Page 22 of Another Story

“I can walk out of here and find plenty of women who’d be more than willing to take this opportunity.” I can see her features start to sour, and I let go of her shoulders. “But this is the first and only time I want to offer this. Be my companion in exchange for my assistance.”

“You want to buy me.”

“I want to enjoy you.”

“What’s the difference?” she asks, impatience biting at her tone.

“You’ll enjoy it too,” I assure her.

In most cases, when dealing with potential deals, silence is a good thing. Silence means thinking and weighing options.

Silence means you’ve struck gold.

And the sweet silence that pulls at my pleasure has me wanting to smile. Common sense tells me to refrain.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” she finally says.

“You don’t have to,” I tell her, and I mean it.

But I pray you do.

Somehow, she’s made her way behind the register again, and I think about the first time I ever saw her. It’s enough to make me push, to keep showing up, to keep chasing the way it felt. I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who’d walk alongside a stranger in the middle of the night, the town sleeping around us.

And sure, yes, I’ve met women—plenty—who’d fuck me in a bookstore. Or anywhere I requested, for that matter. As cliché as it all sounds, it feels different with Eloise.

She wasn’t looking for a savior.

And I never wanted to be one until I met her.

It wasmethat got her. Not my father’s name, not my business, not the possibility of being taken care of by me.

Her denial of the opportunity intrigues me. A woman with every reason to say yes, denying the option to be helped.

“I need some time to think,” she finally utters, her words heavy and slow.

“Understandable. How about we have dinner tomorrow?” I suggest, hoping my eagerness doesn’t push her too far.

“I’m sure we can handle this over the phone?—”

“What kind of businessman would I be if I handled something so personal over the phone?” A simple quirk of my brow has her lips pressing together.

“A sensible one.”

“A cowardly one,” I challenge, trying my hardest to keep from grinning. This is business, after all. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come up with your terms.”

“Surely I can have the weekend.” She places her hands on her hips and I shake my head.

“You may not. I have to head back to the city by Monday.”

Suddenly, I wish I was wearing a suit. The urge to adjust my tie or shake her hand after nearly sealing a deal is burning within me. The power move, the need to express my satisfaction at finally being able to stand in a room and have a conversation with her without being asked to leave.

She’s starting to look a lot like the Eloise I met the first night, in her short shorts and gray T-shirt. She’s a small woman, but her legs…I imagine the shapely length of them around my waist.

“Why does it feel like I’m striking a deal with the devil?”

She’s starting to sound like her, too.

“Because you’re surprisingly pessimistic for a woman dealing in happily ever afters,” I answer.

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