Billionaires Dollar Series

She hangs up with a pearly laugh and I’m left staring at the phone in my hand. I love my nephew, and I really enjoy all the time we get to spend together. And the fact that she springs things like this on me-I can handle it, even if I don’t like the lack of warning. But I don’t like that she does this to Timmy every time a new guy comes on the scene.

I last two more hours before the phone number blossoms into an inferno in my pocket and I have to put out the fire. I add Cole’s phone number into my contacts, and under contact name, I write the first thing I think of. Demolisher. And then I send him a quick text.

Skye Holland: The plants are nice. But please don’t send me a cat next.

My heart pounding, I slip my phone back into my pocket and tell myself to ignore it, and Cole, entirely. This entire thing is uncharted territory for me. It always had been, even back in that hotel room, despite my pretend-confidence.

And now, with him as the owner of Porter Development, the rules are muddled even further. We’re not friends. We’re enemies who’ve happened to see each other naked. And that made things a hell of a lot more confusing.

My phone buzzes nearly immediately.

Cole Porter: Too bad. I already had a kitten picked out. She’s really fluffy.

I chuckle, despite myself.

Skye Holland: Keep her for yourself. I’m sure she’ll fit right in in your thousand-square-foot penthouse.

His answer is immediate again.

Cole Porter: You’re making assumptions again.

Skye Holland: Isn’t that what we do best, as people-watchers?

Cole Porter: Oh, but I’m not a stranger. Haven’t we established that already?

My cheeks are burning, my stomach tightening. It’s playing with fire, this conversation. Him. The bet. All of it, and still, I keep putting my hand to the flame.

Skye Holland: Thanks for the plants.

He doesn’t respond for a long time after that, so long that I assume he agreed with me. But then my pocket buzzes again.

Cole Porter: Is that the closest I’ll get to an apology for vandalizing my properties?

I can’t help but smile. Oh, he had another thing coming if he thought I’d cave this easily.

Skye Holland: I’ll never apologize for that.

It’s over a week before I see him again. And yes, I hate that that’s the way I’ve started calculating time. The man is single-handedly responsible for the bookstore’s potential destruction, and still, my traitorous body and my even-more-traitorous eyes love the sight of him.

Keeping busy helped, though. Karli and I hired Chloe, my old college roommate, to look into our books. More customers are coming in by the day, and the time we have in between them, Karli and I spend planning the book reading. Things are changing, and I feel like Karli and I can turn this around, even if it’s with our own optimism as currency.

Life is busy. And yet, my mind finds ways to circle back around to the memory of Cole Porter. It hits me one evening, alone in Between the Pages, just before closing. Thoughts of his smug smile and the silken growl of his voice.

“No,” I say. “No, no, no. Go away.” I turn up the volume on the radio and sing along to a peppy tune, heading to the storage room instead. I grab the box of books I’d bought from the consignment store and I carry it out to the reading room table, my glue gun stacked on top. This should keep both mind and hands busy.

But then the doorbell jingles, and there he is, as if summoned by my imagination.

He’s not in a suit today. That’s my first observation, as Cole Porter stands in the doorframe in a button-down and slacks. Hands in his pockets, the picture of casual male power. A slow smile spreads across his face as he sees me with my pile of trinkets.

“An arts and crafts project, Skye?”

I put the box down on the counter. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to look at my investment.” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “I did agree to allow this business to continue, incorporated into my building, if you succeed.”

I huff a sigh and start piling up the books I’d purchased. They’re pretty, with old spines, but they’d only cost me pennies.

“If you’re here for a financial checkup, I can’t help you. I can give you the number to our new accountant, though.”

“You took my advice?”

“Yes,” I say primly. “I suppose something good comes from having a ruthless CEO as our overlord.”

He chuckles and reaches for the glue gun. “I haven’t seen one of these in forever.”

My project feels a bit silly now with him standing here. He’s a business tycoon, and I’m trying to create something that might be Instagram-worthy for our customers.

“We’re doing great,” I say. “We’ve had a ton of new customers. I think the posters are really working.”

He arches an eyebrow in an infuriating move, hands still in his pockets. “Oh?”

“Yes.” I grab a stack of the books and the glue gun, carrying them to the reading table in one of the adjoining rooms.

“Do you want the rest of this, too?” Cole follows me in, the heavy box lifted high in his arms.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“On the table.”

He puts it down and starts to sort through the books. “Gulliver’s Travels?”

“A classic.”

He picks up another. “How to Cook with Lavender, a Step-by-Step Guide. These books look…”

“Old? Dated?”

“Completely unsellable.”

I search through the photos in my phone, trying to find the inspiration picture I’d chosen. “I know,” I say. “They’re not for sale.”

“They’re part of your personal collection?” He opens the cookbook, eyes scanning with a doubtful look on his face. “Tell me, how does lavender quiche taste?”

I hold up my phone for him to see. “This is what I’m going to make.”

“You’re going to glue books together in the shape of a heart?”

“Yes. We have a small wall in between the Sci-Fi room and Contemporary Fiction, and right now, it’s just a bunch of shelves. But by putting this there instead, people could look in between the two rooms in the shape of a heart. A bookheart.”

Cole is quiet for a long moment, flipping through another book. I wait for the reproach, the tone of voice that will tell me it’s ridiculous. Like thinking plants or cats will save a failing business.