Page 8 of The Bossy Billionaire

“I had a meeting across the road, saw the sign. Thought I would check it out, you know, since I am your business coach and all. Plus, I’ve never been here before,” I say, taking another look around the room. We are now toward the back of the store. It is a little darker here. Quieter. A few people mill around, but it isn’t as popular as the children’s area.

“Never?” She stops what she is doing and looks at me as though I am crazy.

“I’m not from around here. I live in New York. Grew up in a small town near Tennessee.” I usually like to keep myself as private as possible, so I’m not sure why I’m telling her this.

“That explains it, then.” She goes back to sorting her stack of books and moving around the aisle, putting them in their rightful place.

“Explains what?” I ask, suddenly interested to know what her perception of me is. I don’t tend to care what other people think. But Lucy Bloomer has gotten under my skin already, and we have barely been talking for longer than ten minutes.

“The slick appearance. The arrogance. The I get everything I want demeanor. Very New York,” she says, seemingly bored of this conversation already, and I hate that.

“Wow. Don’t hold back,” I say, affronted. Women eat out of the palm of my hand after our first meeting. Shit, I had my pick of Baltimore women a few weeks ago when I came here and went out for dinner with the boys. Clearly, Lucy is not as easily impressed.

“Look, we both know you are here because you’re friends with my brother and he asked you to coach me. But I don’t need your expertise. Nor do I want it.” She moves around me, not stopping, placing the books on the shelves where they belong.

I make an exaggerated display of leaning to the side and looking at her back.

“What?” she asks, turning around, brow furrowed as she tries to see what I’m looking at.

“Oh, I’m just looking for the stick that is shoved up your ass.” If she can give it, then she can take it.

“Excuse me?” She rears back like I slapped her, and I feel bad for only a second before I continue.

“I have so many other things I need to be doing with my time…” I start.

“Go do them, then.” She is quick with her retort as her book stacking becomes a little more violent.

“I am trying to help you,” I grit out. Harrison is my best friend, and it is clear this woman needs help. Fuck, if I could get out of this situation, I would, although I do enjoy her pushing me. Yet another thing no one else does.

She stops and sighs. I see her cheeks redden slightly, and I feel bad for calling her out. But I remain quiet as I watch her compose herself.

“Look. You should just go back to your New York City high-rise, the hundreds of businesses that you manage, and the long line of women who fall at your feet. I know that Harrison has asked for your help, but I don’t need it. I am fine,” she says, giving me a fake smile that I really want replaced with something more genuine.

“I don’t believe you,” I say flatly, and I watch her swallow. The shape of her neck is now exposed as she swipes the hair around her shoulders. She is wearing the dowdiest attire that I would usually not take a second look at, yet I still find myself wanting to trail my lips up her collarbone. She is shorter than me, coming up to my chest, nothing like the tall models I usually spend time with. Yet as her head tilts up to look at me and she pushes her glasses up her nose, I have the deep urge to put my lips on hers.

“Fine. Tell me what to do,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest, almost in a challenge, and I smirk.

“Nope. No smirking,” she says straightaway, grabbing a few more books from the trolley and moving away from me instantly. I feel the space between us immediately and get the feeling she is someone who doesn’t like the arrogance that men in my position have. Just like her brothers, we are all cut from the same cloth. We have money and success and lots of it. With that comes a certain amount of ego and cockiness, which we need to succeed in the business world. Building businesses is cutthroat. Things need to change, and people need to be replaced. You need to be hard, driven, relentless. But looking around her shop again, I can tell that is not how she operates her business.

“Well, you have people here,” I mumble as I step closer to her again, erasing the space between us. Looking around the room, I notice that everyone is still here, even though story time is over. So there is clearly no issue with location or identity.

“That I do,” she agrees, meeting my gaze, one hand placed on her hip, emphasizing her curves.

“Coffee is popular…” I can see around the corner that the mothers positioned in the lounge seem to be on their second cup.

“That’s true,” she says as her eyes look away from me and down to the left. She is lying.

“How much do you sell the coffee for?” I ask, intrigued. Reading people comes somewhat naturally to me. It has helped me out enormously over the years. I see her bite her lip and take a deep breath. Oh shit.

“You don’t, do you?” My eyes thin at her as I step even closer to her. She doesn’t have to answer me; the answer is written all over her face.

“You give away barista-made coffee? That must cost you a fortune.” I raise my voice in shock. This woman is hemorrhaging money while the city gets free coffee every day.

“It gets them into the shop.” She shrugs like it is a marketing tactic and not a stupid business decision.

“What about the books? From what I can tell, they sit here with their free coffee and grab a book from the shelf, read it, and then put it back on the shelf. It isn’t a fucking library; it is a business,” I say to her, exasperated. “People are coming here for the free coffee, the free books, and no one is buying anything.”

“My father always said that Bloomers is a place for the community. This building has been owned by my family for years. People know us, and they come here because they love this store as much as I do.” While I appreciate her empathy toward the people, it is not how to run a business.

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