by R. R. Banks
“Obviously.”
“Told him to have his shit out of my house in an hour or I was going to set it all on fire.”
Knowing Skyler as well as I do, I know that wasn't an idle threat. “I'm assuming Dean got his shit out?”
“Of course,” she says and laughs. “He knows I'd set that shit on fire in a heartbeat. And if there's one thing he likes more than cheating on his girlfriend, it's his clothes. Superficial asshole.”
“Want me to key his car?”
She shrugs. “No need,” I said. “I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. When I left, he was curled up on the floor crying like a baby.”
I laugh again because that too is so very Skyler. She doesn't take crap from anybody and is never afraid to assert herself.
“Good for you, sweetie,” I say. “But, if you ever want me to key his car, I'm always ready.”
Skyler has been my best friend since high school, and we're more like sisters than anything. The fact that she likes me better than her two natural sisters never fails to irritate them. To be fair, they are pretty terrible people, so it doesn't bother me all that much.
She's got long, blonde hair and stunning green eyes. Tall, thin, with a great body and even better breasts, Skyler is every man's dream woman. She's smart, ambitious, and doesn't take shit from anyone. Skyler's lack of a filter and willingness to say whatever is on her mind and to put anybody in their place is something that I've always admired about her.
It's also probably a reason she's still single. In my experience, men say they want a smart, independent woman, but when they find one, they don't know what to do with her. And those qualities they say that they want, end up irritating them in the end.
Men and their egos are such fragile, delicate little snowflakes.
“Hang on,” she says. “Let me grab your lunch.”
Skyler turns and disappears through the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. She's the owner and operator of the Sapphire Grill, one of the best restaurants in town. While it is not quite upscale or “fine dining”, it is definitely several steps up from a greasy spoon diner – the kind of place it was when her parents owned it.
She'd done an amazing job of transforming the place and making it something new. Something better. Not that it was a bad place when her parents owned it. It was one of the more popular places in town. The place most of the old timers would go to in the morning for their coffee, conversation, and daily fix of grease.
But after it passed on to Skyler, she wanted to take it in a new direction. And she had. With a new menu that's simple, yet elegant, it attracts the usual old-timers, plus the younger crowds of hipsters and yuppies. Skyler has done what seemed like the impossible, which is roll with the punches and adjust to the changing world around us. And as a result, the Sapphire Grill is one of the few locally owned businesses that are thriving.
It's what I wanted to do with Bookworms when I first took over, but I honestly don't have the first clue on how to turn a dusty old bookstore into a place people want to come to. Not with all the technological options available to them today.
I sigh and sit back in my booth. The one thing that I do know is my shop is hemorrhaging money and that it has been for a good, long while. If I don't do something to turn things around, I really don't know what's going to happen.
“Here we go,” Skyler says as she sets a plate down in front of me. “One bacon cheeseburger with blue cheese crumbles, caramelized onions, on a garlic brioche bun. Oh, and sweet potato fries, of course. Had it made special just for you.”
“Sounds so fancy,” I say. “And smells incredible, Sky. Thank you, hon.”
“Anything for you,” she says as she slips back down into my booth. “Call it payback for listening to me bitch about my screwed-up love life all the time.”
I laugh. “Hey, I see it as living vicariously through you,” I say. “I can't even tell you the last time I had a date with anything other than a big, hunky man in a book.”
She gives me a rueful smile. “You know you could have any man in town,” she says. “You're gorgeous, Paige. I can think of a dozen men who'd gladly give their left nut to go out with you.”
“Yeah, the problem with that are the words, any man in town,” I say and laugh. “I've been here too long and know too many people. Dating somebody in town would feel weird.”
Skyler laughs and shakes her head as I take a bite of the burger. My eyes roll into the back of my head and a sound escapes from me that probably seems better suited to a porn flick. It's so full of flavor and tastes completely amazing.
“This is incredible,” I say. “So freaking good.”
“Glad you approve,” she says.
“Very much so,” I reply. “And you should totally put this on the menu.”
“I may just do that,” she says and then looks at me. “It's not that bad, you know. The guys in town. Especially with the influx of new residents. Lots of new beef to choose from, Paige.”
“Mostly hipsters,” I say. “I haven't seen this many bushy beards since the last lumberjack convention rolled through town.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Honey, I say this with all of the affection I have for you in my heart. You really need to get laid.”
Skyler isn't wrong about that. I can't even remember the last time I'd been with somebody. Between the store and my general lack of interest in the men around Port Safira, my love life has been deader than a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
The trouble though, is that I'm pretty particular about the men I sleep with. I'm not going to go screw some random guy just to screw him. I like to feel a connection with the men who share my bed. A bond. I'm not the one-night stand kind of girl. I actually like to be in a relationship – or at least, headed in that direction – before I drop my panties for anybody.
“Why don't you come out with me one night?” Skyler says. “I mean, I'm single and on the prowl now. We'll head into Seattle, have a few drinks, maybe find some hot guys to use and abuse?”
“You're such a bad influence.”
“Yeah, that's why you need me in your life,” she says. “You need somebody to steer you away from the convent you seem determined to enter.”
I laugh. “Hardly a convent.”
“Girl, you haven't had a man in your lady bits in so long, I'm half-afraid your body is just going to seal itself up down there forever.”
“Oh my God, you're terrible,” I reply.
“You're just now figuring that out?”
“No, I just feel the need to point it out now and then,” I say and laugh.
I take another bite of my burger and pop a fry into my mouth, savoring every delicious bite. I look up and see that Skyler is staring behind me, her eyes narrowing and a look of pure disdain crossing her face. I know that look and who inspires it – and it's not Dean, her cheating ex.
“Oh, Christ on a cracker,” she says.
“Mayor Goodrich?”
She nods and tries to smooth out her face and make herself appear less disgusted than I know she is. It's the price of being a business owner – you can't let people know that you despise them. It's politics, plain and simple.
I sink back into the booth, hoping he doesn't notice me. The last thing I want today is that blowhard asshat ruining my lunch.
“I got you, hon,” Skyler says, jumping out of the booth.
I glance back and see her greet the Mayor and his small party. She escorts them to a table on the other side of the restaurant, smiling and chattering the whole way like she is genuinely happy to see him. It makes me glad I don't have to play politics like that.
I sit back and happily dig into my meal, determined to enjoy the rest of my lunch.
Chapter Three
Paige
After a wonderful lunch, I walk back to my shop, feeling better and lighter than I had earlier in the day. My mood isn't quite so grim anymore. Hanging out with Skyler tends to do that for me. I lov
e that girl. She's my rock and my bright spot of sanity and clarity in this world.
Which, probably says something about my own mental state.
I open up the shop and step inside, taking down the “Be Back Soon” sign and putting the “Open” sign back in the window. Feeling anxious and a bit hyper, I putter around the store. I dust shelves that I dusted only yesterday, try to tidy and organize shelves that are overflowing, and do everything I can to make it look less cramped and cluttered.
My level of success is minimal. Even though they're gone, and I love my parents, organization and tidiness weren't exactly their strong suits. Not that I've done much better in that regard.
What my folks excelled at, however, was community relations. They were heavily involved with the social and political scene in Port Safira and were always running events through the bookstore that got the community involved. I have no doubt that they would definitely be able to adapt to the changing culture and demographics of the city and keep the shop going strong.
But then, they always had a head for business. I don't. I majored in Classic Literature when I was at UCLA and planned to become a teacher. Eventually, I wanted to get my doctorate and teach at a collegiate level. That was my goal and my life plan.
It was, unfortunately, a plan that I never got to see to fruition because of my parents' illness. I had to come home after my junior year and care for them until the end. And once they passed, I felt lost. Lost and stuck.
Actually, I felt completely lost and stuck. I still do, in some respects.
I'd never intended to be the owner of this bookstore. Even though I can quote passages from obscure texts and give you a dissertation on classic authors, knowing what it takes to make a business thrive is not among my skill set.
Not only had I never intended to be a bookstore owner, I never intended to live my life in Port Safira. At least, not until I retired, and was looking for a quieter, slower pace of life. I grew up here, and the town, although I love it, holds no mystery or excitement for me. And once I got a taste of the world outside of Port Safira while I was away at school, I wanted nothing more than to explore even more of it.
But, with my parents gone and being the only one left to keep the store going, I feel like I'm obligated to do this. Like it's my duty to keep Bookworms afloat as long as I can. Other than the house, this is really all I have left of them. They poured their hearts and souls into this place, always calling it a labor of love instead of a job. I feel like I'd be betraying their memory if I sold or closed the doors for good just because it's inconvenient or not something that I really want to do with my life.
This shop is my parents' legacy. How could I throw it all away? What kind of a horrid child or monster would I be if I turned my back on what my folks had built?
I'm in the back of the shop doing some inventory when I hear the bells above the door tinkling as somebody walks in. A moment later, I hear a couple of voices. And I cringe when I hear one that I distinctly recognize. With a sigh, I set down my clipboard and walk to the front of the shop, already bracing for what's to come.
When I step into the front of the shop, I see them both standing there, looking around like they're already taking measurements and making plans for what they're going to do with this place – my place – as if it's definite that I'll be packing up my books and moving along.
That sort of arrogance and presumption ignites anger within me.
“Mayor Goodrich,” I say, doing my best to hide my disdain for the man.
“Ahh, Paige,” he says in his best politician voice – which sounds too much like a greasy used car salesman voice to me. “Lovely to see you again.”
Yeah, wish I could say the same. “Nice to see you as well,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
I look at the man standing next to him and don't need a name to know what he is. He's yet another in the long parade of developers Mayor Goodrich has been dragging around town. No doubt plotting the demise of even more of Port Safira's homegrown businesses in the name of progress.
The man gives me a smile I'm sure he intended to be charming, but from where I'm standing, it just looks smarmy. Wearing an obviously expensive suit and wire-rimmed glasses, the man is five-foot-ten, has blue eyes, and dark hair shot through with gray. He's well-built but is growing slightly soft in the middle.
If I had to guess, I'd say that he was probably an athlete back in college and probably still plays a little racquetball on the weekends with his boys down at their exclusive health club before going to their even more exclusive country club for overpriced drinks and meals that will put on twice as many calories as they'd just burned off at the gym.
“Paige Samuels, I'd like to introduce you to Damon Moore,” Goodrich says. “He's a property developer.”
Called it. “Yeah, I kind of figured,” I say. “Seem to be a lot of those in town these days.”
Goodrich clears his throat and did his best to avoid looking uncomfortable – and wasn't very successful at it. He'd paraded half a dozen different developers through my shop, all of them thinking that meeting me is simply a formality on the road to them buying my place and destroying it.
“Mr. Moore here –”
“Damon, please.”
Goodrich gives him that toothy politician smile that just drips with insincerity. “Damon, then,” he says. “Damon –”
“Wants to buy my property for a considerable amount, demolish it, and put up luxury condos,” I say, cutting the Mayor off. “Yeah, I've heard the sales pitch before.”
“You haven't heard my pitch, Ms. Samuels,” Moore says.
“No disrespect,” I say, “but, I really don't need to hear your pitch. I'm not interested in selling.”
Goodrich and Moore exchange a brief look and I can see irritation crossing the developer's face. It looks like our good Mayor had made some assurances or promises to the developer that he's going to be hard-pressed to keep.
“Tell you what,” Moore starts, “how about I take you out to dinner and we can discuss the matter further. Maybe in a more – relaxed – atmosphere?”
I stare at the both blankly for a moment, not believing that they just can't seem to take no for an answer.
“Am I speaking Chinese or something?” I ask.
The two men exchange another look and then turn to me, clearly perplexed. I let out a long breath, doing my best to control my temper.
“I've told you a million times already, Mayor Goodrich, I am not interested in selling,” I say. “So, you can stop bringing these damn vultures around here because it is not going to happen. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have work to do.”
Damon looks at me and a slow, greasy smile spreads across his face. I can already read his thoughts. He's taking this as a challenge. Like this is some sort of a game he thinks he can win or something. But, if that's what this creep really thinks, he's got another thing coming.
“Damon, can you give us a moment,” Goodrich asks. “I'd like to speak to Ms. Samuels in private.”
The developer smirks and gives me another of his greasy smiles that makes my skin crawl. Narrowing my eyes, I shoot Goodrich a dirty look that tells him that I have nothing to discuss with him in private or not.
Damon nods to the Mayor before he turned and left the store. Through the front windows, I watch him on the sidewalk. He pulls out his phone and starts to check on something – probably ruining somebody else's life for money, no doubt.
Goodrich turns to me and gives me that politician's smile again. It makes my skin crawl every bit as much as Damon's had. There's just something gross about these men who think they hold all the power and control in the world. Masters of their own universe who think they can bully and bribe anybody into anything. And I have no doubt they win a lot of the battles they pick.
Christ, I hate men like these two.
And if they think they can bully and bribe me into anything, maybe because I'm a woman, I'm going to have to set them straight. I'm not a woman wh
o is easily intimidated or pushed around. I may not be as outspoken as Skyler, but I'm also not some wilting flower, either. I know how to dig my heels in when I need to.
“Paige, listen,” Goodrich starts. “I don't think you're looking at the big picture here.”
“Oh? And tell me, Mayor,” I spit, “what is the big picture here?”
He sighs and wrings his hands together. “Look, we both know the truth of the matter, Paige,” he says. “Your bookstore isn't doing well and hasn't been for some time now –”
“That's none of your business, Brian,” I snap.
I try to always be respectful, but Brian Goodrich never fails to get under my skin. I grew up with the guy, went to the same high school, and know exactly what kind of a self-serving, self-aggrandizing, shameless, political whore he is. I know he has designs on offices bigger than Port Safira's mayor. I've even heard rumors of him running for a seat in the Senate in the future. And, I have to say, his lack of a moral compass, ethics, and decency would help him blend right into congressional culture these days.
“No, it's not my business, technically speaking,” he says, with a placating, condescending tone in his voice. “I only want what's best for you, Paige. I've always liked you –”
“No, Brian,” I reply, matching the tone in his voice. “You've always wanted to fuck me. There's a big difference.”
He gives me a patient smile. “That was a long time ago, Paige. I'm not the same guy I was back in high school,” he says. “If you could –”
“Oh? So, that wasn't you with your hand on my ass, trying to talk me into going to a hotel with you while your pregnant wife was at home at last year's Christmas tree lighting ceremony?” I say, my eyes wide with feigned shock. “Because the guy who was groping me – the piece of human garbage I told to get screwed – sure looked and sounded a lot like you.”
I see the color flare in his cheeks and he looks away for a moment. After clearing his throat, he straightens his shoulders and looks back at me. Although that patient smile on his face remains, I can see that any trace of actual friendliness has evaporated. Clearly, Brian is a man who doesn't like being turned down. And dislikes being reminded of his failures even more. Yeah, I think he would do really well in D.C.
