Page 11 of The Bossy Billionaire

“Fuck her around and find out,” he mumbles, sliding the small coffee across the counter.

“Do you treat all your customers with this kind of welcome?” I’m seriously questioning his personality.

“No, just the ones who shine their shoes so much they can see their own reflection and that look like they are here to make Lucy’s life worse than it is,” he says, standing back. The penny drops then. He likes her.

I grab my coffee and take a sip. It’s good. Taking out some money from my pocket for the jar, I put a twenty-dollar bill inside.

“Don’t worry, Dwayne. I’ll look after Lucy. You just look after the coffee,” I say, stamping my authority, and I don’t miss as his nostrils flare before I step away, the door jingling to announce another arrival he now greets with a warm smile.

Asshole.

I walk slowly around the shop, noticing the small café chairs busy with moms and what looks like people working on their laptops. That’s positive. A few kids play around on the soft colorful mats on the floor in the children's section and I spot an elderly couple poking around in the nonfiction area. I can’t see Lucy yet, so I keep wandering.

A small scattering of people is around the back, and looking beyond them, I see a few larger cardboard boxes of books opened with Lucy sorting through them. I watch her for a moment without her knowing. Her long hair is down again, and she’s wearing jeans and a white shirt, with white sneakers and those horribly unflattering glasses. She looks fresh, vibrant. She smiles at a few people walking around, and an older lady comes up and gives her a hug. It brings an instant wide smile to her lips that lights up her face.

She is beautiful. There is no denying it. I gulp my coffee to try to bring myself together. I can’t go daydreaming about my best friend's sister, regardless of how innocent and sexy she looks. She works diligently on her task, going through each book, stamping them, and placing them on the shelf. When she bends over to grab another box, though, she struggles.

“Do you need help with that?” I ask, walking up quickly, causing her to look up abruptly and drop the box as her pouty mouth gapes open, her lip gloss shimmering, giving me a visual I wasn’t prepared for.

“Huxley? What are you doing here?” she asks, standing upright, leaving the box on the floor. I don’t know if it is the breathy way she says my name or the fact that I can see her chest rise and fall rapidly, clearly affected by my presence, that makes me feel good.

“Helping you, it seems,” I say with a small smile. Putting my coffee cup down, I grab the box for her, placing it on the small table nearby.

“I don’t need help,” she grumbles, and I have come to realize she hates not being able to do things herself or being told what to do.

“We both know you do.”

“Are you always this bossy?” With her hands on her hips, she glares at me. I don’t miss the way her shirt bunches a little. It is too big for her, gaping at the neck, and I get a glimpse of her black lace bra underneath, making me swallow, suddenly feeling hot.

“Are you always this stubborn?” I push her back. Just because her leg is damaged, that doesn’t mean she needs special treatment. Her brothers might tiptoe around her, but I will not.

We stare at each other in silence, and I don’t move my eyes, even when they start to burn and water. I try to hold her gaze and see her gritting her teeth together, and I really wish she would get rid of these glasses so I can see her better.

“Well, come on, this order is not going to unpack itself,” she says, stepping over to the box and grabbing a few books. I copy her, not having a clue what I am doing, but I reach into the box to grab some books at the same time as her. Our hands collide, and she pulls hers back abruptly like she has been burned.

“Just grab a few and bring them over here,” she mumbles, moving away from me. I don’t like it. I am not used to women not wanting me near them.

“So what’s the process here? This new stock?” I ask, grabbing some books, keen to learn a little more about her business. That’s what Harrison would want, even though my feet brought me here without a thought as to Harrison and his coaching idea.

“I get my orders delivered every Wednesday. Once I do, I check off the stock against the delivery docket, stamp my shop on the back, then shelve them in the corresponding areas. I usually try to get it all put away on Wednesday nights, but I couldn’t get it all done last night.” I place the books next to her and go back to the box to get more.

“Does Dwayne help with the books or just the coffee?” I ask, because so far, he is the only staff member I have seen.

“He manages the coffee and does help at the point of sale when I need him to. I manage the books and everything else,” she says, her eyes flicking to me every now and then, a little skeptical about my questions but going with it. I can see her wanting to trust me, but she is still hesitant.

“So tell me about your finances?” I ask her, and she pauses and looks at me like I just asked to see her underwear. Something I wouldn’t say no to either. Her lips are glued shut, and I start to feel frustrated, but then remember I wanted a challenge, and I am learning that Lucy is exactly that. So, I try a different approach. “You mentioned that you sell some books, but surely you are cutting it fine. I am just trying to understand how it all works so I can help you.” My voice sounds more sincere than I think I have ever heard before.

I watch her swallow and take a breath. “It is tight. It is really week to week. I have enough for stock, which is important, because without new books, no one would come in. I have some to pay Dwayne, but he only does a few hours a day as I need him, so that isn’t too bad,” she says, going back to sort through her books.

“What about you?” I ask, seeing that she isn’t wearing designer as you expect a Rothschild sibling to.

“I am doing perfectly fine.” She doesn’t meet my eye, and I know she is lying. I haven’t met a woman as stubborn before. One who doesn’t ask for things, want things. Most women I meet want the latest designer bag or to go shopping every week. Most have a weekly standing hair or nail appointment. Lucy doesn’t appear to have any of that but is still by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

“I notice you are now charging for coffee?” I ask with a small grin, feeling victorious, which is odd, because I make major business deals every week, most well in the millions. I shouldn’t feel so good about her taking one small piece of advice and running with it to make a few hundred bucks. But I do.

“Just trialing it. To see how it goes. I didn’t want to charge a price, but I saw the pay what you think it’s worth idea in a book I was reading, so I thought I would give it a try.”

“How many days have you been doing it?”

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