Oh no, no, no, no—
Blame my imagination. It’s clearly conjured up my own personal devil.
I’m cursing it even before Ethan rounds the corner—you guessed it—scowling.
“Hattie,” he barks.
Mr. Sneed draws himself up to his full height—which, compared to Ethan, is pitiful. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”
Ethan sighs and looks me dead in the eye.
There goes my chance to flee.
Besides, he’s blocking the way to the exit, and the fire door is blocked off with piles of books. Another task to finish on my long to-do list.
“Hattie,” Ethan snarls again. His tone tells me he’s about to lose his patience. “Tell this man who I am.”
“Oh.” I panic. The word fiancé feels ridiculously large in my mouth. “Mr. Sneed, this is my—my friend.”
Ethan rolls his eyes.
“Friend? I swear to God,” he mutters.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
Mr. Sneed looks between us warily.
“Friend?” he repeats. “You know him? Then why the hell is he bothering you on duty with these bizarre demands?”
“She knows me very well,” Ethan growls, shooting my boss a withering look. “We’re engaged.” The corner of his mouth twitches like the idea tastes sour, but he meets my gaze. “I’m serious, Hattie. This place is yours, if he sells. No more excuses for dodging dinner.”
“Ethan, no!” I say it as forcefully as I can. “No flipping way. You can’t just go around ordering people to—”
“Sir, if you’ll show me some proof to back up your offer, this place is yours today,” Mr. Sneed tells Ethan, not seeming to notice the steaming pile of betrayal he’s just handed me.
This. Is. Insanity.
“Mr. Sneed, no, you can’t!” I insist.
“He can, and I have the cash,” Ethan says to Mr. Sneed. He watches me drag my jaw on the floor. “We’ll talk later, after you’ve closed up. Do whatever the fuck you need to get done before I transfer the place and hand you the keys. Ideally by tomorrow.”
“Wait!” I reach out and grab his arm, trying to force him to stay and talk him down.
But if he notices, he gives no sign.
He just brushes my hands off him and turns around with a soul-shredding smirk.
Two seconds later, the bell dings and he’s gone.
The secondI’m home and have some food in me—just so I can tickhangryoff my list of reasons for feeling this annoyed—I pull out my phone and start texting Ethan.
Hattie: We had a deal, you psycho.
Hattie: Six months and not a second more!
Hattie: Half a million dollars and not a cent more.
Hattie: You’re NOT buying my bookstore!!!
