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“Then I’ll say no.”
“Which means yes.”
I spread my hands. “That answer means whatever you want it to mean.” I laughed to myself. Hadn’t I just thought I would keep this all to myself?Congrats, your plan just went out the damn window.
She grimaced. “Oh my God.”
“Wall Street attracts a lot of types. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you.”
“No, but it’s one thing to hear about it or read about it, and it’s another to know someone with firsthand knowledge of it.”
I nodded. That comment made sense, and it was something I’d mulled over more than once too. During college, I’d been so idealistic, so young, and so naive. Sure, I’d heard about how greedy people in finance could be, how money could corrupt people before they knew what had happened to them, but I’d been determined that would never be me. I would never let the city get to me that way and would never compromise myself for a commission or a bonus. I was principled. I’d been raised right. And I was a good guy.
Mostly.
At first, that had been easy. I’d kept things straight, aboveboard. I got good returns for clients, gave them sound advice, and made careful moves that limited risk for a while, which was enough.
Too loose.
But not criminal. Never that. I never pushed that far. I kept to the shady road, always erring on the side of what could be proven as simply coincidental or a product of chance.
My colleagues didn’t. The gates were open, nobody cared, and they took full advantage of the gap. People were dying all around us, life as we knew it had shut down, and a thin film of existential dread seemed to cover the city, but the people I worked with couldn’t have cared less. They decamped to the Hamptons or flew away to Palm Beach, and they set about making as much money as they could from all the misery.
That was it for me. The moment of clarity I needed. I’d set my sights on getting out of there.
“Don’t worry,” I told Anya, turning my attention back to our conversation. “I’m not all bad. I still have some morals.”
“Good.”
She smiled, and I guessed that while what I’d said disgusted her, she was at least willing to stick around. And that was... welcomed. I needed more friends in town and figured a budding friendship with a rival bookseller wasn’t a bad place to start. After all, if she ran that kind of place, it meant she loved books. And I did too.
“So,” I said. “Now that we’ve got my horrid past out of the way, did you figure out what you’re doing for the parade?”
Anya was midbite when I asked that question, and she forced a hard swallow. “I think I’ve worked out a plan. You?”
“Sort of. I heard its stiff competition.”
“I think I indicated that when you were turning in your entry fee at the city building.”
“Yeah, but now I’ve heard it from a bunch of other people too.”
“It’s a very big deal.” She raised her left eyebrow, which was groomed but cosmetic-free. In fact, most of her was that way. Light, simple makeup that enhanced her natural beauty. Honey brown hair that wasn’t over styled, and a guileless air about her that said she’d given up trying to fit into whatever standard of beauty ruled the day. All that attracted me, and probably because it was so different from the women I knew in New York. “The winner gets their name engraved on a plaque that hangs in the city council chamber. So, this isn’t just about the cash prize.”
“Didn’t know about that.”
She gave me a slow nod. “Bragging rights around town are critical. About all we have going for us here in New Burlington.” She chuckled, and it was both cute and disarming.
“This place has more going for it than only that.” I placed my used napkin on my empty paper plate and leaned toward her. “You want to see what I’m working on?”
Her eyes widened. “You’d show me?”
“Why not?”
Shrugging, I hopped off my barstool before I could change my mind. This parade might be serious business to the other people who lived around here, but it wasn’t serious to me. Sure, I wanted to win, wanted the extra bump in small-town notability that would come with making such a splash, but I also knew that win or lose, I’d be able to make something of the bookstore once it opened. “Come on.”
I extended my hand to help her off the barstool, then ushered her through the still dusty and drab construction space. We stepped through the back door into the early evening sun. Even though it was after six, a few more hours of sunlight awaited us. I guided Anya across the small parking lot to the large trailer bed covered with an industrial-quality tarp.
“Pardon my mess.”
