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“Do you have daughters?” I tilt my head to look more closely at his unlined face, then at the age spots covering his hands. “Wait, no. You have granddaughters, don’t you?”
His sneer vanishes. “None of your business.”
“That’s a yes,” I say to Cam. “If he didn’t, he’d have said no.”
Red floods the man’s cheeks, which means my bluff was correct. But I’m not done. If nothing else, I have faith in the next generation.
“God, they must be so ashamed of you, keeping birth control out of the hands of the people who need it.” I charge forward and slap my hands down on the pharmacy counter, my eyes hard on his, and he actually takes a shuffling step back. That’s right, old man. Be scared. “Do they gather around at family dinners and cringe when you brag about all the women you’ve slut-shamed? Do they tell you how monstrous it is that you’re making life harder for people who come to you for help?”
His mouth works back and forth. “They… they’re good girls. Someday they’ll understand.”
But Cam and I both hear the truth in his words: his granddaughters loathe him. I smile in victory as Cam slings an arm around my shoulder, ruffling his free hand through his already-disheveled hair. In under three seconds, he’s transformed himself from the guy standing tall at my side to the slouching dirtbag he told me he used to be, all questionable tattoos and pillowy lips.
“What would you think,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice, “if one of your precious granddaughters turned up with me, asking for help to keep you from becoming a great-grandfather?”
The pharmacist’s eyes narrow on where Cam’s tucked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. I don’t know what he sees, but from where I’m standing, Cam’s exuding nothing but sulky, filthy sex.
“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?” Cam taunts, brushing a thumb over his lower lip so the man gets a good look at those back-of-the-hand tats. “One of those precious girls starting a family when she’s not ready.”
“None of my girls would ever choose someone likeyou,” the man sniffs, his color still high.
Cam’s posture doesn’t shift outwardly, but I feel a tremor run down his body, and for a moment it looks like his control is about to snap. But after a beat, he exhales hard and relaxes his muscles with a disdainful shake of his head.
Cam might be willing to let that comment go, but I’m sure as hell not. I wrap my fingers around his hand where it rests on my shoulder and lift my nose in the air.
“God forbid your granddaughters end up with someone thoughtful and interesting and really fu—freaking good at their job.” I bite back the curse that almost spills from my lips, pretty sure that the fastest way to get this man to stop listening to me is to drop f-bombs left and right. “They’d beluckyto find a man like him. Now let me ask you this: do you have emergency contraception in this store, or don’t you?”
The pharmacist smiles thinly, clearly still angry that I brought his family into this. “We do not carry those products at Salem Drug.”
“Of course you don’t.” There’s nothing else to be gained here, so I stuff down my anger and turn to leave. But as I do, I take in our surroundings for the first time and realize with a jolt that I have some leverage here after all.
I run my finger over my ring and let its message absorb into my blood—bold—before I swing back with a predatory smile on my face.
“Then again, nothing about this place is up to code, is it? For one thing, you don’t have proper signage over the emergency exit.”
I point to the unmarked exterior door on my left. He scowls as he looks at it, but I’m not done.
“The State of Illinois doesn’t require exit signage in businesses, but the City of Beaucoeur certainly does,” I say. “All existing and new buildings providing goods or services to the public are required to have one or more means of egress, and said means of egress shall be indicated with approved signs readingExitthat are readily visible to all patrons and are no more than one hundred feet from said egress.”
“You’re saying this place doesn’t have that?” Cam’s voice drips with faux concern. “That sounds bad. Who’d be interested in finding out about that, do you think?”
“The City’s chief of fire prevention,” I promptly reply. “And would you look at that? Someone was mopping over there, but there’s noCautionsign as required by the liable premises law.” Both men turn to look at the visible puddle of water on the tile floor. “Gosh, it would be awful if someone were to fall and injure themselves.”
I whip out my phone and snap a picture of the abandoned mop and bucket.
“That’s near the row with the vitamins, isn’t it?” Cam asks. “Didn’t I just say I was out, babe?”
“You sure did, babe.” My eyes don’t leave the pharmacist, who’s about eight shades paler than when we walked in five minutes ago.
“Be a shame if I slipped while picking up a new bottle, what with me being vitamin deficient at the moment.” Cam shrugs. “Brittle bones.” He cracks his neck once and starts to move toward the aisle.
“All right, you’ve made your point.” The pharmacist’s nostrils flare. “As I’ve already told you, I don’t carry the abortion pill, so please leave.”
This. This is the argument I can win, and I’ve never been more motivated to see someone grovel.
“Only if you tell me that you actually do know the difference between emergency contraception and an abortifacient.” I advance on him again, and he shrinks back, looking grateful that there’s a counter between us. “You went to school for this, so I’m going to need you to admit that you’re choosing not to use the proper terminology as a way to intimidate anyone with a uterus who comes through your door looking for help.”
The man’s chin juts out, but he doesn’t speak, and after a beat, Cam sighs loudly, his eyes filled with delighted malice.
