Something twisted in my chest, hot and sharp and dangerously close to jealousy.
“Shit,” I whispered.
9
— • —
Wen
I was watching a six-foot-nine werewolf in gray sweatpants hand out pamphlets to random people on the street, and I hated every second of it.
This had been my idea. My brilliant, malevolent, strategically genius idea. Use Malachar as bait. Draw people in with the promise of eye candy. Get them to stay for the books.
And it was working. God, was it working.
We’d been slammed since Wednesday. I’d never seen this many people in Woods & Pages, not even during the holiday season when my grandparents were alive and the store was in its prime.
Thursday had been chaos. Women pretending to browse while actually just staring at Malachar reorganizing shelves. Friday had been worse. The compression shirt had been replaced witha fitted henley that somehow looked even better, and I’d had to restock the romance section three times because people kept buying books just as an excuse to linger near him.
The weekend had been a blur of ringing up sales and restocking shelves and trying not to think about how many women were staring at Malachar. Asking him for recommendations. Giggling at things he said that weren’t even jokes because he didn’t understand human humor well enough to be funny on purpose.
Saturday he’d worn a burgundy sweater that made his eyes look more gray than red, and I’d watched no fewer than five women “accidentally” brush against him while reaching for books. Sunday had been the black compression shirt again by popular demand, and I’d seriously considered closing early just to make it stop.
Now it was Monday, and there was a line. An actual line of people waiting to get into my bookstore. Most of them were women between the ages of eighteen and forty. Most of them kept sneaking glances at the hot guy in the compression shirt handing out flyers about our new releases and upcoming book club events.
I should’ve been ecstatic and celebrating. My bookstore was thriving. Sales were through the roof. I’d made more money in the past five days than I had in the previous three months combined. This was everything I’d wanted.
Instead, I was watching women flirt with my werewolf and trying not to commit murder.
Not my werewolf.Thewerewolf. Who worked for me. Temporarily. Platonically.
Fuck.
The store was packed. Every chair in the reading nook was full, people browsing shelves, people taking photos for Instagram. A group of college girls had camped out in the romance section for over an hour, whispering and giggling every time Malachar walked past. I should’ve been out there helping customers, managing the chaos, being a good business owner.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the window.
I needed help. The store was too full. I couldn’t manage this alone. People were waiting at the register. Someone was asking about special orders. Another person wanted to know if we did gift wrapping. I needed an extra pair of hands.
I needed to bring him back inside.
Not because I was jealous or because watching women throw themselves at him made me want to set something on fire. But because I legitimately needed help managing the crowd.
That was all.
I marched toward the door, ready to call him in, when I sawthem.
Two women flanking Malachar with predatory smiles. Both gorgeous, wearing clothes that showed way too much skin for November.
One touched the tattoo on his arm, put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. Tested the muscle, let her fingers linger.
The other leaned toward him, angling her body to expose her collarbone. Running her hand through her hair in that way that was supposed to be seductive. “Are you single?” she purred.
My blood boiled. I could feel heat crawling up my neck, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. My vision went slightly red at the edges.
This was stupid. I was stupid for suggesting this. I was going to call the whole thing off. Fire him from marketing duty. Lock him in the apartment where other women couldn’t put their hands on him.
The first woman leaned in closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a sultry whisper. “We’re new in town. We were hoping you could show us... around. The fun places, you know?”
