I choke on my coffee. “That’s—no. That’s absurd. Scott Avery doesn’t create elaborate real estate schemes just to interact with women.”
“Does he date?” Jo asks.
We all look at each other.
“I’ve never seen him with anyone,” Michelle says thoughtfully. “Grayson says he works constantly. Goes to the gym early, heads to the office, stays late most nights. Claims he’s busy with projects, but Grayson thinks he’s hiding something.”
“Maybe he’s a serial killer,” I suggest.
“Or he’s into you,” Hazel counters.
“Those are not equivalent possibilities.”
“Aren’t they?” Amber grins. “I’ve seen the way that man looks at you, Jess. It’s the kind of look that should come with a warning label. ‘Contents under pressure. May explode if you smile at him.’”
“He does not—we don’t—I barely know him.”
“But you want to,” Michelle says gently.
The truth sits heavy in my chest.
Yes. I want to know him. Want to understand why he talks about my bookstore like it’s a line item on a balance sheet, what makes him go soft when he thinks no one’s looking. Want to know if the flicker of pain I saw when he looked at my V. Langley display meant something or if I’m imagining connections that don’t exist.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I say finally. “He’s trying to evict me.”
“Technically, he’s giving you options,” Jo points out.
“Terrible ones.”
“Still valid.” She takes a sip of her tea, considering. “What if you actually talked to him, not just argued about rent? Asked him what’s really going on.”
“What’s really going on is that he values profit over people.”
“Does he? Or is that just what he wants you to think?”
I blink at her. “Those are the same thing.”
“Are they?” Jo leans back, and there’s something knowing in her expression. Something that speaks to years of reading people who hide behind walls. “Sometimes people build armor so thick they forget it’s not actually who they are. And sometimes that armor is protecting something worth protecting.”
“Like what?”
“Like a heart that’s been hurt before or dreams they’ve had to hide.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Like someone who’s afraid of being seen.”
I think about Coastal Quill’s letter and performing versions of yourself until the real you gets lost in the performance.
“This is ridiculous,” I say. “We’re talking about Scott Avery like he’s some misunderstood hero in a romance novel. The man owns half of Twin Waves. He probably has his feelings professionally managed by an executive assistant.”
“Probably,” Michelle agrees. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.”
“Fine. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Scott Avery is secretly a vulnerable man with feelings behind his corporate shark exterior. That still doesn’t change the fact that I can’t afford a forty percent rent increase, and I have no idea how to save my bookstore.”
“Let me talk to Grayson,” Michelle offers. “Maybe there’s something?—”
“No.” The word comes out harder than I intend. I soften it with effort. “Thank you, but no. I’m not asking for favors. I’m notbegging Scott Avery’s business partner to intervene on my behalf like I’m some charity case who can’t fight her own battles.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“I know. I know you’re trying to help.” I squeeze her hand, feeling the tears threatening. “But I need to do this myself. Even if I don’t know how yet.”
