Page 12 of The Bossy Billionaire

“About three or four.”

“And? Is it worth it?”

“Well, it isn’t groundbreaking, but it certainly helps. I can't believe how generous people are,” she says, astounded.

“They aren’t. They are paying for goods. Paying for coffee. That is not generosity; that is simply not stealing from a small business.” How anyone can run a business not charging anything for their product or service is beyond me.

“They weren’t stealing from me.” Her eyes crumple at the corners, not liking me talking about her customers in this way.

“Not in the traditional sense, but they can’t expect free coffee forever. You run a business, so you need to treat it like one. You can still be nice to your customers, but not to the detriment of yourself.”

“I know.” Turning away from me, she grabs some more books.

“So you manage and work in this shop all on your own?” This place is huge; there is no way she can do it all.

“Yep. It used to be Mom, Dad, and me, but…” she trails off, shrugging her shoulders.

“They have been gone for a while now?” I ask the question, even though I already know the answer.

“Almost three years.”

“How did they pass?” I am treading into personal territory, but for some reason, I want to know everything about this woman. I see her grab her necklace and pull at it, running her fingers around it. It is a simple chain, reflecting the lights, making my eyes wander to her chest.

“Hit and run, just down the street. It was late, raining,” she says, not looking at me, and I can tell by the way she holds herself she is not comfortable with the topic. I look at the books I have in my hands and decide to change the subject. The books I have all relate to health and wellness, then one in particular catches my eye.

“So do you do all the ordering?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips.

“Yep. I take requests, ordering in something if someone asks for it, but otherwise I look at what is trending and new releases.” She is a workhorse, this woman, there is no doubt.

“What about this one? Where does this one go?” I ask with a broad smile sneaking on my lips as I hold up the Kama Sutra book to show her, and her cheeks redden instantly.

“In the health section,” she says, now too shy to meet my gaze, and I decide to have a little fun with her. I put down the other books I am holding and move closer.

“Page two looks good,” I murmur, looking at the cartoon couple doing the 69 as I lick my lips.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widen, looking at me as I come to stand right next to her. I decide I like her looking at me, and the pink tint to her cheeks does something to my insides, so I flip the page.

“Page twelve is a definite winner for me,” I say, nodding, starting to feel a little hot under the collar looking at the image of the woman straddling the man cowgirl style. One of my personal favorites.

“I’m sure you have enough women filling your bed. You don’t need a book to show you what to do. Besides, no drooling on the new book, I need to sell it,” she says, snatching it from my hand and taking a few steps to the ladder. I prickle at her comment. I am a known playboy, I don’t shy away from that, but having Lucy think that is not something that makes me feel good. I pick up the rest of the books and follow her.

“How do you know how many women are in my bed? Doing some internet stalking?” I ask her, my smirk on full display because she has clearly looked me up. The press writes a lot about me. Some of it is true, some of it complete bullshit, and I have never really cared much. Until now.

“Are you here to talk about your sex life or to give me business advice?” she smarts, getting us back on track, but I don’t miss the glow to her face or the way she keeps biting her lip. I decide to let her off the hook for now.

“How many books do you read in a month?” I change the subject. I would put money on the fact that she lives and breathes this shop.

“I don’t know. Including story time with the kids, senior-citizen hour, and the other programs I have, plus I read every night, maybe, like, thirty?”

“Thirty? Shit,” I say, scrubbing the back of my head, feeling inferior. I have probably read that many in my entire lifetime.

“Ow,” she says sharply, and I look up and see her gripping the ladder halfway down, white-knuckled. I step forward quickly, encasing her waist immediately with my hands, slowly bringing her down.

“I got you,” I murmur, standing close, helping her a little as she steps down slowly right in front of me. There is no room between us, her back sliding right down my chest. I don’t move my hands, and there’s no way in hell I want to.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low as I lower my mouth to her ear, her soft hair skirting across my cheek.

“I’m okay. Just a leg cramp. It happens more and more now that the weather is getting cooler.” I see her swallow, as her hand comes and rests on top of mine. The air around us crackles. Her hands on mine don’t remove my hold from her waist as I was expecting, but rest on top tentatively, holding me in place.

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