“Michelle is going to open the store, but I still need to get this all set up.”
“Then let’s get it done. You’ll sleep in tomorrow and come in late.”
“You need help?” Dmitri stares at the boxes.
“No. I’ll get it done. I have something else for you to do.” Lev pulls out his phone and walks Dmitri to the front door, switching to Russian as he explains whatever job he’s giving out.
As I reach down to open one of the boxes, he shouts over his shoulder, “Don’t touch those boxes.”
I leave the boxes and put my mind to getting the shelving all put together and in place. One on each side ofwhere the author will be sitting. He’s supposed to have a team of three coming with him to help distribute the books and keep the line moving, so as long as I get it all set up, it should be an easy night.
Lev’s hands wrap around my waist as I’m straightening a shelf, and he pulls me back into him.
I melt into him, just for a second. Long enough to let the warmth of his voice and his touch run over me and soothe the tension from the afternoon.
It’s a dangerous game I’m playing, letting myself enjoy these sorts of moments. But I can’t seem to stop myself anymore. It’s become an addiction.
“Let’s get this finished. We have to make a stop on the way home, and the sooner I get you home, the better.” His eyes are full of mischief and arousal.
“You’re going to help me?”
He tears open the first box, then looks up at me. “Of course. Tell me where these go.”
I blink, silently lost for a moment. He runs the arms dealing for the entire Bratva, but he’s going to spend his night unboxing books with me.
“Max.” He quirks a brow. “Where do these go?”
“Oh. Uh, on those shelves. The box labeled pre-ordered go over here. I have to make sure I don’t sell those before they’re picked up.”
He nods, then gets to work, unboxing and unpacking and tearing down the boxes. All alongside me as I get the area organized and finally get the author banner fixed up.
“Have you ever thought of doing this foryourself?” He asks while pushing in the last bit of plastic tubing to secure the banner in place.
“Doing what?”
“Owning a bookstore? I mean you’re running this place and getting none of the profits.”
“It’s a small store.”
He drops his hands to his sides and frowns. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I gather up the paper packaging and start stuffing it into garbage bags.
“Don’t make it sound like you do less than you do. This place has doubled its profit in the last year you’ve worked here. Do you know that?”
I freeze. Mr. Miller does the bookkeeping himself, but I have seen reports come over from the accountant. How can Lev know what sort of profit Mr. Miller is making?
“Did you talk to my boss?”
“No.” He hooks his hands on his hips. “I have my own way of getting information. And this place has doubled its profits because of you, so why wouldn’t you consider doing this on your own?”
The man is impossible. Always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
“For one, a start-up is insanely expensive. And since you’ve gone behind my back to look into what my boss makes on this place, I can assume you’ve seen how small my own salary is. There’s no way I could get a loan to start a business. And where would I open a bookstore? If I go too far into the city, I have to compete with the bigchains and other specialty shops that are already established.”
“So you have thought about it?” He takes the last empty box from my hands.
I lift a shoulder. “It’s crossed my mind, but I like it this way. I have no risk here.”