“Did you just call me crazy?” I ask dramatically. The nerve of him. “You’ve stolen my space with your godawful Bugatti and dare to call me names.”
“I’ll happily call you by yours once I know what it is.”
“And I’ve told you it’s none of your damn business.”
“I’m Easton.”
“And I don’t care. Just move your pointless-ass car from in front of my shop.” I spin on my heels, prepared to leave him where he stands, but stop at the sound of him humming.
“Mm.” He stands upright, and the doors chirp before he pulls the driver’s side open. “You take care, amore. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Easton slips behind the wheel of his car, rolling down his window to wink at me.
“Not in my spot,” I yell after he starts the vehicle.
As the words leave my mouth, he revs his engine. It’s loud and obnoxious, and if I’m honest, fitting. He grins at me, taunting me like this is a game for him. He lifts his hand behind his ear to indicate he doesn’t hear me and drives off.
“Asshole,” I mutter.
I stand there for a moment, grunting in frustration at the entire interaction. Why are men such a pain in the ass? He violated my space yet seemed utterly unfazed by anything I had to say. Men like him are jerks, and I suddenly remember why the only guys I’ll ever fall for are the ones I read about.
“That looked like it went well,” Greer teases once I’m back inside.
“Hush.” I wave her off and return to my previous task. I exhale, glance out the window, and bring my hand to my neck before eventually refocusing on my work.
Greer closes the register and it dings. “All right, girl, the drawer is all counted. The money is in the bag for you to deposit in the morning. All of the receipts have been logged and put on your desk. I’ll be a little late in the morning if that’s all right. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Enjoy your night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Greer walks over to me for a hug, then exits the store. For the next several minutes, I finish closing out the system and rolling things over for the morning shift. It doesn’t take me long to get through my checklist, but I’m exhausted by the time I do. Today was a busy day, with all the new books we received, not to mention all the tension with Mr. Parking Space Thief.
I grab my belongings from the back, shutting the lights off on my way out the door. My back is to the street when the sound of tires crunch over the damp pavement. We weren’t expecting it to rain today, but it drizzled for a bit during the afternoon and still hasn’t dried up yet.
I turn my head in time to see Easton park his Bugatti. I smile because this time, he didn’t park in front of my shop. Instead, he’s three doors down. He exits his vehicle, but doesn’t see me watching him, so I lurk for a moment as he retrieves something from his back seat.
He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, and even though I’m several feet away, I can see how well his slacks fit him. The door slams, and he strolls into the jewelry shop that is a few stores away. I’ve been on this block for a few months now. This is the first time I really pay attention to who comes in and out of that store. I mean, there is a girl I’ve seen before, but never anyone else.
I lock up my bookstore and toss my keys around in my hands. I look to my left at my car that’s still in the spot down the street. Then I glance right at the path of light shining from the jewelry place. For whatever reason, a twinge of guilt overcomes me.
My mother’s words play in my mind: It’s never okay to be rude. You’ll catch more flies with honey than you would with a bitchy attitude. Then Easton’s comment about me screaming at him resurfaces, and I find myself heading left. The closer I get to his location, my palms sweat, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to back out.
I was frustrated after days of not using the space I paid the city for, but that doesn’t give me the right to yell at a stranger. I may not be happy about the whole ordeal, but maybe if I approach him kindly and express how much I’d appreciate him not taking my spot, things will work out.
“Easton,” I call out once I step through the threshold.
There’s no one in the showroom when I enter, but I look around, taking in all the expensive pieces. My mind wanders, and my interest piques. Is he the owner or a friend of the owner? Then I notice the stack of business cards near the register and snag one from the pile. I read the thick cardboard while running the pad of my finger along the edges. His name is embossed in shiny gold letters, giving me my answer.
Slipping the card into my back pocket, I stop at the center of the counter, which allows me to see down the walkway that leads to the back. There is a crack in the door, and at first, I don’t see anyone, but then a dark figure flashes across the small opening. I lean forward as if it’ll help me see any better, but it’s no use.
“Easton?”
Still nothing.
“I should go,” I say to myself, but as I turn, there’s a noise from the back.
A grunt follows a loud thud. I frown and tilt my head again. I’m still unable to see anything, but someone yelps, and their cries are muffled by something. Nervousness creeps up my spine, some sixth sense telling me to go away and mind my business.
I step toward the door, my hand tentatively lingering over the knob. “What if he’s hurt?” I whisper.
Something tells me I’ll regret this, but I’ll have more remorse if something is wrong. Instead of trusting my instincts like I know I should, I suck in a breath and turn back around.
“Easton.” I step behind the glass casing, running my palm over the cool surface. “Easton. It’s Arloe from the bookstore, the one who screamed at you earlier,” I say that last part sarcastically. “I just wanted to apologize for the way I approached you this morning,” I say while inching closer.
All the breath in my lungs leaves me in a huff as I stare through the crack. There’s a man in a chair, blood soiling the front of his shirt, with a different guy in front of him.
“We really didn’t want to do this, Iman, but you leave us no choice,” I hear Easton’s voice, but I don’t see him.
“I’m sorry, Easton…Jude. I’ll make it happen, I swear, man,” Iman cries out.
“See, I wanna trust you. I do,” Easton says, and inches from behind the chair and leans on the desk in the corner. He shifts a little and pulls a gun from his waistband. Easton looks at it, then crosses his wrists in front of him. “But you’re making it real hard right now. How am I supposed to believe you’ll keep your word?”
“I swear. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Easton cocks his weapon, and I yelp, immediately covering my mouth when he peers through the opening, making eye contact with me. I don’t stick around to see what happens. Taking off in a half sprint, I rush through the hall, bumping my hip on the glass jewelry case but ignore the pain shooting through me on the way out.
My lungs burn from fear, panic, and a mix of anticipation the closer I get to the door. I think I’m in the clear, the bile that’s pooled in my throat slowly starting to make its way back down.