"Depends," I say. "Was the dancing any good?"
He eyes me levelly, clearly not impressed by the question or the free show he got. Awesome. He has no sense of humor.
"So you're one of those," I say, sighing heavily. Why am I not surprised? A man this gorgeous has to have one fatal flaw. His is, unfortunately, the stick I didn't notice shoved up his ass. I guess there are judgmental prudes in every state, even California.
"Excuse me? One of what?"
"One of those," I repeat, tipping my head to the side to look up at him. "Men who think women should be seen and not heard, and God forbid if one enjoys romance, sex, or the occasional spontaneous happy dance. Frankly, sir, if you don't want your wife or girlfriend reading, that's a you problem. We were granted equal rights a long time ago." I huff a breath. "And if you treated toys like teammates instead of the enemy, you'd probably be far better off."
"Who says I don't?" he practically growls at me. And dammit, why does he have to sound like he should be growling filth to me instead?
Oh, right. Because I'm delusional, that's why. I doubt he does dirty talk. He probably has missionary sex with his socks on and the lights off.
Honestly, all that hotness is wasted on him.
"Your attitude says it for you," I mutter, and then suck in a deep breath. Antagonizing him probably isn't going to make him want to buy anything, but…it's the price he pays for annoying me with his holier-than-thou attitude. Store rules. "Did you stop in just to criticize our dancing and the store, or can I help you find something?"
"I'm not here for the books," he growls.
"Surprise, surprise." I really need to stop while I'm ahead. Really, I do. But he's hot and judgmental. He needs to pick a lane because it should be illegal to be both.
"My name is Lincoln Hanover. I came to speak to the owner."
His name is familiar, though I'm not sure why. Definitely not because my brother is also named Lincoln. My brother isn't judgmental. He's amazing, and gay. Maybe this Lincoln's name is on a billboard or something. I flash him a bright, saccharine smile. "Congratulations. You've found her."
He blinks at me like I managed to catch him off guard. "You're the owner?"
"Yes." I narrow my eyes at him, even more annoyed by his tone now. It's so…insulting."Refer back to the equal rights statement I made earlier. I'm sure you'll find it enlightening about what women can and can't do in the twenty-first century. You know we're even allowed to open our own bank accounts now?"
He growls at me, actually growls. For some reason, the sound makes me smile, an actual smile this time. He is so annoyed. Good. That makes two of us.
Did he come here just to insult me and my store?
"I'm well aware of the 19th Amendment," he says. "It may surprise you to know that I'm even aware that women marched and lobbied for their rights."
I hit him with a slow clap, which makes Jazz snort laughter from behind the counter. Sarah is nowhere to be seen, probably hiding in the back.
He eyes me like he's thinking about bending me over and spanking me. Huh. I bet he'd be less annoying with his hand on my ass.
"Good for you," I mutter. "You know history. Now, how can I help you?"
To my surprise, he doesn't answer right away. Instead, he just stares at me for a long moment, his gaze flickering between annoyance and something else. It could be amusement. Maybe it's curiosity. I'm not sure. And then he mutters a curse under his breath and reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a neatly folded sheaf of papers. He holds them out toward me.
"What is this?"
"Notice that I intend to buy your building."
"What?" I blink at him, caught off guard.
"I've made an offer to your landlord. Since you have the right of first refusal, he requires that you be notified of my intent to purchase so you can make a counteroffer." Lincoln smirks at me. "This contains the details of my offer."
My mind spins, trying to catch up with what he's saying. He's trying to buy my building?What the fuck?Gary promised to let me buy it as soon as I could safely afford it. He swore he wouldn't put it on the market until I was ready!
"You're the real estate developer," I blurt, realization dawning a little too late. Of coursehis name is familiar. He's been buying up buildings all over downtown, promising to revitalize and modernize the area, as ifnewsomehow magically meansbetter. Maybe that's true for iPhones and televisions, but buildings aredifferent. Old ones like this have charm and stories that newer constructions lack.
"You aren't buying my building," I growl, ready to strangle him. Hell will freeze over before I let him buy it and turn it into condos or a Starbucks or whatever the hell he thinks progress looks like. This building has been a bookstore, damn near since it was built in the 1930s.
"I'm afraid I am," he says, his tone almost…gentle. "Unless you can come up with two and a half million in the next thirty days."
