Quinn looked at the bisexual flag hanging from the roof above Ivy’s head. ‘I know that.’
‘Everyone knows Blair is bi.’
‘Do they?’
‘Someone hasn’t read his book.’
‘Can’t say I have,’ Quinn said. ‘He was flirting with you just now.’
‘Hogwash,’ Ivy dismissed. ‘No, right now we have to stay focussed on this issue. You’re not losing this shop, Quinn. There’s anger here. People will fight.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’
‘None of that attitude, please. The law of attraction always works.’
‘What’s the law of attraction?’
Ivy’s eyes widened. ‘Esther and Jerry Hicks?’
Quinn drew a blank.
‘Oh my gosh, Quinn.’ Ivy shook her head. ‘You own a bookshop and don’t know who they are?’
‘Authors?’
‘Gurus,’ Ivy said. ‘They share what an out-of-this-world being known as Abraham shares with them. The law of attraction that works around us. What we think, what we feel, we attract. It’s all about being in the mindset that good things will happen, and they will. Manifestation. If you believe and feel like this is a lost cause, and your shop is gone, then it’s gone. But if you believe it is safe, that it won’t go, then it will stay.’
Quinn sighed, getting to his feet. ‘If only it were that simple, Ivy.’
‘It is. We humans complicate things. Is it so hard to believe there are forces out there that we can work with?’
Quinn, his head pounding, could think of nothing but a paracetamol and some water, and a night in front of the TV watchingEastenders.
He said goodbye to Ivy as he locked up the shop. The street was quiet now, with Christmas lights reflecting off the snow. He shivered in the cold and turned to his apartment door, heading inside, feeling the warmth and reflecting on the day.
All day the wheels had been in motion, rushing down the track, and now he was at a standstill. Not a crash, but not safe yet. If all of this didn’t work, then nothing would. As he unlocked his apartment door, he was hoping he had sent a coherent message to Harold. If this was just business, then Quinn taking it national was just business, too. Businesses had to survive, and Quinn’s interview was his attempt to survive. It had happened, and it had gone better than he could have expected.
Maybe Ivy was right. She wished for this so much, believed it would happen, and it did.
Either manifestation was at work, or the stars had aligned. That, or Bloody Blair Beckett couldn’t wait to be the saviour, the hero, the saint.
As Quinn shut the door, his phone rang again. His mother calling.
Sighing, he answered.
‘Harold is fuming.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘What did you say about him?’
‘I didn’t say a thing about him. Just that I was being evicted.’
‘The press is saying his firm is evicting you, Quinn. You must have told them.’
‘They’re journalists, Mum. They’re going to put two and two together.’
‘Is that him?’ Harold’s voice came from somewhere in the background.
