Page 72 of The Bossy Billionaire

I need to go and get my girl.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO - LUCY

It is late. The shop closed hours ago, and as I place the last book on the shelf, I can barely keep my eyes open.

“That all of them?” Dwayne asks, and I get startled by his voice. I forgot that he was still here. He wasn’t exactly helping me. I thought he was to start with, but the few times I looked over, I just caught him staring. I take in a deep breath. I need to have this conversation, and I need to have it now.

“Dwayne. We need to talk.” I walk toward the front of the store, my stomach curling on itself.

“What’s up?” he asks, although he doesn’t sound upbeat, more bitter, and I wonder if he knows what’s coming.

“Take a seat.” I sit on the chair near the front of the store and look up at him and wait. He slowly sits, watching me closely.

“I need to let you go,” I say quickly. Like ripping off a bandage, just do it.

“What?” he balks, his brow crumpling, his eyes angry.

“It just isn’t working; I am moving the shop in a different direction.” It is not untrue. I need literary support people, not baristas. “As you know, I am moving into literacy programs, making education more of a focus for the kids. I am not sure I will even be keeping the coffee machine anymore,” I tell him, willing him to understand, but knowing by the look on his face, he most certainly doesn’t. “I will pay you full severance pay and, of course, all your overtime and benefits.”

“What the fuck, Lucy?” he spits out, standing abruptly, the chair he was sitting on sliding across the floor until it hits the wall with a bang. My body jolts. I wasn’t ready for this level of anger. But I push forward.

“I am happy to provide a reference…” I start to say before he cuts me off.

“Does this have anything to do with your boyfriend?” he seethes, and my eyes narrow as I look up at him. The power dynamics feel off because he is standing and I am sitting, but I can’t move, my body locked.

“No. It doesn’t. I am restructuring the business, and I no longer require a barista,” I tell him sharply.

“Lucy, I did everything for you!” he yells, not taking it well at all. He most certainly didn’t do everything for me. In fact, he hardly did anything.

“I’m sorry, Dwayne, but I will transfer your final paycheck into your bank account tonight, and as I said, if you need a letter of reference, I am happy to provide one,” I tell him, keeping my tone level and trying to be diplomatic and professional.

“You will regret this, you know.” He swipes his bag from the floor, the words sounding like a threat that I ignore.

“It is the right business decision.”

He huffs. “Doubt it.” Ripping the door open, it slams behind him, and I sigh out a breath. That was not ideal. I sit to settle my emotions before I stand up and get on with it all.

I lock the door behind him and transfer his final pay, closing him out as an employee. Turning off the shop lights, I push myself up the stairs and fall into a heap on the sofa. Grabbing my nearby book to try and read a few chapters before I go to bed, I don’t even make it a page before my eyes slowly close.

Something startles me awake. Sitting up, I look around my apartment, wondering what is going on. I am on the sofa, a blanket on me, a book opened on my stomach. I must have fallen asleep while reading, which is not uncommon for me. I rub my eyes and will my body to move. I need to get into bed; otherwise, my back will hate me tomorrow. I start to move and hear a loud banging coming from downstairs, and my breath hitches. My eyes flick to the time. It is after midnight; it’s pitch-black outside. The rain is falling hard. I put my book down on the coffee table as my heart thumps in my chest when there’s another bang. It is definitely someone at the shop front door. I can hear the chimes a little as the vibration runs up the door.

I stand quickly, my thigh pulling a little, and I walk to the door of my apartment. I should call my brothers, I think to myself, but I have bothered them enough these past few days. They don’t need any more of my crazy right now. Instead, I grab the broomstick next to the door and tiptoe downstairs. I hear the banging again, my body jolting in fear, and I peek around the wall and look out the front. All the streetlights are on outside on the sidewalk, but it is still a little hazy because of the rain that continues to fall.

I squint my eyes, because I left my glasses upstairs, and I can make out a dark figure outside. By the size, I assume it is a man. He thumps on the door again, making me jump, before I see his face in the light. The familiar shape of his nose is what gives his identity away.

“Huxley?” I say, automatically lowering the broomstick and rushing to the door, my heart reaching out for him before my head can stop me.

“Huxley? What is going on?” I ask the minute I open the door and see him drenched from the rain.

“Lucy. God, I missed you,” he says, panting like he ran a marathon, and I take him in. The rain falls on his face, the drips running down his hair and cheeks. His hand leans on the doorframe as he catches his breath, his eyes tired, and he needs to shave. I look down farther and see him holding a bunch of chamomile, tied up with the familiar brown leather strap, and my heart constricts.

“Shouldn’t you be with…” I start to say Amy, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say her name. Lucy. Amy is firmly in the past. She is nothing to me anymore. She ran from me when she fell pregnant. She aborted the baby, and I don’t have a child. I don’t want a child with her,” he says quickly, his words running into each other, trying to get them all out like he can’t explain himself fast enough. I start to feel lightheaded and grip the broomstick like that is going to save me.

“What?” I whisper in disbelief, feeling tears pricking my eyes as I look at him.

“When I first met you, I was completely overwhelmed by you. Getting to know you more, your strength, resilience, stubbornness, this bookstore… there is no one else I want to be with. You are it, Lucy Bloomer. You and this wonderful bookstore, your annoying and overbearing brothers, and even those creaky stairs behind you.” he says, his eyes searching mine, trying to gauge my reaction. He reaches out his hand and grabs mine. He is cold, wet, but his hand encases mine, making me feel protected, and my fingers curl into his automatically, like they are always meant to be there.

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