Page 99 of The Bourbon Bet
Getting inside Paige’s car, I refuse to look at Sebastian as we drive away.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rosalia
I shuffle into my living room in a pair of ancient sweatpants and an equally old Wayne State T-shirt, my heart heavy and my body like lead. Each step requires more energy than I can muster. The usually cozy apartment mocks me with its familiar comfort, especially since I’ll be forced to leave when the lease on it and my bookstore expires. I sink onto the couch opposite Paige, who handed me a Moscow Mule.
“Whathappened?” she asks.
The words are stuck in my throat. Saying it out loud will make it real, undeniable. I swallow past the massive lump in my throat, forcing myself to speak despite the pain. I tell her about the bet between Sebastian and Thorne.
“Those assholes!” Paige nearly shouts.
“And am I any better? I had my own deal with Thorne.”
“That he strong-armed you into.” She runs a finger around the rim of her drink. “The two of them probably orchestrated the whole damn thing so they could have their sick little competition."
“I’m such an idiot,” I sigh.
“How so?” she asks.
“Didn’t you warn me that Sebastian might know?”
“Yes, but not that he’s a fuck face who was betting on you.” She sets her cup down with such force that liquid sloshes over the rim. “Those entitled bastards. Playing with your life, your business, like it’s nothing more than entertainment for the rich.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, Rose. You deserve better than to be a pawn in their twisted game.”
“I’m so stupid. I fell for it, fell for him, and now I’ll lose everything. I told Thorne I wouldn’t steal the portfolio because I was falling for his brother.” I take a sip of my drink, the ginger beer fizzing on my tongue. Despite the weight in my chest, I mentally calculate how much I could get if I sold the rare books that I’d left in Michigan. Not enough to save the store, probably, but enough to keep making a few more payments on the loan so Dad’s house is safe until I find a job—or three. “In a mere two weeks, my lease expires, and unless I agree to Sebastian buying me, I’m out of options to save my store.”
Paige’s jaw drops. “Did he Pretty Woman you? Is that what he was saying when I picked you up?”
I laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Kinda. He offered to buy me a building. As if my forgiveness and compliance are for sale,” I scoff. “I’d rather lose my shop than be bought.”
I close my eyes, and I’m back on Natural Bridge, the warm breeze lifting my hair as Sebastian calls to me from the center of the sandstone arch. Now I wonder ifhis vulnerability that day was nothing more than calculation. Had the Sebastian who held me on that bridge, traced my lips with his thumb, and looked at me with such tenderness been real? My traitorous heart aches remembering the safety of his arms, how right we had been together.
“Does this mean you’re giving up?” Paige asks.
The memory of the hike fades, but another takes its place. The day I first unlocked the bookstore. The smell of stories waiting to be shared, the sunlight streaming through dusty windows, and the first customer who told me the shop felt like home. That place has been a sanctuary for so many, not just for me. The thought of all those readers without their haven sends a current of protectiveness through me.
“I tried,” I say quietly. “The day I found out the lease wasn’t being renewed, I called every damn bank in the state. None of them called me back. Not a single one.”
“I’d be willing to bet it was those fucking Blackstone brothers.”
“Please, no more bets,” I joke weakly. “Remember that GoFundMe page, I told you about? It got a few hundred dollars from some regulars.” I shrug. “It was embarrassing.”
Paige shakes her head.“You did that alone, in panic mode, with no real strategy. I could help.”
“It doesn’t matter. People don’t care enough about my little bookstore to save it.”
“That’s not true. You’ve created something special here. All those programs, the safe space you’ve built. People care, you just need to remind them.”
My fingers drum against the couch cushion as I consider what she said. “How?”
Paige claps, bouncing in her seat. “Let’s try crowdfunding again, but this time, with the whole community behind you. Noah can help set up a proper campaign. He’s done them before and is great at them. And I know Anna from romance book club would help. Hell, the whole group would join.”
A glimmer of hope fills me. “Isn’t Anna a marketing specialist?” The initial numbness of shock gives way to a tiny flicker of possibility.
“Yes! And you have a whole community of people who believe in what you’re doing. They’d rally for you if you just asked.”
A little spark ignites into a flame. I tap my chin. “There’s this guy who’s always at the horror book club and stays to chat. He’s some kind of online specialist. I’ll give him a call.”
