Boss.
The name Cade assigned him in lieu of sir. Not his favorite choice—he had no plans to be his actual boss—but considering he’d been called worse by Chloe, and within the last three days, he let it slide.
It was now mid-afternoon, an unsuccessful day of not thinking about Chloe, and he’d been referred to as boss about the same number of times as the bell rang announcing another customer. Many.
Standing at the front counter, Jameson spent most of the day working his way through endless paperwork and a grossly underused computer program, determining the viability of the store. A full accounting was required to get an accurate appraisal, aiding him in setting a realistic asking price. The numbers looked damn good.
The steady stream of customers looked better.
Technically, they were closed, but still doing a brisk business. Given the community support, Jameson might not have to fire sell. He might get top dollar and add Cade’s employment as a requirement of the purchase.
The kid handled customers like a seasoned salesman, his enthusiasm for all things hardware-related abnormal for someone fresh off his eighteenth year of life.
He observed him now, assisting their newest customer. A woman in her sixties, unsure what to do with her planter boxes now that her zucchini was harvested for the season. Cade suggested sunflowers. That way she’d have color until the first freeze came, and sold her a carton of seed packets. Another twenty bucks in the till.
A few minutes later, another customer. They just kept coming.
And they all stopped to shake his hand and welcome him back to East Hampton. Give thanks for his service and condolences for his loss, his father’s death still stinging. Then they all thanked him for re-opening the store, to which he replied, “Sorry, we’re closed.”
A phrase on repeat.
“We’re closed,” he called out when the overhead bell rang again, announcing a new visitor. Not bothering with the sorry part.
It’d lost its authenticity by this point anyway, and why the fuck didn’t he just lock the door?
“I’m on it, boss,” Cade said, pausing his count on cabinet knobs. “What a showing so far, and it’s only our first day.”
“Yep, sure,” he replied with far less enthusiasm but inwardly shocked at the rising sales tally.
Concentrating on the POS screen, Jameson heard high heels clicking on the old pine floors, tracked them as they neared the counter where he stood. His Navy days had taught him to feel footsteps from a mile away.
These were purposeful and headed straight his way.
“Hello, Jameson.”
And just like his Navy days, they belonged to the enemy.
That uppity voice could only come from one person, and he waited a beat before looking up, not bothering to curb his snarl.
“Genevieve.” Standing a foot away from him, looking like a million bucks.
Looking like a mouse who’d just eaten the wrong piece of cheese and now awaited the trap to snap her skinny little neck.
“We’re closed,” he repeated, firmer this time, and went back to his reports before he snapped it himself.
“Yes, I saw the sign.”
“And you think it doesn’t apply to you?” Tapping the touchscreen, he dug deep for restraint. “In this instance, it applies particularly to you. No shitty mothers allowed.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Cade frozen in aisle four, watching the scene unfold with his pen poised over the clipboard.
“Are you discriminating against me? I believe that’s illegal.” The mouse was gone. The rat was back.
He shrugged. “Sue me.” She’d not denied the title of shitty mother.
“I could.”
He glanced up. “And I would kill to see you try. You know a little something about that, don’t you?”
Her face drained of color.
“You seem shocked that I’d bring that up. Point out your ability to go to extremes to get what you want.” He enjoyed her responding squirm.
“Well, that’s not the polite hello of a well-mannered man, is it?”
His laugh was borderline feral.
“I’m not your usual crowd, kissing your ass and overlooking your faults to stay in your good graces. My apologies for offending your proper sensibilities with the inconvenient truth.”
Crossing his arms, he stared at her, making it clear he wasn’t sorry at all. Nor was he backing down.
Patting her hair, she hid any discomfort. “This greeting digressed quickly.”
“What do you want?”
“Since you demand I get right to the point,” she said flippantly as if she’d not ruined his life with one abhorrent word ten years ago. “For you to leave my daughter alone.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“Isn’t it?”
He arched a brow at her haughtiness. “It isn’t,” he answered, mocking her snotty tone. “She’s no longer a minor.”
Her mouth tightened. “She’ll always be my little girl. And my number one priority, no matter her age.”
That fib made him laugh shortly, truly humored.
“Good one. But worry your cold, bitter heart none. I want nothing to do with your daughter.”
She raised a brow. “Really?”
“My goal in life is to put as much distance as possible between myself and Chloe Morgan. As for you, gotta admit I was hoping I saw the last of you ten years ago.” He pointed to the Right to Refuse Service sign taped to the oil-stained butcher block counter. “You can go now.”
Looking away from his hard stare, she repositioned the shoulder strap of a purse that cost more than his first car. “I probably deserved that.”
“And more,” he said, going back to his accounting program.
Not accustomed to being dismissed, she bristled a bit but held her ground.
“You look good, Jameson. The years have treated you well. I understand you joined the military?”
He scoffed but didn’t look up. She knew damn well where he was going ten years ago. Where they were going, as a couple—a family—Chloe packed and ready, as excited as him.
Or so he thought.
“My condolences on the loss of your father. Jonah was a nice man.”
Sighing, he accepted that she wasn’t going to leave until they hashed this out. “Cut the shit, Genevieve. Say what you wanna say. Then get the fuck out.”
“Lovely language to use while addressing a lady.”
“I would never use that language when addressing a lady. But I’m talking to a viper here, in case you haven’t looked in the mirror yet today.” He held up a hand. “And save your breath. We both know you deserve that.”
She swallowed, her gaze darting toward Cade, who watched from afar.
“Go ahead,” he taunted, no more afraid of her now than he was a decade ago when she tried to strong-arm him.
Demand he give up something that meant everything in exchange for something that meant nothing.
“Go ahead and what?” she asked innocently, all beauty and Oscar-worthy bravado.
“Issue your threats. Then make your offer so I can decline, and be on your way.”
“I never threatened you, Jameson. I pleaded with you to make the right choice regarding my daughter. And her future.”
“It was our future, and not yours to decide.”