I know I should stick to my guns and not risk it, but the thrill of pissing my dad off almost excites me more. Sure, I don’t mind doing work that’s needed, but I like him to know I can make my own decisions, too. I don’t always have to play by the rules for the best results.
“Fine. Leave.” I point to the door with a smirk.
She looks at me with confusion swirling in her eyes, but I don’t say anything else. She takes one step toward the door and stops, almost as if she’s waiting to see if I’ll move. When I don’t, she continues and quickens her pace.
She reaches the door and pulls it open, stopping at the sound of my voice. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, amore.”
She pauses long enough to hear me but doesn’t respond. I watch as she sprints down the sidewalk until she’s out of sight. I know Jude won’t be happy about this, but I don’t care. I need to see what she will do. I want to see if I can trust her word. I’ll keep track of her, the people she talks to, and what she does. Arloe doesn’t know it, but by the time I visit her tomorrow, I’ll know more about her than she’s willing to share.
Chapter Three
Arloe
The bell above the door chimes, and I flinch but immediately relax when I see it’s just a customer. All night I tossed and turned, afraid to close my eyes because when I did, what I saw scared me. And honestly, I don’t know what gets to me more—the dreams or the fact that I liked them.
Last night while unable to sleep, I Googled him, remembering his question. No, I haven’t heard of his family, and everything I found online was the musings of gushing reviews. Images of an older gentleman, who I assumed to be his father, though I can’t be certain because there isn’t a resemblance. Some of Easton, and a few of Jude, the mean, burly-looking guy that did nothing to hide the fact that he wanted to kill me.
Thinking about it all, what I saw, the things I heard, Easton’s breath against my neck as I tried to escape, I shiver. The scent of his cologne lingers in my lungs, even now, and no matter how long I showered this morning, I can’t get rid of it. And I’m not sure I want to.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I jump. I inhale, squeezing my eyes tight while dropping the books in my hand to make a fist, only to quickly regain my composure.
“Sorry,” a deep voice says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Tatum LaRose, you’re hosting my reading today. Are you Arloe?”
It takes me a minute to register his words with his face, but when I do, I reach my hand out to him with wide eyes. “Yes, it’s fine.”
He shakes it, and when we break apart, I squat to pick up the books.
“My mind was just in another place. How are you?” I ask and swipe my hair behind my ear.
Tatum smiles as I look up at him. “I’m well.” He meets me on the floor, handing me books. “Where do you want me?”
“Um.” I glance to my left, trying to find the words I need. “You’re going to be over there near the six-foot table. Greer is still setting up seats, but you can start unpacking if you need. Readers probably won’t arrive until a little before the reading.”
He nods and dusts his palms on the front of his ripped form-fitting joggers. I take him in, instantly pinpointing how different he is to Easton. He’s comfy and edgy with his long-tail tee that’s rolled at the sleeves and black suede kicks. He’s attractive, but most male romance authors are. It’s like they knew they’d be successful in an industry where women worship hot guys.
Tatum licks his lip, letting his gaze linger on mine for a bit. It isn’t until I stand and direct my sights to the pile of books in my hand that he looks away. He wants to say something, I can see it in the way he narrows his eyes, then opens his mouth only to close it again. But almost as if he’s thought better of it, he points his chin at me and turns away, peering back over his shoulder every few seconds.
Greer rushes to my side, taking the books from me. “Give me those. The register is doing that janky thing again where it freezes and then a shit ton of zeros dance on the screen.”
I grunt. “Again,” I whine.
She gives me a pinched smile. “We need a new one,” she announces.
“If only we could afford it,” I spit back on my way to the counter. She’s right, the screen flickers with zeros and makes a low ticking sound.
I get to work trying to fix the machine, hoping to do so before readers arrive. It’ll suck if we’re unable to ring up all the purchases we are sure to get tonight. We host these readings a few times a month and count on them to float us in between bookings. We’re a small store, with a loyal customer base, and though we’re a long way away from having to shut down, we need the business to keep the doors open.
We run on consignment, taking a percentage of every sale made tonight. For the first time since publishing his debut novel, Tatum is making an appearance and chose Ever After Books to host the signing. This is a huge deal for us, considering his releases always fly off the shelf. So it’s imperative things run smoothly.
I tap the side of the machine then force a shutdown, praying the server backed up our earlier transactions. The register boots back up without a hitch, but I say a silent prayer anyway as I log in to the system. I squeal when the software loads and those daunting zeros are no longer a problem.
Greer and Tatum stare at me as I shimmy, and I stiffen out of embarrassment. Greer isn’t the issue, she’s used to my outbursts, but Tatum isn’t. Now I’ll be viewed as the girl who blurts out and squeals in front of fine-as-heck male authors.
He smiles, which brings one of my own to my lips. I let out a huff and lower my gaze then watch him through my lashes. Tatum winks at me, and yet again another squeal bubbles in the back of my throat, but I push it away, refusing to lose my cool and start fangirling in front of him.
We’re professional here at Ever After Books. Besides, we had our celebratory dance-off when we got the email. We will not have a repeat of that with him only feet away.
The first wave of readers file in, taking seats at the front of the room. Tatum finishes his setup just in time and is sitting back on the edge of the table with one leg crossed over the other.
