"Hi. Welcome in," he says, his voice is deep with a little gravel to it. "Are you looking for anything specific?"
Yeah, you.
"Just browsing," I say, smiling at him and stepping closer, making sure to swing my hips as I do. "But you look like youcould recommend something... intense. I'm in the mood for a thrill."
His brow furrows, and he keeps his eyes on my face, tilting his head slightly in thought.
"Sure. You like psychological suspense, noir, or more crime-focused?”
"Something... sexy," I drop my voice, breathy and low. "With a powerful woman. A woman willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wants."
"I think you'd likeGone Girlthen.”
Without another word, he steps around me and walks over to a shelf. I’m momentarily stunned by his lack of reaction, his lack of anything, and hurry to follow. He trails his large fingers over the titles, and I step close enough to smell him and study his broad back, which is solid with muscle.
"Flynn... Flynn... here you ar—," he turns and jumps back a little bit when he notices how close I am. I flash him my sexiest smirk—the kind that once made CEOs fall to their knees—but he just blinks and holds the book out to me, taking another step back. "Here you go.Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn."
Still nothing. He doesn't take his eyes from mine, and I take the book from his hands, deliberately brushing my fingers over his. He snatches his hand back a little too quickly, taking one more small step back and making me grit my teeth.
What the hell?
I lift my foot to step closer—
Hiss!
A vicious little monster, ears flat against its head, a low growl rumbling, stands between us, glaring at me. It opens its mouth and hisses at me once more, and I step back in alarm so my legs don’t get shredded.
Right back at you, you little shit.
"Sorry. Plot can be a little mean," he says, though he doesn'tsound sorry at all. In fact, he smiles down at the monster like it's adorable.
"You don't say," I grit out, watching the beast slink under a nearby bookshelf with a final growl thrown my way.
"Is that all?" he asks me, gesturing to the book in my hand, and I step closer to him, ignoring that he takes another step back. His brows knit together, and he looks a little confused, but I press on.
"What's your name?" I purr.
"I'm Callum, Callum Rhodes," he says with a small wave, making no move to reach out a hand.
"Rhodes?" I gasp, feigning delight. "Oh, so this isyourstore?"
A business owner.
Even if it is a dusty little bookstore in this nowhere town. People love astory.
Through my career, I’ve learned about people, and what I’ve learned is that they’re stupid and easy. They love these little stores, love supporting small businesses over corporations. That was one of the things I handled, framing corporationsassmall businesses so the general public could feel a little better about themselves and where they spend their money. It was easy to fool them, to trick them into thinking they were supportingmom-and-popswhen, in reality, they were just funding the CEO's ninth house.
Morons.
But Callum could use me. I could help make him rich. I could take him from this sad little town.
I mean, come on, what could Sophie truly offer him besides watching her waste away into nothing?
She doesn't stand a chance.
Jackpot.
"Uh, yeah. Mine and my mom's," he scratches the back of his neck, brown eyes darting all around the store, and mouth in atight smile. He fidgets, and I smirk, stepping a little closer to him. He steps back, and I resist the urge to growl in frustration and yell at him that I’m not diseased.
