Page 9 of The Bossy Billionaire

“How the hell does the community cover your bills?” It is good that she owns the building, but I am frustrated and slowly coming to understand exactly why her brothers are unable to assist her. She has an answer for everything.

“People buy the books, Huxley. They also buy the cute little bookmarks, the magnets, the greeting cards. I have money coming in. I can cover the bills, pay Dwayne… I am fine. Bloomers is fine,” she bristles, her small delicate hands clenching by her sides, not appreciating me pointing this all out to her.

“Bloomers is not fine. Your brother is about to run for president. He can’t have his sister owing money to vendors or running a business that is practically insolvent,” I say, trying to emphasize the issues she has. I run a hand through my hair as my shoulders feel tight, and she watches me carefully. I take a breath before I continue. “Well, it seems like you have won the lottery.” I take another step in her direction. She doesn’t move, standing up to me, challenging me even more.

“How so?” Her eyes thin. She doesn’t trust me, and usually that wouldn’t bother me, but for some reason, I don’t like it with her. Not one bit.

“Because I am going to turn your business around and make you a millionaire,” I say, smiling. But my words don’t enlist the response I was expecting. I expected a smile and a look of relief, something positive. Instead, she rolls her eyes and gets back to the books.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” She grabs the trolley and pushes it down the wall of books and around the corner, out of sight.

And like the red-blooded male I am, I watch her the entire way, unable to look away as I take in her perky ass and the shape of her body, wondering what it would look like without the layers of clothing she hides under.

CHAPTER SIX - LUCY

“Need anything else before I go, boss?” Dwayne asks. The shop closed an hour ago, and Dwayne has cleaned the barista section for me and completed the coffee order for the week. His question startles me as I work through the large delivery of books I just got in today. I would usually have them all put away by now, but my mind was sluggish this afternoon, thinking about the visit I had from Huxley Hamilton over and over again. I sigh, knowing that I have a long night ahead of me.

Wednesday is always the hardest day.

I look up at Dwayne and flash him a warm smile. “No. I am all good. I am just going to do a few more books and then head up,” I say, giving him the usual spiel, even though I will be up for hours yet. He rolls his eyes at me.

“Liar. Just don’t work too late and call me if you need me.” I give him a wave. “I mean it. Call me,” he says in a tone that is more like an older brother than an employee.

“See you tomorrow,” He walks backward toward the door, still eyeing me with suspicion, but his smile is warm and wide. He has been a great help to me these past few months. Good at the coffee and chatting with customers. With a wink, he throws his backpack over his shoulder and walks out the door.

“Don’t forget to lock it behind me,” he calls out the reminder, and I immediately walk over to lock the front door and pull the window blind down.

Turning around, I look at my store. I love it, but it is looking so tired. The guilt I feel for not being able to do more with it is slowly eating me up. I am trying to make it better, make it sparkle just like my parents did. They started this little shop years ago and turned it into the institution it is.

I only had it for a short while after my parents died before the hospital fire. It remained closed during my recovery, for the most part. I only opened it again full-time a few months ago and was able to hire Dwayne when he came in looking for work one day. I was hoping that hiring a man would be helpful with managing the stock, but he is kept busy with the coffee, the heavy lifting remaining a job for me.

My eyes flick to the barista machine. It costs a lot, and it brings the crowd. But Huxley’s face when he realized I gave away my coffee for free is now burned in my brain. I bite my lower lip in thought. Maybe I should start charging for it.

Huxley. There is a man I never thought I would see again after my outburst in the Rothschild boardroom. I will admit, looking up and around the room at story time and seeing him standing in my space almost had me tripping over my words in front of the kids.

He was handsome in his suit. Dwayne was right, his suit probably costs more than his annual salary, but damn, Huxley looked so good in it. I also didn’t miss the shiny Rolex on his wrist either, sparkling every time the light caught it. He is a walking billboard for wealth. I even noticed some of the kids looking at him, no doubt because he is so tall and polished. Looking nothing like some of the hurried parents who usually bring them in.

I also didn’t miss the gaggle of single moms from the small café area who looked at him with interest from over the top of their coffee cups. Obviously, I wasn’t the only person to notice his good looks or his commanding presence. But it was his eyes that got to me. Those sparkling blues I remember from the Rothschild boardroom. The ones that look like they can see inside my soul. But like a professional, I schooled my feelings and got on with the show. Story time with the kids on a Wednesday is my busiest session, and I love it.

He sent me a few text messages after he left today, passing on some business articles in relation to the book industry, which I found interesting. I spent some time after the boardroom incident doing some research on Blueshark Investments and Huxley. He is everything I expected. Rich beyond words, a different woman on his arm at every event. Investments in startups—and tech—no interests in anything of heritage or in the literary area. Yet he had the nerve to tell me I had a stick up my ass. He is the one who barged into my shop and started making me feel like I was incapable of managing my own business.

As I look over the threadbare carpet, I know he is coming to the right conclusions. But he is just like my brothers, coming in without the same sense of connection to the shop.

From a pure business perspective, I get it. They are all way smarter than me with that kind of thing. But this is Bloomers. There is history here, history that I don’t want to lose, which is making me scared to change anything for fear I will ruin it.

The pressure is heavy. My parents left me their legacy. I need to look after it. That is on me. I sigh, realizing that Huxley and his business coaching might be exactly what I need. He obviously does well for himself. He knows how to manage businesses, and while he is my brother’s best friend, I know Harrison wouldn’t have just asked anyone. He thinks Huxley can help me, and I know I need help. I just don’t like admitting it. Especially to my brothers.

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I don’t have the brainpower to think about it all now, so I hobble back over to the books and start putting them away. Making quick work, I stock the lower shelves, as they are easy to access and take no time. I move my way through the fairy tales and kids’ area with a big smile on my face. Seeing a story get told for the first time through their eyes never gets old. Ferdinand is my favorite because it was the book my father read to me as a child. It evokes sweet memories that I never want to leave me. My heart feels heavy thinking about him.

“Ohhh, Dad,” I whisper as I slump down and take a seat in my big armchair at the front of the kids’ area. I rest my elbows on my legs and put my head in my hands. “Tell me what to do. How do I make this all better? How do I make the shop a success again?” I say out loud to the room as my eyes fill with tears, the despair of the situation pulsing in my chest. Bloomers used to be a thriving place, and while it still is somewhat, it is getting harder and harder. Kids are more interested in the latest computer games than the latest book. And busy working parents no longer have the time to come into the store and get lost in the sea of books. Years ago, the shop thrived, and it has slowly been going downhill since.

The tears on my cheeks make my glasses slip from my face. And I pull them off, throwing them onto the floor next to me. I am so frustrated with my body. I can’t run, I can’t jump, and some days I can barely walk. I haven’t had new clothes in over a year, not wanting to see my reflection in the changing room mirrors, so I wear old ill-fitting ones that have been in my closet since college. I can’t afford contacts right now, so my glasses are an old prescription from high school. They were my backup glasses because my other ones were smashed on the hospital tiles in the fire, and I never got new ones. My leg is taking over medical priority for me right now. All the rest must wait.

The shop is going backward; money is not stretching as far as it once did, and I really, really want the magical crystal ball to come forward and just tell me what to do. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and take a breath, not wanting to sit in my pity party for one for too long. My leg starts to throb now that I have stopped, so I need to keep moving before it seizes up entirely. I have a few more boxes of books to unpack before I need to go through the finances for the week and ensure that I can pay all the bills. Standing with a groan, making me sound like an elderly man, not a young woman, I get busy again.

I could get myself out of this situation easily by just taking money from my brothers. They have offered enough times. But there is no way I want to do that. We may be blood related, but our relationships are just starting, I am still trying to figure them all out, how we all fit. The last thing I want to do is be a charity to them. Plus, I will never be able to pay them back. They also want me to get a second opinion on my leg. I know how they look at me. The pity in their eyes when they see me walking. But their money can’t buy my health, even if they can get me into the best doctor in the country. My skin was burned, my muscle was sliced. Deep down, I know there is nothing anyone can do.

Once I pull the ladder out and around the corner shelf, I brace myself for the climb up. I can do it, but it hurts. My leg muscles don't have the strength anymore. This causes me to rely more on the other leg, which in itself creates a whole other raft of problems. Just as I get up and start sorting the books on the top shelf, slowly pulling myself together, I hear a large thump coming from the storeroom, and my body stills for a beat. I grip on to the ladder and wait, listening to see if I can hear anything else, but I hear nothing apart from my fast breathing and the quick beats of my heart pounding in my chest like it is going to pop out entirely. My eyes dart around like I am waiting for the boogeyman before it dawns on me that I probably didn’t stack the book boxes properly earlier and now they have fallen.

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