Billionaires Dollar Series

Cole can be ruthless. I’ve witnessed that. He’s good friends with Nicholas Park-and that man has quite the reputation for the unsavory.

“He might not honor our agreement,” Karli continues. “We have to accept that possibility. What do we do if he doesn’t? Would our bargain hold up in court?”

I sink into the chair. “No clue.”

“Cutting out his own best friend for profit. Disgusting.”

“Seems like it.”

Karli’s face swims into view, her mouth set in determined lines. “And that was the guy you went toe to toe with, Skye! I’m more proud of you than ever. He might be a sleazeball, but we can hold our heads up high.”

Hold our heads up high.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

If she only knew, I think. She’d never look at me the same way again.

Karli’s eyes widen, a sudden realization settling in. “Maybe he’d take it out on you if we win the bargain. Judging by our spike in customers, we might.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know him. Look at this… he cut off his best friend! Made him sign an NDA?” She shakes her head at the article. “And this is the Seattle Tribune. They wouldn’t publish just anything, either. You can bet this was fact-checked.”

Each of her words falls heavier than the next, until I feel bent under the pressure. “Sorry, I have to… Can you watch the register for a minute? I have to use the bathroom.”

“Yes, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. One minute.”

And in our little three-square-feet bathroom, I break down completely. It’s not pretty. It’s not even rational. And still, I have to grip the sink to keep my breath from running away from me completely. The article is either a smear piece or a daring exposé.

And I have no idea what to believe.

My first instinct is to call him. To text. To hear him say It’s not true, Skye. Of course it’s not. You’re a writer. You know how writers write.

But isn’t that exactly what someone who was trying to manipulate me would say? Someone who wants to see this business demolished. Someone who’s been damn good at making me think they’d stopped caring about it. He’d hinted that winning wasn’t important to him anymore.

That I was important instead.

And I’d believed him.

The baseball game. The publisher event. Was it all a lie?

I shake my head at myself in the mirror. If I was being played for a fool, at least my eyes are open now, thanks to Ben Simmons. That is a good thing.

And if I wasn’t… well, I can’t let myself consider that, not yet. Not while my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. Karli’s words come back to me, the ones that carried the most weight. The Seattle Tribune wouldn’t publish just anything. They would fact check. They had probably reached out to Cole for a comment, even.

The look Karli gives me when I come out of the bathroom is sympathetic. She puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m sorry. Of course this made you think that it’s futile, but it’s truly not. We might still have a chance to pull this off.”

I nod. Inside, I’ve never felt more like a fraud. I don’t deserve her friendship, or her support, not right now. The bookstore is hers, after all. Eleanor was her grandmother. Not mine.

“We’ll just have to work harder,” I say faintly. “We have a week left.”

She nods. “That’s right. And if push comes to shove, he’s not getting us to sign any NDAs!”

I hmm in agreement, returning to stacking shelves with my mind whirling. And despite my phone burning a hole in my pocket that day, I don’t contact Cole, and he doesn’t contact me. He must have his hands full.

He’s either devastated by the article or pissed off that his former business partner found a way to circumvent the non-disclosure agreement.

And I’m not sure I want to find out which one it is yet.

The next day marks exactly one week until our two-month agreement with Porter Development comes to an end. Karli has a meeting with Chloe in a few days, and the both of them will pore over the numbers to see if we can present a profitable store.

Karli and I have been ramping each other up constantly. “We can do this,” Karli tells me again, as much for herself as for me.

“Oh, absolutely. We’ve seen more customers these past few weeks than ever before. We’re good.”

“We’re good,” she repeats. “We’re good.”

Her eyes flick to the back wall, and I wonder if she’s thinking of the same thing I am. The framed picture of Eleanor in front of Between the Pages from when it opened. It’s hung there so long there’s a square mark in the wallpaper behind it.

The day is a blur of sales and Instagram updates and hanging sale signs. I hang a huge one in the window display and add a handwritten note that explains our situation. One week left to make a difference, I write in the heading. Do you want our store to remain?

It’s desperate, but these are desperate times.

The doorbell jingles an hour before closing, and not with a customer. Middle-aged. A frown on his features. And wearing a T-shirt with an all-too-familiar logo. This time, it’s not peppered with darts.

He walks straight up to the register. “Good afternoon.”

I brace my hands against the counter. “Hi. I wasn’t aware we had a scheduled appointment with Porter Development today.”

He gives me an unpleasant smile and pulls out a construction ruler from his pocket. “I was sent to inspect the property in preparation.”

“Inspect?”

“Yes.” He taps the ruler against the desk, looking around with appraising eyes. “Take the building’s measurements and inspect the construction. After all, we need to know how big of a wrecking ball to bring.”

“Nothing has been decided yet,” I grind out.

His smile is irreverent. “That’s for you to bring up to my boss, or my boss’s boss. I’m here on orders, and to the best of my knowledge, we’re razing the building within the month.”

“Not on my watch.”

The man chuckles, like I’ve made a joke. His voice turns syrupy. “All right, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? The nerve! “What’s your name?”

“Max Blakefield.”

“Well, you won’t be measuring inside this store today, not until you come back here with a scheduled appointment that has gone from your boss or boss’s boss to us.”