Billionaires Dollar Series

I look at the flimsy front door, the cash register sitting right by the entrance. It doesn’t seem like a particularly safe situation. Skye sees my gaze and raises her hackles immediately. “We have a panic button. There’s never been any incidents, and I don’t expect they’ll start now.”

“Mhm.”

“That is not a strike against the bookshop.” She puts her finger up, like she’s scolding me, but the look in her eyes could kill. “I won’t let you come here and snoop around and try to find reasons to shut us down. We made a bargain.”

“I don’t intend to-”

“Skye? I found another one!”

Her head snaps to the side, to the child’s voice echoing from the back of the store. Then she looks back at me. Indecision is clear in her gaze.

“Look!” A boy wanders up through one of the aisles, holding a newspaper. He can’t be more than ten, dark brown hair, round glasses perched on his nose.

He stops when he sees me. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Judging by the way his cheeks color, they have to be family.

“You’re not interrupting, Timmy. What did you find?”

He sidles up to Skye, opening the newspaper while shooting me a furtive glance. He points at something-an article for a school project?-but I’m not listening.

Skye has a son?

I look at her again. The smooth skin, her thick hair, the natural curve to her lips, the pointy chin. She can’t be much older than twenty-five. A son this age?

The boy is openly staring at me now. “Hello,” I say, dazed from the realization. “I’m Cole.”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

“Timmy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Good manners on the kid, I’ll give him that. Skye puts a hand on his shoulder. “Cole isn’t a customer. He’s… an acquaintance.”

Her dry tone makes me want to smile. “That’s right,” I say. “Who are you?”

He looks at me blankly before turning to Skye. She smiles at him, a soft, genuine smile, nothing sardonic or mocking in it. “Timmy’s my nephew. I think Cole was wondering if I was your mom there, buddy.”

The kid laughs, like that’s ridiculous. “She’s not.”

“Timmy is here in the evenings sometimes, when my sister has to work late. But I think-” Skye is interrupted by the shrill sound of the bookstore’s phone, ringing behind the register. She shoots me a look that says behave! and heads off to answer it.

The kid is shooting me glances above his newspaper. I clear my throat. “What’s your school project about?”

“We have to find three articles that are all about the same topic and compare them.”

I nod at the newspaper in his hands. “What have you chosen?”

He turns it around and holds it up high so I can see. “The Mariners got a new coach.”

“So they did.” I run a hand over my jaw and skim the article. “Probably a mistake, if you ask me, but I look forward to seeing his style.”

Timmy’s face lights up. “You’re a Mariners fan?”

“Course I am, kid. You are too?”

“Yeees.” He draws out the syllables, eyes widening dramatically. “I saw one of their games a few years back. Skye took me.”

A few years back? I grin at the kid. “How old are you?”

“Nine. Well, I’ll be nine in a few months.”

I glance over at Skye. She’ll hate what I’m about to say next, but the eagerness in his tone makes it impossible. “I see a lot of their games.”

“Yeah. Most of their home games, in fact.” Correction: all. It’s one of the things I do with Nick and Ethan, and sometimes with my sister. I have a VIP season pass. One of the many benefits that comes with money; you can invest in your passions.

Timmy’s eyes are glowing. “Who’s your favorite player?”

I pretend to deliberate. “I don’t know. I have so many. Why don’t you tell me yours?”

He grins and launches into a debate about the pitcher. Arms gesticulating, he’s so invested that he has to put down the newspaper to fully execute a swing, just to show me how good his reach is. Any shyness is completely gone.

“Do you play?”

“Sometimes,” he says, but he doesn’t look at me when he says it. “Not that much, I guess.”

“I bet you’d be good at it.”

“You think?”

“With that swing? Heck yeah.” I bend down and pick up the newspaper. “Do you do your homework here often?”

“Yes. Sometimes Skye lets me have fun, but only after I’ve finished my homework.” He says this with a dramatic sigh, and I grin in response. We both look over to where Skye is on the phone, nodding along to something the person on the other side is saying. Her face is set in brisk professionalism, her mouth softened into a smile.

“How do you know my aunt?”

My attention snaps back to her nephew. “I’m a friend.”

He gives a slow nod. “All right,” he says. “A friend. Do you want to see my baseball cards?”

“I’d love-”

“Cole was just leaving.” Skye is back, a hand placed on Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“No worries.”

“Go back upstairs, Timmy. There are more newspapers in the crate by the door-you can look in those as well.”

He shoots her an exasperated look before waving goodbye to me. We both watch in silence as his small form trudges through the bookshop, past shelves after shelves of books.

“Good kid,” I say.

“He is. Why are you really here, Cole?”