Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 28810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
“Who the hell is this?”
“Your Cinderella, apparently.” She shrugged. “You could’ve just told them she was dressed like Belle, though. That would have saved them three hours.”
“This isn’t the woman I’m looking for—at all.”
“Well, this is what Benjamin sent me, so no need to get upset.” She motioned for me to step off first when the elevator stopped. “I’ll tell him to keep trying. Want to extend his deadline?”
No. “This evening would be fine.”
She rolled her eyes, following me into the space that would eventually become my main office.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It’s my favorite office to date,” I admitted. “Can’t wait until they bring my designs to life in here.”
“Good to know. Anyway—” Her tone was suddenly terse. “Is there a reason why you were spotted smirking at the owner of Slow Burn at that romance event last night?”
“Was I smirking at the back of her head?” I asked. “I told you I never got the chance to talk to her.”
“You sure about that?” She crossed her arms. “Looks like you were talking to a lot of people.”
“What the hell are you getting at?”
“The New York Post is running a piece on you this Friday—something about Billionaire Caught Reading Romance.”
“Sounds like a fluff piece.”
“Your picture with Summer Connors is going to run right above it, on the front page.”
“I never took a picture with anyone…”
“The press had photographers there, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Did any of them catch me getting kicked out?”
She stared at me, completely unamused.
“What?” I shrugged. “I might’ve crossed paths with Miss Connors, but I didn’t talk to her at all. I honestly don’t see why this is a problem.”
“I’ll try to get my hands on the piece before it goes live. With any luck, maybe they’ll set a price and you can pay them not to print it.”
“They can print whatever they want,” I said. “I’m focused on our promotion plan that starts the moment our sign goes up and runs through opening day.”
“It’s bad optics.” She looked at me. “A picture that makes it look like you're chatting with the beloved neighborhood bookstore owner days before your big reveal might come off like you're circling your prey.”
“Okay. And?”
“You want to give the neighborhood a reason to embrace you, not hate you.”
“We go through this with every new store, Mariah.”
“The other stores weren't your headquarters.”
“Just wait until we open like always,” I said. “Worst-case scenario, they protest, the local news gets involved, and then we open. Give them one week inside the store and they'll forget what they were protesting.”
“I’ll be back in an hour.” She headed to the door. “Want anything special for breakfast?”
“Not unless you can find the woman I'm looking for and have her waiting on my desk…”
“WHAT?” Mariah stopped dead in her tracks.
“I said a bagel and coffee would be fine.”
She shot me a pointed look before walking away.
I strolled over to my desk and tore the plastic off its top.
Day one is officially here…
I had twelve floors of problems waiting for my attention, an entire flagship opening to oversee, and a promotional war to launch against the bookstore across the street.
I couldn't focus on a single fucking thing, though.
You have until 6 p.m. to find the right woman, Benjamin. Come to my Brooklyn office with the information. Thank you.
THE INDIE
SUMMER
The Following Morning
Idropped a stack of Harlan Coben novels into a box before clocking out of the warehouse at six a.m.
Sliding into a waiting Uber, I calculated just how much I’d made overnight.
Three hundred and sixty bucks.
It was a start, but I would still need to make a few cuts to survive this month.
“Can you wake me up when we make it to Brooklyn?” I asked the driver. “I want to take a nap.”
“Depends.” He smiled at me. “Want me to pull over and nap with you first?”
“I’ll just stay awake, thanks.”
I kept my eyes wide open the entire drive, vowing to take a power nap at Slow Burn instead.
When he reached my block, my worst nightmare greeted me from across the street.
What the…
“Turning the Page in the Neighborhood Soon…
Welcome to Sinclair Street Books.”
People were posing in front of it, snapping pictures and smiling.
No, no, no…
I’d heard the rumors and sat through countless neighborhood meetings, but Sinclair Street wasn't supposed to open until next year.
We were supposed to have time.
Time to rally the neighborhood. Time to fight it. Time to make Adrian Sinclair regret every dollar he'd already sunk into the building.
“Oh wow!” the driver said. “I can’t wait for that to open. I love everything about those bookstores.”
You’re only getting four stars for this ride… I rolled my eyes and got out of his car.
I took one last look at Sinclair Street and unlocked the door to Slow Burn. Maybe I’d wake up from my nap and realize this wasn’t really happening.
Yes, this is all a dream…