're so desperate to protect.
They aren't creating generational wealth.
They're simply forging dynasties meant to oppress anyone who isn't just like them.
"What do you want, Lincoln?" I say, tired all the way to my bones.
"To negotiate," he says.
I narrow my eyes on him, instantly suspicious. Men like him don't negotiate from a position of power unless they're up to something. It's part of how they get to where he is in life—by never making a single concession they don't absolutely have to make.
"If you'll agree to give up the building, I'll move your store to any location you want. My company will cover the costs of renovating and decorating so it looks precisely the same. And we'll ensure it's up and running before you have to be out of this location."
"Why?" I demand to know.
"Because, contrary to your opinion, I'm not out to run you out of business. If this turns into a bidding war, we both know you won't win. And if, by some miracle, you do, you'll be out millions that you'll never be able to recoup, not with a single store."
"Why?" I ask again, not buying his answer.
"Because I'm not an asshole."
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle. He looks like he means it, but I'm having a hard time believing it. Maybe because he was such a jerk the other day.
"Oh my god!" I cry, realization dawning.
Wanting to save my business and my bank account is too…
altruistic, too noble. I don't buy it. But hesitating because he thinks my father will put up the money to give me first dibs on this place?
Oh, yeah. He'd definitely do that. "You found out who my father is, didn't you? "
"That's beside the point."
"No, I really don't think it is. Oh my god.
" I cross my arms, glaring at him. "You're like every freaking billionaire I've ever read about, and half of the ones I've met.
You're not offering to move my business because you're trying to do the right thing.
You're offering because you don't want a fight with my dad, and you're afraid he might actually win. "
"I'm not worried about a fight with your dad."
"Well, you should be," I snap, too mad to be rational.
"Because hell will freeze over before he lets you take my building.
" It's not technically a lie. If I told my dad what was going on, he'd fight this battle for me, just like he always does.
But Lincoln doesn't need to know that I haven't told him what's going on.
"Dammit, Lilah, that's not—"
"Yeah, it is. Well, it sucks to suck, Lincoln. I'm not giving it up."
"Why do you want it so much?"
"So you can't have it," I mutter, which is only partially true.
"The real reason," he growls, taking a step toward me.
"Do you even know anything about this building?" I ask, poking him in the chest to get him to back up. Except, he doesn't back up. He just grabs my hand, holding me prisoner in front of him. "You don't, do you?"
"Educate me, sweetness."
"It's where the oldest bookstore in Santa Maria stood until a fire gutted it in 1993," I say.
"It was in business for sixty years before the doors closed.
The owners couldn't afford to rebuild, so they sold the building to a developer, who gutted and renovated it.
He saved as much of the original structure as he could, but most of it was beyond saving.
Guess who bought the building next? Another bookstore.
They were in business for twenty-five years before the owner died.
So this isn't just a building, Lincoln. This place has been a bookstore for almost the entire time it's stood here.
It's been a refuge for God knows how many readers who just needed a little magic.
There's nowhere you can move me with that kind of history written into the walls.
Fire gutted this place, and people forgot all about what it used to be, but you don't get to just tear it down and erase it like the memories it contains for people in this town don't matter. "
He stares at me for a long, silent moment, and then does something I don't expect. He tugs me up against his chest, his lips coming down on mine in a hard kiss. It's so unexpected, I just…freeze. I let him kiss me.
And then, despite how mad I am—or maybe because of how mad I am—I kiss him back. I don't even mean to do it, but his hands are in my hair, and his lips are on mine. I just react.
"Fuck," he growls, nipping at my bottom lip. "You're beautiful when you're fired up."
Ugh. He just had to talk and ruin it, didn't he?
I go rigid in his arms and then try to push him away.
"Stop kissing me," I growl when he nips at my bottom lip again, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
He just chuckles and does it again before slowly backing off, his hands still tangled in my hair. His green eyes are dark, his expression feral as he stares at me. My whole body ignites, my core clenching so hard I almost whimper. Almost.
"I'm not giving up my building," I growl.
But…the sad truth is, soon, it'll be his.
He'll win this fight, like I'm sure he probably wins every fight.
There's no way I'm telling him that, though.
If I have twenty-seven days left to make an offer, I fully intend to make him sweat for every single one of them.
"Then I guess we'll just have to fight it out, little bookworm."
"I guess we will."
The way he smirks at me is so damn predatory, I shiver in response.
He leans forward, brushing his lips across the corner of my mouth. "See you soon."
He turns without waiting for a response and then walks away. I stand right where I am, watching him go, absolutely certain that he's the devil.
Unfortunately, I'm no longer sure he's the kind I can resist.