Page 6

“Don’t you have a job, Professor?” she asked, saying the last word like an insult.

He glowered. “Yes, Lucinda, but I’ve taken a sabbatical.”

Her eyes flared at the usage of her full first name. Grayson smirked, half expecting smoke to billow from her ears.

“I don’t see why,” she replied, taking a step toward him. She looked up at him from under those long dark lashes, eyebrows scrunched. Another curl had fallen out of her updo (if it could be called that) and rested against her mouth. He itched to brush it aside.

Christ, but he must be mental. He should not be attracted to such an irrational person, no matter how perfect her lips.

“They called me,” Grayson said, refocusing. “Of course I came.”

She scoffed with disgust. “Just because you were Charles’s emergency contact doesn’t mean you needed to come. You didn’t come when Sophie died; you didn’t even call! And now you get one call from the hospital and suddenly you take a sabbatical and show up here?”

Anger burned through him. How dare she speak of things she knew nothing about? Those were his private and personal family matters. How dare she judge him?

Trying not to let the depth of his emotion show, he adopted a con-descending tone, knowing it would infuriate her. “I’m here because Charles—you know, my grandfather? The owner of this bookstore?—will need someone to take care of him as he recovers in the coming months,” he said derisively. “I am his family.”

“Oh, now you’re his family!” she practically shouted. “How convenient!” She shook her head, cheeks red. “I don’t believe you for one second. Why are you really here? You can drop the loving grandson act; we both know it isn’t true.”

His temper spiked, and this time, he could not hide the emotion. “And how, exactly, would you know that?” he asked, stepping closer. “How would you know anything about me? Who even are you?”

“I know enough!”

Rather than stepping away, she took another step closer, poking his chest. He held a hand over his heart, more shocked than injured. Her expression was livid. She was not merely some worker, some witch.

This was personal for her. He didn’t know why.

“I’ve been working here for eight years and not once—not once!—have you ever visited,” she snapped. “Before then, I’d been coming to the store for another decade, and I never saw you then, either. You’ve never called; you’ve never written. So yes, I know all I need to know about you.”

She was breathing hard, and they were so close their chests were almost touching on the inhale. He recoiled, her words hitting their mark. Energy sparked between them, almost flammable. He set his jaw, refusing to light the match.

“You know nothing,” he said, voice quiet.

And really, she didn’t. Grief and rage rose in him, but he buried those emotions deep inside, just as he had been doing for the past two decades. He wasn’t here to argue with a complete stranger. This girl was irrelevant. He didn’t need to explain himself to her, even though he itched to.

He was here for Charles, to try to mend things between them.

Grayson had found out about Charles’s fall and hip surgery when the hospital had called him, since he was next of kin. He’d taken a day to get things in order, and another day to pack up and fly out.

He’d have his teaching assistant cover for the last three weeks of class, then handle revisions. He’d grade his students’ final papers from here, and then the term ended mid-December. He’d taken off the next term, which ran until May.

Six months was surely enough time to get to know his grandfather.

If this madwoman let him.

Dismissing him, she went behind the front counter, sipping another coffee and eating a cardamom bun, which smelled heavenly. But who ate on the job? Terribly unprofessional. She should have been tidying up. The store was in a state, entirely chaotic and cluttered. His eyes hurt just from looking at it.

Unfortunately, the logical part of him pointed out that he would be working in close proximity with Lucy for the coming months, so it would be wise to draw up cordial terms. He released a long breath, forcing himself to calm down. He needed to be practical. It was the only way.

They’d clearly gotten off on the wrong foot. He would need to remedy that, as her cooperation would be necessary to working in the bookstore. He’d had enough experience handling unfriendly colleagues to know that it was a daily headache.

Plus, she was clearly managing things in Charles’s absence, and she had mentioned she had been working here for eight years. If Grayson hoped to successfully look after the bookstore while Charles recovered, it would help if Charles’s employee didn’t hate him.

The problem was, Grayson had no idea how to speak with her. She’d already made it clear she detested him. He figured it would be safe to inquire after some tea, and it helped that he was just about dying for a cup, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Grayson straightened his glasses, rolled his shoulders, and walked up to where Lucy stood behind the counter, doodling something on a notepad. When she saw him approach, her head lifted to fix him with a withering look.

“Just wondering if I could get a cup of tea?” he asked, doing his best to be polite. He cleared his throat, palms sweating as Lucy stared at him.