Chapter One
Arloe
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I yell and smack my hand against the steering wheel.
For the third time this week, I get to work to find my designated parking space is yet again occupied. There it is, the steely black Bugatti Chiron that’s been the biggest pain in my ass. How ostentatious?
My car rolls to a screeching stop along the curb a few spaces down, reminding me of how badly I need to have my brakes checked. I scoff at the sound, a twinge of envy rolling through my body at how vastly different the two vehicles are. Not only is the prick parking in the spot that is clearly markedEver After Books, but he is mocking us middle-class people.
Is it not enough that a ride like that screams of wealth, but do they have to take what little real estate I have?
My old Honda jerks when I shift into park, the door slamming on my way out. I hurry toward the back to unlock the trunk and retrieve a box of used books. It’s heavy and pulls a grunt from me as I try not to fall over while closing the trunk.
I let out a grunt and head down the street to my storefront. When my eyes land on the Bugatti again, and I turn my nose up, pissed I now have to carry my things half a block versus the fifteen small steps it usually takes me to reach my door.
“What is even the point of aBugatti?” I say to the wind with more attitude than necessary.
The bells chime, and I’m instantly surrounded by the smell of books. My employee, Greer, is behind the counter, ringing up a customer.
“Oh, here, let me help you with that,” the man says from over his shoulder and rushes to my aid.
He takes the box and carries it to the counter. He’s a regular, here at least once a month to stock up on books from his favorite authors.
“Thank you, Jerry. What are you picking up today?” I question to be polite.
“This one isn’t for me. My wife wanted the new Mafia romance by Tatum LaRose.” He shrugs.
“Yeah?” I raise my brows. “It’s really good. She’s going to love it.” I step behind the counter and prepare to unload the books and log them into our system.
“You’ve read it already? It came out like ten seconds ago,” he jokes.
I tilt my head to the side, unable to keep the smile from forming on my lips. “No, it came out a week ago, and we may or may not have gotten an ARC. But, that’s not the point.”
Jerry laughs and takes his bag from Greer. “See you ladies later.” He taps his knuckles on the counter and slowly inches away.
“You too, Jerry,” we say in unison.
The bell above the exit chimes and as if on cue, Greer turns to me, her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. “Okay, what’s eating at you?” She places her hand on her hip.
I turn a book over in my hand then give Greer my attention. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not even nine-thirty yet, and you already have frown lines.”
“It’s that fuckingBugatti,” I exaggerate.
“Still.” Greer drops her hands at her sides.
“It’s like…I don’t get it,” I say with my shoulders hunched. “There is a big fucking sign; how hard is it to follow directions.” I slide over to the register and punch in the bar code from the books I brought in.
She nods. “I don’t even think he’s moved it.”
Stopping midway, I face Greer. “And who drives a car like that?” I snatch up the stack of paperbacks and step around my colleague, heading for the shelves. “I bet whoever it is, is compensating for something.”
Greer doesn’t respond, but I don’t expect her to. Instead, I continue my rant while filing the new inventory away alphabetically. “And you know what, he’s probably some old out-of-shape divorcé trying to get his groove back.”
Greer snickers. “I’m pretty sure men don’t get theirgrooveback.”
I slouch and stare at her over my shoulder. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Who needs a car like that?”
