I’m up next, and I consider giving a fluff answer, but decide to be as vulnerable as my staff. Elaine knew what she was doing when she started this tradition; sharing literary preferences can reveal a person’s own story, the scars they’re trying to heal.

“I’ve got two,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. “First is the whole tall-man fetish—what’s the big deal about a few extra inches?” The women on my staff make eyes at each other. “Don’t answer that.”

“What’s your other one?” Nora asks, looking up from the tiny animal she’s crocheting—it looks like a meerkat.

“This might be controversial,” I warn, “but nothing pulls me out of a story more than an enemies-to-lovers trope.”

Everyone gasps; this is blasphemy.

“It normalizes toxic behavior and romanticizes serious issues that shouldn’t be glossed over,” I say, while the others groan and roll their eyes. “Hear me out: if someone’s really your enemy, you wouldn’t fall in love with them. It’s not plausible.”

“But monster sex is?” Cinderella says.

“Or vampires and werewolves?” Indira adds.

“I can suspend some disbelief. And sure, enemies can have hot hate sex—but if they’re really enemies…” My mind drifts to Josie’s fiery eyes, and I shiver. “Feelings that deep don’t change. Love is love and hate is hate.”

Cinderella harrumphs, and I have a feeling she’s already making a mental list of her favorite enemies-to-lovers books to change my mind.

But as fun as this interlude has been, I called this meeting for a reason.

The mood in the room deflates as I fill my staff in on everything: the competition, the profit goal; how at the end of the day, only one manager will be left standing.

“What does that mean for us?” Cinderella asks, a slight wobble to her voice.

“If Josie wins, I can’t promise what she’ll do. If she’ll keep everyone on, or if she’ll want to hire her own staff.”

Silence settles over my group of misfit booklovers.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say, attempting to channel Elaine’s unwavering optimism. “We’ll find a way to finish on top.”

“That’s what she said,” Nora quips, and the tension is replaced with laughter.

For everyone but Cinderella. “What are we actually going to do?” she asks.

“We’re going to sell as many books as we can,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. Elaine had a Field of Dreams strategy—if you stock the books, the readers will come. It’s always worked for us.

“But how…” Cinderella prods.

“Let’s brainstorm,” I say. “See what we can come up with together.” It’s got to be better than what my head came up with alone: pretty much nothing.