He grits his teeth, refusing to answer, which is answer enough. He'll play dirty if that's what it takes. Guys like him always do. It's not like you reach billionaire status by being the good guy. At least, most don't. They get there by lying, cheating, stealing, and strong-arming their way through the competition. There are far more Jeffrey Skillings in the world than there are Chuck Feeneys.
I saw it often enough growing up. My dad has always been one of the good ones, but a lot of his clients are terrible people who do equally horrible things to earn the money they're so desperate to protect. They aren't creating generational wealth. They're simply forging dynasties meant to oppress anyone who isn't just like them.
"What do you want, Lincoln?" I say, tired all the way to my bones.
"To negotiate," he says.
I narrow my eyes on him, instantly suspicious. Men like him don't negotiate from a position of power unless they're up to something. It's part of how they get to where he is in life—bynever making a single concession they don't absolutely have to make.
"If you'll agree to give up the building, I'll move your store to any location you want. My company will cover the costs of renovating and decorating so it looks precisely the same. And we'll ensure it's up and running before you have to be out of this location."
"Why?" I demand to know.
"Because, contrary to your opinion, I'm not out to run you out of business. If this turns into a bidding war, we both know you won't win. And if, by some miracle, you do, you'll be out millions that you'll never be able to recoup, not with a single store."
"Why?" I ask again, not buying his answer.
"Because I'm not an asshole."
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle. He looks like he means it, but I'm having a hard time believing it. Maybe because he was such a jerk the other day.
"Oh my god!" I cry, realization dawning. Wanting to save my business and my bank account is too…altruistic, too noble. I don't buy it. But hesitating because he thinks my father will put up the money to give me first dibs on this place? Oh, yeah. He'd definitely do that. "You found out who my father is, didn't you?"
"That's beside the point."
"No, I really don't think it is. Oh my god." I cross my arms, glaring at him. "You're like every freaking billionaire I've ever read about, and half of the ones I've met. You're not offering to move my business because you're trying to do the right thing. You're offering because you don't want a fight with my dad, and you're afraid he might actually win."
"I'm not worried about a fight with your dad."
"Well, you should be," I snap, too mad to be rational. "Because hell will freeze over before he lets you take my building." It's not technically a lie. If I told my dad what was going on, he'd fightthis battle for me, just like he always does. But Lincoln doesn't need to know that I haven't told him what's going on.
"Dammit, Lilah, that's not—"
"Yeah, it is. Well, it sucks to suck, Lincoln. I'm not giving it up."
"Why do you want it so much?"
"So you can't have it," I mutter, which is only partially true.
"The real reason," he growls, taking a step toward me.
"Do you even know anything about this building?" I ask, poking him in the chest to get him to back up. Except, he doesn't back up. He just grabs my hand, holding me prisoner in front of him. "You don't, do you?"
"Educate me, sweetness."
"It's where the oldest bookstore in Santa Maria stood until a fire gutted it in 1993," I say. "It was in business for sixty years before the doors closed. The owners couldn't afford to rebuild, so they sold the building to a developer, who gutted and renovated it. He saved as much of the original structure as he could, but most of it was beyond saving. Guess who bought the building next? Another bookstore. They were in business for twenty-five years before the owner died. So this isn't just a building, Lincoln. This place has been a bookstore for almost the entire time it's stood here. It's been a refuge for God knows how many readers who just needed a little magic. There's nowhere you can move me with that kind of history written into the walls. Fire gutted this place, and people forgot all about what it used to be, but you don't get to just tear it down and erase it like the memories it contains for people in this town don't matter."
He stares at me for a long, silent moment, and then does something I don't expect. He tugs me up against his chest, his lips coming down on mine in a hard kiss. It's so unexpected, I just…freeze. I let him kiss me.
And then, despite how mad I am—or maybe because of how mad I am—I kiss him back. I don't even mean to do it, but his hands are in my hair, and his lips are on mine. I just react.
"Fuck," he growls, nipping at my bottom lip. "You're beautiful when you're fired up."
Ugh. He just had to talk and ruin it, didn't he?
I go rigid in his arms and then try to push him away.
"Stop kissing me," I growl when he nips at my bottom lip again, then soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
