He doesn’t laugh. Blood instantly freezes in Lexi’s veins.
‘Your sales continue to increase month after month, year after year. Whatever you’re doing with marketing, it’s working.’
She makes a mental note to thank Tessa profusely when she delivers news of her tiny pay increase.
‘It’s stock management, too,’ she tells him. Keeping an eye on fluctuating publisher discounts and using their space for books that will actually sell are crucial to the bottom line. Her book buyer Megan deserves a pay rise, too.
‘Yes.’ He clears his throat again. Pippin shifts, irritated, or maybe sensing a change in the vibe. Maybe feeling protective. It’s impossible to tell what goes on in that feline head of his. ‘The bad news is, the increase in costs is fast catching up.’
He passes Lexi the graph of the shop’s takings, which shows the increase in their sales flattening since Sam opened his store. But there’s another line on the graph, and it’s their expenses. That line is definitely not flat. In fact, it’s fast catching up to the sales line.
‘I want to stress that this isn’t anything you’re doing wrong. I know there isn’t a lot of fat left to trim. It’s just– inflation, all that.’ He waves his hand around, gesturing, Lexi supposes, at the general state of the world. She nods, her throat constricting. He points to both lines, emphasising their angles. ‘For the next three months, we need to work really hard at both increasing sales and decreasing costs.’
He says ‘we’, but he means Lexi. Lexi and her team, who have already been working flat out to do both of those things.
She nods. ‘So no pay rises.’
‘Raises are completely out of the question,’ he says.
Lexi knows that Tessa isn’t the only one with money issues. Inflation is nipping at everyone’s nose. If she’s not careful, her staff are going to start looking elsewhere for jobs. She looks around for a paper bag to breathe into, but alas: nothing.
The accountant talks her through some other details about bills, but it’s as if she’s underwater. Everything is blurry and faint. The fluffy feelings of an hour ago are well and truly gone, swept under these numbers and their scary realities and by the feeling that she’s letting her grandmother down. Her grandmother, who weathered so many ups and downs of economics and managed to keep the shop thriving.
Lexi isn’t sure even a cup of tea will fix this.
‘Thank you,’ she says, shaking his hand when he leaves, but she’s never meant it less. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Anything you need,’ he says. He seems to get it, though– of course– he can’t possibly understand just how much this bookshop means to Lexi, to the neighbourhood. ‘If you need to bounce some ideas off me, you’re welcome to shoot me an email.’
‘Thank you,’ she says again. ‘I appreciate it.’
But, secretly, she hopes the door will hit him hard on the way out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It’s a miracle that Lexi gets anything done at work today, what with the twin distractions of bad news from her accountant and that frankly very hot kiss from Sam. At any given moment, it’s anybody’s guess whether she’s going to jump up and down in glee or collapse into a puddle of tears.
Well, not exactlyanybody’s, since nobody else can know about any of it. Hopefully, she’ll figure out a way through the financial crisis and they’ll never have to know. As for the other thing... they’ll have to find out one day, like when they get married in the bookshop, not that Lexi has thought about that for one second. But for now, it’s all about professionalism.
It’s hard sometimes, retaining that veneer, being the boss of women old enough to be her mum, women with maternal instincts who, in any other situation, she would happily adopt as her surrogate aunts. That’s why she likes to have her nails done and carry Kate Spade handbags– for the air of being a grown-up. It’s how she justifies them, anyway: she deserves the treats for all her hard workandthey help her feel like the boss she is. Win-win.
So she doesn’t get that much done. She drinks a lot of cups of tea. She tries not to wonder why all of this comes so easily to Sam when she can’t seem to get it together. She contacts the local radio station to see if they’ll give her a deal on some ads. She brainstorms new book clubs they could start, to broaden the reach of the shop and increase its footfall. Book clubs are worth their weight in gold: firstly, for the good vibes. On harder days, seeing a group laugh and someone passionately advocate for a book they’re maybe the only person to have liked warms the cockles of Lexi’s stressed-out heart. But also, secondly, and more cynically, for the money. Pemberley book clubs don’t require that their members buy their books at the shop, because Lexi isn’t an idiot: she knows that not everyone can afford to regularly buy hardbacks at full price from an independent bookshop, no matter how much they deplore the space-faring habits of a certain billionaire. But once they’re in the shop and they’ve been plied with wine to get conversation going and lower book-buying inhibitions, their best intentions to be sensible with money start to weaken. They take recommendations from each other and from Debbie or Megan or Natalie; they linger by the display of book-themed socks; they let themselves believe that this,this, will be the month they finally get organised and it will all be thanks tothisspecific notebook andthesespecific pens. Book clubs bring joy, and they bring dollars. Again: win-win.
Pemberley Books has a romance book club, a thriller book club, a memoir book club, a lit fic book club. What they don’t have, yet: a social justice book club, a kids’ book club, a book club that focuses on backlist: the stuff that isn’t brand new, that’s faded from Instagram, that isn’t on three-for-two deals in chain bookstores. Publishing gets very excited about all things shiny and new and forgets pretty quickly about those older books. But normal readers don’t, especially when they have people like Lexi to remind them. For a while, she ran a classics book club, but she got too busy, and none of her staff seemed to want to pick it up. Maybe she’ll try again.
Also, and she can’t believe she hadn’t thought of this: what about a Jane Austen-themed book club where they’d read not just her work but also modern retellings of it? There are more of those than you can shake a stick at, and what a great excuse to reread one of her favourites:Bridget Jones’s Diary? And then books about Jane Austen’s life, too. Lexi can’t believe she’s never thought of that before. If they could corner the market on rabid Janeites, Pemberley Books would be unstoppable. Especially once they bring in all the cute themed merch that’s out there. Wouldn’t it be poetic justice if Jane Austen saved the bookshop?
And then, there’s also nonfiction. Lexi never agreed to this whole division of labour, where Sam gets to be the Serious One and he gets the wealthy customers with Serious Jobs and Serious Incomes. And those aren’t the only people who read about politics and history anyway. Does she feel a slight pinch at the idea of trying to win over some of his customers through this judicious book club scheme? Yes, but she shouldn’t, no matter how hot a kisser he is. She was here first. Those people would be coming to her anyway, if it wasn’t for him. And besides, all’s fair in love in business.You’ve Got Mailtaught Lexi that. (It also tried to teach her that it’s okay to lose your bookshop if you find love in the process, but she is ignoring that.)
All right. So she has a plan. It’s not like she’s achievednothing. She also hasn’t walked into a wall or jammed her fingers in a door, which does seem like an achievement today. And she counted the concernedyou okay?questions from her staff, and there were only three. It could definitely be worse, all things considered.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lexi gets home that day with a lot to process. In the times before John, she could always rely on Erin to help her make sense of the world. One of them would pick out a Hello Fresh recipe from the box and they’d peel carrots and caramelise onions as they talked. Sometimes Erin would have wisdom and ideas to share; sometimes, she’d just make the sympathetic noises that Lexi needed.
These days, Erin is often not home. She’ll be on a date with John, or they’ll be out scoping out venues or whatever the heck it is that wedmin actually consists of. Lexi seriously thinks that wedding leave should be a right, the way that parental leave is because she’s not honestly sure how anyone holds down a job on top of planning a wedding. There should probably also be bridesmaid leave, but since America hasn’t yet, in the year of our Lord 2024, managed maternity leave as a right, she’s not holding her breath.
The thing is, though, being a bridesmaid in the US is something else: first of all, she is expected to pay for her own dress, a dress she doesn’t get to choose and may never wear again. Then, she has to help organise not one but two hen do equivalents: a bridal shower and a bachelorette party. It’s never entirely been made clear to her what the difference is between the two of them or why you need both. And then– she had seen this in films, but assumed it was just for dramatic effect (alas, it is not)– at the wedding itself, bridesmaids have to walk in first, and then stand in a line in their uncomfortable shoes at the front of the church, presumably so they can be gawked at by all the guests for the entirety of the ceremony. She isn’t sure why this is necessary, either.
