He launches into a detailed explanation, and I do my best to take notes, even though my head is spinning. Construction will start in a couple of weeks, and the stores will stay open during the process. Xander anticipates the process taking three months, and the manager who earns the most profit during that period will be the manager of the new store. The other will be looking for a new job.

“So you’ll hire either Brian or me, based solely on financials?” I hate the idea of being judged by profit—if Xander knew anything about bookselling, he’d know that owning an indie bookstore will never make him rich—but at least it’s an objective measure.

Brian frowns. “It’s actually—”

“Exactly,” Xander interrupts. “I anticipate making my decision by Labor Day.”

I sneak a glance at Brian. I can’t get a bead on him. The cardigan, lanyard, and tortoiseshell glasses are giving “small-town librarian,” which isn’t a terrible vibe for a bookseller. The messy hair, I’ll admit, bothers me; he can’t take the time to comb his hair before work? But maybe that’s a good thing—maybe he’s a mess in other aspects of his life, including his managerial skills.

Brian’s eyes flick over to meet mine. My skin prickles again. Behind his glasses, his eyes are warm golden brown, like dark honey, and my stomach coils tight with the strangest sensation. For one split second, I get a flash of us sitting at this table, each with a coffee and a book, reading together.

Ha. No way—he’d probably make snarky comments about my book being better than Ambien.

Plus, he’s my competition.

Brian shifts his weight, which makes his lanyard slip forward, revealing some of the colorful pins. They say things like Morally Gray >>>, Book Whore, In My Smut Era, Spread Those Pages.

And one that I cannot for the life of me understand: Stfuattdlagg.

Focus, I tell myself. This man has disparaged my books, my store, and my personality. Now he could end up with my job? Everything I’ve worked for in the past five years, the reputation I’ve built, the clientele I’ve cultivated—all my goals for the future are riding on this. I’ve pulled myself out of the humiliating hole of my past to create a career I’m proud of.

I can’t let this guy take that away.

At least my chances of winning are decent. I mean, how many books could a romance bookstore sell, anyway?

2

Ryan

She’s called me Brian three times.

Make that four.

I always figured Josie—see, I know her name—didn’t like me. She gives me the cold shoulder every time I see her at Beans. Acts like she doesn’t know who I am.

Maybe it’s not an act?