Billionaires Dollar Series

“This changes absolutely nothing.”

“I’d be surprised if it did.” He stops next to me, and his hot breath against my ear makes me shiver. “Thanks for clarifying a few things.”

I sweep my hair back and try to get my breathing under control. “I detest you.”

“Sure you do.” He stops by the door to the bookshop and gives me his trademark smirk, the one I’d found darkly charming that night at his hotel bar. “Just think how good hate sex we’d have.” And then he’s gone, and I’m left alone again, heart beating a fiery rhythm in my chest.

I ignore the burning in my muscles as I finish another lap in the pool. My shoulders, my arms, my back are all on fire. I’ll have to stretch out the muscles later, but for now, the ache is pleasant.

I’d once read that Olympic swimmers will swim ten to twenty miles a day, just to train. It’s a number I’ve never been able to reach, though most days I tell myself it’s because of a lack of time and not ability.

Swimming gives me time to think. It always has, even when my life runs at a million miles per minute, and all I have is this hour for myself in the water.

My thoughts today have drifted from the new investment my firm is considering to my little sister and back around again to Between the Pages.

Because inevitably these days, all my thoughts seem to lead back there, and especially to the bookstore clerk with fire in her veins.

I should get her out of my mind. She’d realized what I wanted and said no. She’d even outlined why it would be a bad idea. She’d been right, too. It would be unprofessional. Complicated. Messy.

And yet, the time I spent with her was some of the most fun I’d had in months. Not once had she tried to suck up to me; to drop hints about monetary needs or expensive restaurants she wanted to try. The women I’d tried to date in the last few years invariably did, as if I’d become terrible at choosing or if the choices available to me had narrowed with success.

Skye held my success against me. It’s hard not to smile at the memory of her anger. She’s entitled to it, but the way she argues and fights is… well, it’s admirable. She’s refusing to go down without a fight, and damn it if that doesn’t make me want her more.

I finally pull myself out of the pool when the giant clock on the wall reads 7:30 a. m. I’ve already overstayed my usual hour in the water.

Bryan and Tyra are waiting for me when I arrive at the office thirty minutes later. They’re the picture of competence; Bryan has his laptop under his arm and Tyra a smartphone in each hand. The key to good business strategy, which I’ve been asked a thousand times, is always this; hiring the best of the best. Your business will go absolutely nowhere if you can’t delegate.NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

But that’s never the answer business panels and newspapers want to hear. They want me to say things like inner drive and ambition. Either you have it or you don’t. It’s all bullshit.

“Good morning,” Tyra says. She hands me a coffee and I take it in stride, sinking into one of the chairs in my office. “The Cowell project is on schedule. They just phoned in their latest numbers.”

“Good.”

“Your interview with The Inside Tribune is out today,” Bryan says. “Should be circulating already. I’ll have a copy of the interview on your desk in an hour.”

“Perfect.” I don’t know if I want to read it. Melissa Edwards had asked leading questions, and the story will inevitably be spun in a way I’ll barely recognize.

Bryan sees my frown. “It’s great for publicity. And what’s great for publicity-”

“Is great for business,” I say. “I got it. What else?”

Tyra hands me a thick binder. “The finalized hotel development plans. And, per your instructions, there are two options for the lobby. One that includes Between the Pages, and one that excludes it.”

I thumb through the glossy papers. It’s a document made for investors, not developers, so the graphics look stellar. I have to give props to the graphic artist, too, for managing to make the inclusion of the small bookstore work with the ultramodern look of the hotel.

It doesn’t look bad, but it doesn’t exactly look right, either. I’ll have to schedule a meeting with the head architect for the project.

“There’s this, too.” Bryan hands me a printed invitation to a book reading. It’s well-designed, with the logo of Between the Pages at the top. “It’s tonight. Mrs. Stiller from the bookstore emailed it over to our office.” He clears his throat. “I think it’s meant as a joke, or a taunt.”

“They’re not going down without a fight,” Tyra notes. “I doubt it’ll be enough, though.”

My eyes scan through the invite. Seven p. m. All welcome. Marks the beginning of our mid-season sale.

“It was sent to our office email?”

“Yes,” Bryan replies. “I was CC:ed.”

In the bottom right corner there’s a small symbol, like a stamp. I have to lean in close to read what it says. Buy local, support your community, say no to big business.

I want to laugh.

Instead, I put the invite on my desk and lean back. “Anything else?”

Bryan and Tyra run through the morning report. I’m listening, but mentally I’m already changing my plans for the evening. There’s a dinner I can easily cancel; I wasn’t the main guest anyway.

It’s been over a week since I last spoke to Skye in the bookstore and she called me out on my proposal, and said no. But she’d sent this invite to our office. Karli might have been the sender, but Skye was the instigator-no doubt in my mind.

Charles drops me off outside Between the Pages a quarter past seven. It’s lit up from the outside; fairy lighting hangs in the window display.

I open the door to a crowd. It’s packed in a way I’ve never seen it before, the large reading room table moved to make room for chairs. People are gathered around it in a semicircle, people in all shapes and sizes.

Karli is sitting in one of the main chairs next to an older woman reading from a red book. I retreat to one of the corners, melting into the crowd, and scan the crowd. The author is reciting a passage about spring, something about seasons and buds and flowers, but I’m looking for a certain bookstore employee.

I find her in the opposite corner.

Skye is in a bookstore T-shirt and a flowy skirt, her long hair loose today. It falls in waves down her back and frames her face, currently frowning as she fiddles with a microphone system. There’s a healthy flush to her skin.

I want to smile. She’s the architect of this whole thing, but of course she’s not on the makeshift stage to take credit next to Karli, but working away behind the scenes.

Judging from the crowd, it’s a popular event, too. People are listening in rapt silence. All around us, handwritten sale signs hang over dark-wooden bookshelves. The place looks spectacular.

The author finishes her passage with a dramatic pause and the audience erupts into applause. Karli accepts a microphone from Skye, her frown turned into a wide smile now. It makes me want to smile too.

“Testing, testing,” she says, to a few laughs. “All right, we’re back up and running. Many thanks to Nigella for coming out and sharing her book, The Seasons, with us here today. We’ll be back shortly with a Q&A session-prepare your questions! Please feel free to mingle, look at our sale section, and grab a bite to eat in the meanwhile. Your support means the world to us. Thank you.”

More applause. I watch as Skye takes the microphone and darts around the shop to the back, returning with a tray overflowing with aperitifs. They’ve really gone all in with this thing.

I lean against one of the built-in bookshelves and wait for her to notice me. It takes a while, giving me ample opportunity to see the softness in her features as she talks to one customer after another. Her serviceable smile, her pealing laughter. I know that’ll be gone the second she sees me.

And then she finally does, her gaze sweeping across the bookstore but stopping dead when it lands on me.

I wink at her.

Her eyebrows rise, and then she’s advancing, hands on her hips. “You came to our book reading?”

“My office received an invitation. It would’ve been rude to decline.”

To my surprise, she gives me a beaming smile. She’s always been beautiful, but with that joy on her face, she’s breathtaking. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Look around-see all these people? Watch it and weep, Porter. Our sales are already up compared to last quarter.”