Page 31 of The Bourbon Bet
Rosalia
“I am the Lorax who speaks for the trees, which you seem to be chopping as fast as you please!” I read in the gruff and wise voice that makes the children on the reading rug giggle.
The warm, golden glow of the afternoon sun filters through my store’s front windows, casting a cozy atmosphere over story time. Parents line the edges of the reading rug, some scrolling on phones, others watching their children with indulgent smiles. A few snapphotos of the scene.
Moments like this make the long hours, the financial stress, and the constant worry about how I’ll keep the doors open worthwhile. That all melts away when I read to a room full of adorable, eager faces filled with wonder as they’re transported into the story.
Well, most of them. Benny is more interested in picking his nose, and Alice is focused on tapping the toes of her sparkly red shoes together. Not that I can blame her; the little girl’s Mary Janes are super cute.
The jingle of the store’s bell pulls my gaze from the story to the entrance. Thorne enters my store like he owns it. My insides twist, followed by a surge of adrenaline because, well, he does.
What could he possibly want? The little book slips in my now clammy hands, and I grapple to catch the slick cover. My fingers press into the cardboard pages, but I manage to continue to read, bracing myself for whatever unpleasantness is to come. From our two short interactions, I’m certain Thorne is the type to revel in making others feel small and insignificant.
I finish the story, and when the parents begin chatting amongst themselves, I leave the reading circle and find Thorne flipping through a business magazine. He sets it on the rack and faces me. “That was precious. Were you practicing your domestic dream of becoming a mom?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blackstone, I didn’t realize you were an expert on my innermost desires. Please, tell me more about myself,” I say with a polite smile that seethes underneath.
I’m proud of my ability to connect with children. It’s a strength, not something to be belittled. But I resent being reduced to a stereotype.
“Let me guess, you’re not like other girls. You’re special.” His voice drips with insincerity. “You don’t want to marry a rich man so he can buy you your dream of a white picket fence and two point five kids? Uh-huh, sure.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. My fingernails dig into my palms as I struggle to maintain composure. “Did you not get enough hugs and stories as a kid? Is that why you’re so bitter?” I touch my lips. They tingle with my unkind words. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”
Thorne’s sharp and unexpected laugh breaks as if startled by its sound. “I didn’t think you had bark, let alone a bite.”
His eyes, a moment ago cool and detached, now sparkle with an unsettling curiosity. I imagine a mouse finding herself under the steady gaze of a cat feels the same.
“Is there a reason you stopped by?” Desperate to shift the topic and his focus from me, I blurt, “Have you heard from Sebastian?”
He’s been on my mind constantly since our date. Part of me keeps hoping he’ll somehow find out what his brother is doing and put it right. Pathetic, maybe, but I’m desperate.
Thorne’s eyes narrow. “We’ve talked a little at work. Why?”
My heart sinks. “No reason.” The faint glimmer of hope I’d been clinging to extinguishes.
“Anyway, I’m here to check on your progress,” he says, checking his watch as if time itself is a commodity he controls. “It’s the last week of March. May will be here before you know it, along with the Blackstone Derby party.” His eyes narrow. “Will you be handing over the keys? Or do you have my brother under your thumb?”
I hate the way he talks about Sebastian, but I bite my tongue. I need to find another location before I can tell him what I really think. That is difficult to do when not a single bank will return my call. At least I’ve made an appointment with the Small Business Administration, and I’ve found some possible grants.
“We went out to dinner last Saturday.” Even with all this stress, the memory makes me smile, recalling his playful teasing and quick responses. “I’m going to his place this weekend.”
“His place, huh? Looks like you’re about to earn your store…” His gaze slithers along my body, pausing in all the places that make me uncomfortable. How is this snake related to Sebastian?
My mouth falls open. “I—we’re going horseback riding. You told me—you said.” My heart thuds so hard it might break free from my rib cage. “Nothing else.”
He holds up a hand. “My brother is merciless, not a cretin. He won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Of course, that’s not to say he won’t manipulate you into wanting to sleep with him. Especially if he suspects you’re helping me.” He comes closer, licking his bottom lip. “But if you’re worried or aren’t interested in fucking him, we could drop this game now. Go out with me instead.” His gaze falls to my chest. “We’ll work out a different deal.”
A sour tang fills my mouth. Does he honestly think everyone is for sale? My shoulders stiffen, and I draw back. “No, thanks.”
The warmth drains from his gaze, leaving a chill that seeps into my bones. “Sebastian isn’t better than me,” Thorne growls.
Whoa. Someone has brother issues. “I never said he was. I’m not dating him for fun.” My mouth twists around the words, sour as unripe fruit. “Thanks to you, it’s a business transaction. To save my bookstore. That. Is. All.” But that is a half-truth.
This conversation needs to end. Thorne’s slimy deal might keep Novel Idea open, but I don’t like him. He has the charm of a snake oil salesman. “Is there anything else I can help you with? I need to get back to my customers.”
“Actually, I might be able to helpyou. Again.”
“I’m in this mess because of you Blackstones,” I retort.
