Billion Dollar Enemy

by Olivia Hayle

  I’m like a rabbit, stuck in the headlights, unable to end this moment. My willpower is weakening. The part of my body that has been screaming for a repeat is roaring, preparing her arguments. His lips are so close.

  “I hate you,” I whisper. “So much.”

  He leans back with a sardonic smile. “Oh, Skye. I don’t think that’s true at all.” He pushes the poster toward me. “Keep this. I have about a thousand more where that came from.”

  And then he’s gone, striding out as quickly as he came in, and I’m left trying to clear my head. What had he been about to do?

  And worse… what had I been about to do?

  6

  Skye

  I push the stool back further, gripping my phone tight. The angle needs to be perfect for this shot.

  “Like this?” Karli asks, lifting the book a little bit higher.

  “Yes, that’s perfect. And turn it a little bit… yes!” I stand on the stool, maintaining my balance, and take about ten nearly identical pictures. With the beautiful dark bookcase in the background, and the spiral staircase, it’s a great picture of this weeks “Recommended by Between the Pages staff.”

  “Can I lower it now?”

  “Yes, we got it.”

  Karli shakes her arms out. “Wow. I had no clue I was this weak.”

  “Tell me about it. I had to run for the bus the other week and nearly fainted.”

  She laughs, bending to tuck the stool back into place. “How many pictures have you taken now? You must have a dozen.”

  “Nearly twenty.” I favorite the picture I like the most and add it to the album on my phone titled Instagram. “We’re going to become the most followed bookstore in Seattle.”

  Karli’s voice is amused. “How many followers does the most followed have?”

  “Well, technically speaking, they have fifteen thousand.”

  “Fifteen thousand?”

  “Should be a piece of cake.”

  Karli pushes her glasses back. “I saw the poster you made for the book reading night, by the way.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It’s great. I’ve made a list with speakers I think would be interested in joining, as well as the author. I’ll give them a call later this afternoon.”

  Relief floods through me. Karli has been on board with my ideas from the start, but having her active participation in these things is even better. She has tons of connections in this world, her grandmother’s name opening doors, and it will mean a lot coming from Karli herself.

  “That’s perfect. I’ll promote it on our new social media accounts too.” I wave my phone at her, and she grins.

  “What’s our current follower count?”

  I check. “Three hundred forty-eight. That’s twelve higher than yesterday.”

  “Saving the bookstore, one like at a time.”

  “Exactly. About that, though… I’ve been thinking about something.” I put my phone in my pocket and curse myself for following Cole’s advice. “We should go over the finances as well, right? The only thing we need to show is that we’re profitable. If we cut down on all expenses, and maybe have a sale on some of the more difficult inventory…”

  Karli sits down in the old armchair in the corner with a sigh. “I know. It’s exactly what we should do.”

  I take a seat on the stool opposite her. “It’s a lot. I know.”

  “It is. And… Well, I haven’t told you yet, but our accountant is quitting.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Terrible timing, I know. Greg’s retiring, and I haven’t figured out what to do. Honestly, before the meeting with Porter Development, I was so ready to throw in the towel on the whole thing.”

  I reach across and put my hand on hers. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you with anything and everything. I know it’s not my place—”

  But Karli just shakes her head. “It is. This is our store, Skye. We need as many of your ideas as we can get.”

  I squeeze her hand. “So now we need a new accountant.”

  “Yes. Someone who can start pretty much right away. Someone who’s okay with only being guaranteed work for two months.”

  “Should be plenty of firms around here. I think I could—oh! I do know someone. Chloe. My old college roommate.” I’m already fishing out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. “She’s an accountant.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! I saw her just a few months ago at a mutual friend’s wedding. We’re not exactly close, but she was always good in school. Straight As. I could give her a call?”

  Karli is smiling at me. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d be getting some peace and quiet, probably. This bookstore would be much calmer.”

  She chuckles. “But not nearly as entertaining. Come on, let’s go downstairs and officially open for business today. Did you see what I brought? I put it in the storage room.”

  “No?”

  “Cupcakes from yesterday. I tried a new recipe.”

  I’m already hurrying down the steps. “What kind?”

  “Carrot cake.”

  My stomach grumbles at the sound of that. “Carrots are nutritious, so they count as breakfast, right?”

  Karli laughs at me, already ducking behind the curtain into the storage room. “Absolutely!”

  The day goes by without a hitch. I’m polishing some of our reading lights—golden, old-school, one of Eleanor’s many touches—when the doorbell jingles again. We’ve had several customers already, and each jingle has buoyed my mood even more.

  I might be a failed writer. An okay-ish sister. But I’m a good bookstore employee, and my posters are already paying dividends.

  A voice reaches me. “Delivery for Miss Skye Holland.”

  “Oh. Wow. Yes, this is the right place. Skye!”

  I peek around the corner. A courier is holding a massive box, filled to the brim with potted plants.

  He nods when he sees me. “Miss Holland?”

  “Yes.”

  Putting down the box, he hands me a small slip. “Sign at the bottom, please.”

  I sign my name on autopilot, still gazing at the delivery. There’s at least ten plants, the green and leafy type. The kind that looks almost like ivy, spilling out of the rims of their pots.

  “Well, have a nice day then, ladies.”

  “Bye,” I murmur at the delivery guy.

  Karli’s voice is warmer. “You too. Thanks.”

  When he’s gone, she turns to me with incredulous eyes. “You ordered this? For the store?”

  Weakly, I nod.

  “This must have cost a lot. But it’ll look so good… like that picture you showed me the other day, of the old bookstore in Paris. Ours looks a little bit like that already. This will look amazing.” She bends and pulls out a pot of Devil’s Ivy. “We could have this on the spiral staircase. Look how long the tendrils are!”

  “Yes. Fantastic.” I bend and pick up the entire box, and as I do, I notice the small white envelope tucked inside one of the pots. “I’ll put it in the back for now, all right?”

  When I’m safely hidden by shelves, I pull out the note. There are ten digits written in a square, masculine hand. Below it, a single sentence. For the next time you feel like sending me a message.

  I slip the note into my pocket, where it feels hot, like it’s burning straight through the fabric of my jeans and searing my skin. I hate that he has this effect on me. That I can’t seem to get over the amazing night we spent together, before I knew I was sleeping with the enemy.

  Buy plants. He’d seen it on my list yesterday, the list he’d made fun of, before giving me “actual” business advice.

  I smile down at the box of plants. I had gotten him to drive across town to confront me about the posters himself, and that meant I was succeeding in being a nuisance. Before these two months were up, the bookshop would be far more than just a nuisance. It would be a successful, thriving business, and he’d have to
eat his bet and his smugness both.

  Karli doesn’t ask me about the decision to get the plants, not even as we put them up. She thinks it’s a great idea. I nod, though guilt roils in my stomach at the credit. She still doesn’t know that my one-night stand and the man bound to demolish our business are one and the same.

  I should tell her, but as soon as it dances to the tip of my tongue, I swallow it back down again. It’s a truth I’m having trouble wrapping my head around myself, to be honest.

  Karli is in a great mood for the rest of the day, ever since I offered to call my accountant friend and the plants got delivered.

  My phone rings late that afternoon, my sister’s caller ID on the screen. I groan.

  Karli looks at me sympathetically. “Isla?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say you’re busy. You’re allowed to be, you know.”

  “I know.” I step into the storage room and press answer. My older sister’s voice, chirpy and high, rings out.

  “Oh, Skye, I’m so happy to get a hold of you.”

  I always answer, I want to say. Getting a hold of me is never a problem. “What’s up?”

  “You know the car show Rodney is going to tonight?”

  “A car show?”

  “Yes. I told you about this last time we spoke, I’m sure.”

  I have to stop myself from sighing. Her new boyfriend seems nice—I’ve only met him twice—but he always has engagements out of town. “It’s tonight?”

  “Yes. And I was wondering… It’s just no place for a kid, you know.”

  Translation—she wants to be alone with her new boyfriend. It was always the same story with Isla. She would be infatuated with a new guy, or with a new hobby, and I’d be expected to step in as the go-to babysitter or helper.

  “You want me to watch Timmy?”

  “Oh, would you? That would be so good of you. You’re really helping me out here.”

  Yeah, which was what she had said just two days ago, when she dropped Timmy off without any advance warning.

  “Bring him by whenever. When do you and Rodney plan on being home?”

  “Oh, you know, it might run late.”

  “It’s a school night.”

  Her tone sharpens slightly at the clear reproach in mine. “I’ll pack all of his school stuff as well as his overnight stuff, don’t worry. You still have that old pull-out couch in your living room.”

  Right. So that means cooking a nutritious dinner, driving him to school in the morning, and making sure he has everything he needs for the day.

  My sister is a nice person. Most of the time, at least. But she doesn’t think, and she never has, and somehow life had let her get away with it.

  “Sounds good,” I say, hating how much of a pushover I’ve always been around her.

  “Perfect!” she chirps. “I’ll bring him by around five. To the bookstore?”

  “Yes.”

  She hangs up with a pearly laugh and I’m left staring at the phone in my hand. I love my nephew, and I really enjoy all the time we get to spend together. And the fact that she springs things like this on me—I can handle it, even if I don’t like the lack of warning. But I don’t like that she does this to Timmy every time a new guy comes on the scene.

  I last two more hours before the phone number blossoms into an inferno in my pocket and I have to put out the fire. I add Cole’s phone number into my contacts, and under contact name, I write the first thing I think of. Demolisher. And then I send him a quick text.

  Skye Holland: The plants are nice. But please don’t send me a cat next.

  My heart pounding, I slip my phone back into my pocket and tell myself to ignore it, and Cole, entirely. This entire thing is uncharted territory for me. It always had been, even back in that hotel room, despite my pretend-confidence.

  And now, with him as the owner of Porter Development, the rules are muddled even further. We’re not friends. We’re enemies who’ve happened to see each other naked. And that made things a hell of a lot more confusing.

  My phone buzzes nearly immediately.

  Cole Porter: Too bad. I already had a kitten picked out. She’s really fluffy.

  I chuckle, despite myself.

  Skye Holland: Keep her for yourself. I’m sure she’ll fit right in in your thousand-square-foot penthouse.

  His answer is immediate again.

  Cole Porter: You’re making assumptions again.

  Skye Holland: Isn’t that what we do best, as people-watchers?

  Cole Porter: Oh, but I’m not a stranger. Haven’t we established that already?

  My cheeks are burning, my stomach tightening. It’s playing with fire, this conversation. Him. The bet. All of it, and still, I keep putting my hand to the flame.

  Skye Holland: Thanks for the plants.

  He doesn’t respond for a long time after that, so long that I assume he agreed with me. But then my pocket buzzes again.

  Cole Porter: Is that the closest I’ll get to an apology for vandalizing my properties?

  I can’t help but smile. Oh, he had another thing coming if he thought I’d cave this easily.

  Skye Holland: I’ll never apologize for that.

  7

  Skye

  It’s over a week before I see him again. And yes, I hate that that’s the way I’ve started calculating time. The man is single-handedly responsible for the bookstore’s potential destruction, and still, my traitorous body and my even-more-traitorous eyes love the sight of him.

  Keeping busy helped, though. Karli and I hired Chloe, my old college roommate, to look into our books. More customers are coming in by the day, and the time we have in between them, Karli and I spend planning the book reading. Things are changing, and I feel like Karli and I can turn this around, even if it’s with our own optimism as currency.

  Life is busy. And yet, my mind finds ways to circle back around to the memory of Cole Porter. It hits me one evening, alone in Between the Pages, just before closing. Thoughts of his smug smile and the silken growl of his voice.

  “No,” I say. “No, no, no. Go away.” I turn up the volume on the radio and sing along to a peppy tune, heading to the storage room instead. I grab the box of books I’d bought from the consignment store and I carry it out to the reading room table, my glue gun stacked on top. This should keep both mind and hands busy.

  But then the doorbell jingles, and there he is, as if summoned by my imagination.

  He’s not in a suit today. That’s my first observation, as Cole Porter stands in the doorframe in a button-down and slacks. Hands in his pockets, the picture of casual male power. A slow smile spreads across his face as he sees me with my pile of trinkets.

  “An arts and crafts project, Skye?”

  I put the box down on the counter. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to look at my investment.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “I did agree to allow this business to continue, incorporated into my building, if you succeed.”

  I huff a sigh and start piling up the books I’d purchased. They’re pretty, with old spines, but they’d only cost me pennies.

  “If you’re here for a financial checkup, I can’t help you. I can give you the number to our new accountant, though.”

  “You took my advice?”

  “Yes,” I say primly. “I suppose something good comes from having a ruthless CEO as our overlord.”

  He chuckles and reaches for the glue gun. “I haven’t seen one of these in forever.”

  My project feels a bit silly now with him standing here. He’s a business tycoon, and I’m trying to create something that might be Instagram-worthy for our customers.

  “We’re doing great,” I say. “We’ve had a ton of new customers. I think the posters are really working.”

  He arches an eyebrow in an infuriating move, hands still in his pockets. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” I grab a stack of the books and the glue gun, carrying them to the reading table in one of the adjoining roo
ms.

  “Do you want the rest of this, too?” Cole follows me in, the heavy box lifted high in his arms.

  “On the table.”

  He puts it down and starts to sort through the books. “Gulliver’s Travels?”

  “A classic.”

  He picks up another. “How to Cook with Lavender, a Step-by-Step Guide. These books look…”

  “Old? Dated?”

  “Completely unsellable.”

  I search through the photos in my phone, trying to find the inspiration picture I’d chosen. “I know,” I say. “They’re not for sale.”

  “They’re part of your personal collection?” He opens the cookbook, eyes scanning with a doubtful look on his face. “Tell me, how does lavender quiche taste?”

  I hold up my phone for him to see. “This is what I’m going to make.”

  “You’re going to glue books together in the shape of a heart?”

  “Yes. We have a small wall in between the Sci-Fi room and Contemporary Fiction, and right now, it’s just a bunch of shelves. But by putting this there instead, people could look in between the two rooms in the shape of a heart. A bookheart.”

  Cole is quiet for a long moment, flipping through another book. I wait for the reproach, the tone of voice that will tell me it’s ridiculous. Like thinking plants or cats will save a failing business.

  I know it’s a long shot. I know things like this are nothing more than fun little quirks. But if I keep pushing, maybe I can make this bookstore as magical for all customers as it is for me. Maybe I can make it a destination, a place people come to take pictures. A place for book lovers and dreamers.

  But Cole doesn’t say anything disparaging. Instead, I’m treated to the marvelous view of him carefully rolling up his sleeves, one inch at a time, methodical and calm. “Well,” he says. “I think you’ll need some help with that, no?”