She gave up on taking the tube and flagged down a taxi, giving her address with a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. What had she gotten herself into? She'd volunteered to work at a bookshop owned by a woman who detested romance novels, all while hiding the fact that she was one of the bestselling romance novelists in the country.
It was absurd. It was reckless. It was… exactly the sort of thing that would happen in one of her books.
The taxi pulled up outside her building, and Emery paid the driver before hurrying up to her flat. She wasn't surprised to find Jax waiting outside her door, wine bottle in hand.
“Spill it,” Jax demanded as soon as Emery let them in. “Every single detail.”
Emery dropped her bag on the sofa and collapsed next to it. “It was… interesting.”
“Interesting? That's all I get? After I covered for you with both the bookshop and Domi?” Jax kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable. “No way. I want the full story.”
“Domi didn’t believe you,” Emery said. But she sat down anyway and spilled the entire sordid tale. About the classic literature avalanche, about helping customers, about Maya and Abe and their obvious matchmaking innuendoes. About Eveline's reluctant smiles and razor-sharp literary knowledge. And finally, about accepting the job offer.
“Wait. You did what?” Jax asked in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Probably,” Emery admitted. “But Jax, she's perfect. I mean, as a character study,” she added hastily. “She's exactly whatI've been looking for. Intelligent, complex, with just the right amount of grumpiness to make her redemption arc satisfying.”
Jax gave her a knowing look. “Right. And this has nothing to do with the fact that you think she's hot?”
“I never said that,” Emery protested weakly.
“You didn't have to. It's written all over your face.” Jax poured them both generous glasses of wine. “So let me get this straight. You're going to work at a bookshop, owned by a woman who hates romance novels, all while hiding the fact that you are, in fact, a famous romance novelist?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous,” Emery said into her wineglass.
“It is ridiculous. It's also the most rom-com thing I've ever heard.” Jax clinked her glass against Emery's. “I'm actually proud of you. It's about time you lived a little instead of just writing about it.”
“I'm not 'living' anything. It's research.”
“Fine, call it research if it makes you feel better.” Jax studied her over the rim of her wineglass. “But you know what? I've never seen you this excited about anything except writing.”
Chapter Seven
Emery arrived early for her first official day at The Turned Page, clutching a travel mug of coffee like a lifeline. She'd spent half the night tossing and turning, wondering if she'd completely lost her mind. The other half had been consumed by frantically scribbling notes for her overdue manuscript, inspired by a certain French bookshop owner.
She'd woken up at dawn, tried three different outfits before settling on a t-shirt and jeans. She'd even attempted to tame her unruly curls, though they'd promptly revolted against her efforts, springing back into their natural state the moment she stepped out the door.
Her phone had buzzed with a text from Domi as she was leaving:Remember whose name is paying your bills. I need pages!She'd ignored it, silencing her phone and shoving it deep into her bag.
Now, standing outside the quaint bookshop, Emery felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. What was she doing? Was this the worst idea she'd ever had? Or possibly the best?
She took a deep breath before pushing open the door, the familiar jingle of the bell announcing her arrival. The shop was quiet, golden morning light filtering through the windows andilluminating dust motes that danced in the air. The scent of old books and fresh coffee created a heady mix that instantly calmed her racing thoughts.
For a moment, she thought she might be alone, until she noticed a young woman arranging books near the front display. She was slim, with straight dark hair and an air of efficiency.
“Hi there,” the woman said, looking up with a friendly smile. "Can I help you find something?"
“Um, I'm Emery,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the counter where she'd worked the day before. “I'm supposed to start working here today?”
The woman grinned. “Emery! Eveline said you’d be coming in.” She held out her hand. “I'm Zara. I work here part-time while I’m finishing my thesis. I’m more of an intern, to tell the truth. But I think that might just be an excuse to pay me less.”
Emery shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. What's your thesis on?” Nosiness was a writer’s right.
“Feminist themes in modern romance novels,” Zara said enthusiastically. “Specifically focusing on the works of Emerald Pearl. Have you read any of her books?”
Emery nearly choked on her coffee, sputtering and coughing while trying not to spill her drink down her front. Of all the thesis topics in all the world…
“Um, I'm familiar with them,” she managed, trying to keep her voice steady while dabbing at drops of coffee on her blouse.
