“I beg your pardon!”
He flipped his hands open. “I don’t know much about ballet, but on stage I saw you work together in precision—regimented. And didn’t you have regular practices? That requires discipline.”
“Yes, but that was for art.”
“The point is, you can be regimented and disciplined. Apply it in a new field.”
She wrinkled her nose at all the nasty papers.
Paul crossed his ankle over his knee. “If I may quote a certain ballerina bookseller—I have the Lord on my side.”
A laugh escaped. “Oh, do you?”
“I do.” Crinkles formed around his eyes. “I agree with what you said yesterday, but only to a point. Yes, the Lord creates, but always for a purpose. Even color and music and beauty serve a purpose—to inspire awe and turn our eyes to the Lord. And creation operates according to laws—most of them mathematical, by the way. So embracing discipline is a way of embracing God.”
His vision of God—of life—was so different. Did that make him wrong?
She gave her head a little shake. Why would she take theology lessons from a man who earned profits by exploiting workers, who did business with evil men?
Paul opened the ledger. “After Madame Martel finishes her reconciliations, I’d like another look at this so I can assess current expenses. But nothing strikes me as unnecessary. That’s good.”
“All right.” Lucie swallowed to moisten her mouth. She might not need his theology lesson, but she did need his business lesson.
“Income is your main problem.” He shifted his mouth to one side. “The British are in internment camps, most Americans have fled, wages are stagnant, and prices have risen. These all undermine your sales.”
A sigh flowed out. “I know.”
“Let’s look for creative ways to increase business. How much did the Children’s Hour increase sales yesterday?”
“I have no idea.”
“You use a sales ledger by the cash register. May I see it?”
“Sure.” Erma had taught her to immediately log each sale.
Lucie led Paul out of the office. Josie lay on a blanket Paul had brought, fast asleep, with wooden animals around her.
Lucie turned to Paul, pressed one finger to her lips, and quietly made her way behind the cash register. From the open shelving under the desk, she pulled out the sales log.
“What are these? Returns?” Paul scrutinized the half-dozen books waiting for résistants. He picked one up.
“No.” She snatched it from his hand. “They’re—they’re holds, not returns.”
“All right.” A question turned up his voice.
Lucie cringed and returned the book and its precious message. She’d reacted too abruptly, calling attention to her resistance work. “I’m sorry, but my friend has waited ages for this book. She’d be heartbroken if someone else bought it. Now, the ledger. What would you like to see?”
She set it on the desk and opened it.
Paul ran his finger down the page. “Date, title, price—nice. See, you can follow routines.”
His grin was so close, so personal, and so very warm. It would be easy to forget who he was. She feigned interest in the log. “It’s for a good cause.”
“It’s all for a good cause, so stop telling yourself you can’t do it. Now, let me see...” He muttered numbers as his finger moved down the page. He turned backward in the log, more muttering, backward again.
“Good.” He faced her and set his elbow on the desk. “Yesterday’s sales were three times higher than the previous Saturday, four times higher than the Saturday before that.”
“That’s nice.”
