Page 26 of Another Story

“Are you certain this will be?” My fingertips are pressed into the tabletop as I try to keep myself from feeling like I’m about to be outmaneuvered.

“No one can be certain, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

“Why?” I sit back, and somehow, I hate the way the slouch feels even more than I hate this discomfort of my insecurity. “Why do you want to take such a risk? Knowing I may not be able to ever pay you back.”

“Eloise, we’re here to discuss your payment,” he reminds me, lifting his glass to his lips.

I straighten again, my mind wandering back to the email.

I look forward to business and pleasure with you.

Smug bastard.

“I got in touch with a Benjamin Filucci,” he says. “He seemed pretty disappointed to hear from me and wouldn’t answer any of my questions.”

He sips his wine while I try to keep from wringing his neck.

“That’s what you get for trying to take matters into your own hands,” I mutter.

“I needed to know a ballpark estimate. For my lawyer,” he informs me as he sets his glass down.

“You need to stop trying to move so quickly.”

“You have twomonths.Maybe you aren’t moving quickly enough.”

“Don’t speak to me like I haven’t been doing everything in my power to keep that place from its inevitable end,” I snap.

“You’re right.” He leans forward, those green eyes unblinking. “I’m sorry.”

The crickets chirp as night falls outside. It’s a lullaby, something that’s soothed me more times than I could count.

“I’d rather we keep this between us. No one has to know. No one in town andnotmy sisters. They can never find out,” I tell him, my words quiet and my hard limits set out between us.

I haven’t touched anything on the table but as I stare at the place setting in front of me, I admire his style. White dishes, silverware so clean I can see the reflection of my hand that rests beside the spoon.

“So those are your terms?” he asks.

His pointed stare has me wondering if I’ve missed anything.

“I’ll spend time with you, play this strange game of truth or dare. And in return, you’ll give me what I need to save the bookstore. You hand me the money, I hand the money to the bank. Should I renege, the store will belong to you.” My lips quiver as I take a deep breath. “No sexual favors will be expected of me, and this ends on Labor Day.”

“Labor Day?” he repeats, his eyes widening a fraction. He’s different when it comes to negotiations. Far better than I am at a poker face. So that small reaction warms me.

“Yes.”

“And if either of us want it to last longer?” he inquires.

“We don’t have to worry about that,” I answer, waving the idea away with a flick of my wrist.

“Why not?”

“I can hardly to stand to be around you as it is,” I remind him, pulling my hands down onto my lap.

His chuckle has me pressing my lips together to keep the rage inside.

“I usually don’t have this effect on women.”

There is an emotion running through me; it’s a cocktail of disappointment, disgust, and jealousy. I’d so easily given myself to the man in front of me as if I had no self-control. Like I was the type of woman who belonged among many others, some sort of sexual trophy.

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