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He was dressed like he belonged in some Ralph Lauren campaign, but he was a haughty jackass. What use was it to be as gorgeous as any male model when one had an absolute shit personality?
She threw him a glare and went to clean up the mess from earlier, the coffee (her latte!) and the books (the books!) still on the floor like fallen soldiers from a failed battle. She frowned at the sight.
Holding her hand over the hardwood floor, she cleaned up the coffee and remnants of her mug, the liquid and shattered pieces moving as if the scene were happening in reverse. While the mug was temporarily made whole again, her latte inside the way it had been before it fell, the mug wouldn’t be stable.
She would need to toss it. Magic was volatile and untrustworthy, fine for little tasks such as turning on the lights or cleaning up a mess, but not for things like permanent repairs.
After throwing out the mug, Lucy returned to the scene of the disaster, holding a hand over the floor, which had little marks from the impact. The scratches scrubbed away like pencil under an eraser.
The books she picked up last, by hand, inspecting each one and carefully remedying dented covers and stained pages until they were in brand-new condition once more. She clutched the books close to her heart, inhaling the scents of ink and paper.
She turned back to the front display table to set down the books, only to find that Grayson was watching her with those startling blue eyes. There was something on his face she couldn’t decipher, and she didn’t want to.
When he caught her looking, he blinked. “Shouldn’t you be more careful using your magic so cavalierly?” he asked with a scowl. “Or are you witches no longer worried about keeping such a secret?”
“Is there anyone else here?” she asked, making a show of looking around the empty store. “And as Charles’s grandson, you obviously know witches exist, so I’m in no danger from you.” She paused. “Unless you’re planning on taking me to trial?”
“If only,” he muttered. She clenched her jaw, preparing another retort when her gaze fell on the grandfather clock.
Shit! The store opened in five minutes!
“Is there a reason you’re here?” she asked, shifting into motion to make sure everything was set for opening. She made her voice clipped and professional, the way she did when dealing with the most irritating customers. “Since you know so much about the store, you’ll know it’s opening soon, and Charles won’t be in until tomorrow.”
“You don’t know?” Grayson asked, his brows furrowed.
Her stomach sank, alarm bells ringing in her mind as her thoughts jumped through awful scenarios. “Know what?” she asked, voice high.
Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up as if entreating someone for patience and strength. “Of course Charles wouldn’t have mentioned it to you,” he muttered. “Typical.”
“Know what?” Lucy repeated, this time with more urgency. She lost the professional tone as she added: “And who calls their grand-father by their first name?”
Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Grayson strode toward her, his long legs bringing him right in front of her in a few steps. She realized how tall he was then; she had to look up to meet his eyes. This close, she caught the scent of his cologne, which was earthy and woody, mingled with the scent of books.
Couldn’t he have been something loathsome, like a finance bro? But no, he had to be a professor, which she’d always found, unfortunately, incredibly sexy. Perhaps he was a professor of finance, Lucy consoled herself. Or some other terrible subject, like physics or statistics.
“I’m here to take over,” Grayson said. “Charles will be recovering for the next few months, so I’ve come to look after him and the store.”
Lucy blinked, shock registering through her.
She blinked again. And erupted into a fit of giggles.
“You’re screwing with me,” she said, doubling over. “That’s hilarious!” She was wheezing, nearly cackling like a … well, like a witch.
He frowned, brows knitted together. “I’m being serious.”
“Oh god, I thought you meant it for a second!” She continued to laugh.
“I am deadly serious,” he snapped. Dread curled through her. She looked up at his furious face, the hard set of his jaw. Disbelief made her breath catch.
No … No, he couldn’t actually be serious. “Charles wouldn’t—”
He cut her off: “Charles asked me to come.”
“Charles was recently injured; he’s not in his right mind.”
“He’s still my grandfather,” Grayson added.
“Ha!” she spat, too overwhelmed to come up with a more cutting remark. “That’s rich!”
