Billionaires Dollar Series

By late afternoon, I’m alone again, working the evening shift. Karli has gone home to her husband and kids with a new cupcake recipe to try. I told her to save one for me tomorrow, and I’m already looking forward to it.

I turn up the radio and hum along as I scroll through Pinterest. Looking at bookstores and libraries around the world has given me a serious case of envy, but also a ton of ideas. Between the Pages has the same magical vibes-old-world charm, like Cole said-but we could definitely amp it up a bit.

I pause at a picture of a beautiful bookstore somewhere in Europe, a doorway between two adjoining rooms made entirely out of books.

I add it to the list next to me. Doorway of books. There are a ton of ideas there already. Heart of books is there, too. I saw that one on Instagram, with people traveling specifically to get a picture of themselves surrounded by books glued together in the shape of a heart.

Something like that would be perfect. Exactly what we need-a visual draw. A reason for people to come out to Between the Pages, to take their own pictures, to stay for a while and be enchanted. And, hopefully, to buy books.

I pause at another picture of little planters atop shelves, with green, flowing leaves hanging down. It looks gorgeous.

I copy it dutifully into my notebook. Plants. The list is half useful, half ridiculous. A picture of a beautiful old bookstore in Paris had a cat in it, so I had written Cat into my notebook. There was no way that was going to fly with Karli, but at least it was giving me something to do.

I’m interrupted by the jingle of the bell at the door. I drop my phone immediately, a welcoming smile spreading across my lips.

It dies the second I see who it is.

Cole is holding up one of my posters. Frustration has his jaw set into a hard line. “What the hell is this?”

I squint. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re damn sure, Skye. These were plastered to the outside of every single one of my buildings.”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

“Oh. Those.”

“Yes, those.” He puts the poster down on the counter, anger in his eyes. A corresponding thrill runs through me.

“I’m trying to ensure we’re profitable in two months. Encouraging community support is part of that.”

“The Bluestone Hotel is halfway across the city, and its guests are from out of town. It’s decidedly not part of your community.”

I blink up at him. “I don’t know what you’re so angry about. We made a bet. I’m trying to win.”

“What you actually did was informing every single one of my employees about it.”

Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. “Whoops?”

“Fucking hell, Skye…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “There have to be other things on your to-do-list besides ruining my reputation. Or is that number one?” He snatches the notebook from behind the counter, his movements too quick for me. “Is this it? Let’s see, where is ‘Destroy Cole Porter’…”

“Give that back.”

He takes a step back, evading my arm, and I watch in horrified silence as his eyes rake through the list.

“Buy plants. Get a cat? This is your plan to save the store?”

A furious flush creeps up my neck. “They’re just ideas.”

“Your first idea was to plaster posters on all of my businesses, and your second idea was to buy a cat?”

I reach to snatch the notebook out of his hands, and this time, he lets me. The mirth on his face is only making my embarrassment worse.

“Look, I haven’t asked you to contribute your amazing business sense to this, all right? Besides, you work with buildings, not bookstores.”

“I work with people and profit,” he says, and the implication is clear in his words. And this is not going to make the cut.

Looking at him standing there in his thousand-dollar suit and smug smile, I want to sink through the floor. My ideas had been fun. They’d been a way for us to create a more magical atmosphere, to draw in more customers. They’d been a silly distraction from the all-too-likely scenario-demolition.

“Look,” I tell him. “People don’t buy as many books anymore. It’s sad, but it’s true. We need to bring customers here for another reason. Some of the most successful bookstores in the world have people queueing outside, and it’s because of their atmosphere and picture-worthy aesthetics. Instagram drives business these days.”

He holds up his hands. “If you can pull that off, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m wrong.”

“There’s a but in your tone.”

Cole nods at my list, a strand of his thick hair falling across his forehead. It’s silky to the touch-I remember.

“Going through your finances should be the first thing you do.”

I tap my pen against the notepad. “Oh?”

“Yes. Cut down on all non-essential expenses and halt all new purchases of books. See if you can slash prices. Do you have an accountant?”

“Yes,” I say, though in truth, I’m not sure. Karli always handles that part.

“Then meet with them as soon as possible,” Cole says, shaking his head. “Why am I giving you advice? I received a call from my assistant today who said we had a targeted attack on the company.”

“Wow. All because of my posters?”

“Yes. That’s what you unleashed, you little demon.”

“I’m not the one demolishing entire city blocks.”

His eyes narrow. “Sometimes you have to make space for the new. Now, will you stop attacking my buildings?”

“I can’t make any promises. And it was hardly an attack, Cole, I just put up some posters!”

“Skye.”

“Fine. Yes, I’ll stop.” I put my notebook back behind the counter and make a mental note to ask Karli about our accountant.

He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “You wanted to send a signal, and I don’t think it was to any of my employees. Well, consider it received.”

Cole’s right about that. I run a hand over my ponytail-when he’s around, I feel constantly underdressed. “I don’t exactly have your number, so it was the only way I could think of.”

“You could’ve had my phone number, you know. If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask, that night at the hotel.” His voice has dropped an octave, smooth like crushed velvet and danger.

I produce an Oscar-worthy scoff. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that night.”

“I never agreed to that. And I wonder… you act like it’s all in the past. But I noticed something today.”