Page 10 of Stacked
Like me, most of them learn things the hard way.
The bell sounded, and I wrenched my meal from the microwave, the cheese bubbling, heat radiating from the corners but not from the center. I dumped the food on a plastic plate before I took it, a fork, and a glass of wine into my living room. A few new shows waited for me on Netflix, and I browsed through them, wavering between a regency series starring Timothee Chalamet, a dating competition show set in Bora Bora, and a couple of independent films I’d missed in the last few years.
I settled on Chalamet and sank into my overstuffed couch. The minutes ticked away as I stared at the large screen, the food getting colder. I took a bite and grimaced.Why can’t I stop thinking about Robert?
He’d been kind. Helpful. And polite.
Even though I was none of those things in return.
God, why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he have been a jerk? Why couldn’t he have kept on driving and not made the decision to come inside? Why did he have to be the one to rescue me from the vault, one of the things that gave The Green Frog a competitive advantage?
That was perhaps the most annoying part. When I took over the business, I was the one who convinced Gwen we could make a tidy profit in rare books and first editions. There was a nuance to it and an increasing demand, especially given the ease of online sales. One or two specialty customers a month went a long way in helping us make our year and was one of the major reasons why the store turned a profit under my leadership.
The rare books were my secret weapon.
Now Robert Kilgore had gotten a glimpse of how many we had. My soon-to-be direct competition knew one more thing about the store. I hated that. Most people knew we sold those books, but they didn’t know how many we had or how we stored them. I didn’t even let Janet, the overnight janitor, into the area.
But Robert had just been inside.
Shit.One thing’s for certain though: I need a phone line installed in the vault.
CHAPTER SIX
ROBERT
“This is coming along nicely,” I said to Javier as he wiped some dust off the final tile around the bar that I envisioned would soon serve bourbon and snacks to readers. We’d gone with large gray slate tiles arranged in a honeycomb pattern and broken up every five or ten tiles by a bronze one with a more intricate facade. “Good work,” he said.
“Yes, I like it too.” Javier stepped backward to survey the entire space, his hands on his hips. “We should go with gray grout.”
“Light gray,” I said.
“I’ll pick up some tomorrow before I come with the rest of the crew.” He turned and clasped my hand, the rough callouses of his palm grating against my smoother one. “Thanks for all your patience the last couple of weeks. It hasn’t been easy finding good workers.”
“You’re not the only one who’s struggling with that,” I said as we broke our handshake. “Whole damn industry is right now.”
Javier said, “But since this is going pretty well, are you still looking for a Labor Day opening?”
