Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Yeah, yeah." I wave her off, already hunting through boxes of books for the tissue paper I'm absolutely sure is back here. There's no way we're out of it already. I just reordered it two weeks ago.
"Lilah!" Olive shouts from the front.
Crap. I give up the search and grab a box of Kraft paper, deciding to wing it for now and find the monogrammed tissue paper later, when we actually have time to search for it.
I scurry to the front, expecting a disaster. What I get isn't that. It's six-odd-feet of gorgeous irritation, still wrapped in expensive Italian silk.
"You aren't welcome here," I growl, dropping the paper onto the counter beside Olive while scowling daggers at Lincoln. "You need to leave."
"I came to talk," he says quietly, and then grimaces. "I just didn't realize you were holding a party."
"It's not a party. It's a book reading, you know, one of those things where an author reads from his or her book?" I pop a hand on my hip, still glaring at him. "Of course, you don't know what that is since the last thing you probably read was the contract you signed with Satan when you sold your soul."
His lips actually twitch. "You think I sold my soul?"
"No, actually. I'm not sure you had one to begin with." I eye him up and down. "Where do you hide the horns and tail?"
"If the devil looks like him, I ain't done nearly enough sinning in my life," the middle-aged woman Olive is checking out says, eyeing him up and down. Her comment sends her friend into hysterical laughter.
Olive hides a smile behind her hand.
Lincoln finds the situation less funny. His almost-smile falls, his eyes narrowing on me. "I see you're still being difficult."
Oh no. I know he didn't.
"Difficult?" I hiss, pretty sure steam is coming out of my ears. "If you don't get out of my store right now, I swear to God, I'm going to show you difficult, Lincoln Hanover."
"Is that a threat or a promise, sweetness?"
The sound that leaves my mouth is fifty percent indignant squawk, fifty percent growl, and one hundred percent unhinged. If there weren't two hundred witnesses, I'd strangle him with his own expensive tie right here and now. Unfortunately, half the damn store is watching us like we're acting out their favorite billionaire romance and will be getting down and dirty in the next five seconds.
For the record, that's not happening. I don't care how pretty he is or what my clit has to say about it. I'd rather fuck a velociraptor. And monster romance isn't even my thing.
"Get. Out," I growl, stomping around the counter toward him. "Before I have you forcibly removed."
"I'll go, but only if you agree to have dinner with me first."
"Oh, I like him," the woman at the counter whispers, watching us with avid interest. Even Olive—the traitor—is staring instead of working. Half the damn store is staring.
What happened to solidarity? To chicks before dicks? To…to…to whatever it's called when women support other women instead of hot demons in suits?
"I am not having dinner with you."
"Then I'm not leaving." He plants his feet, his arms crossed like he's prepared to stand there all night. He probably is, dammit. I bet he routinely harasses people like some crime boss hitting up the laundry mat for their monthly street tax.
I can fight fire with fire, though. Hell yes, I can.
I hold his gaze while placing two fingers between my lips. The whistle that erupts splits the air, silencing everyone. Curiosity flickers in his expression, and I can practically see him fighting the urge to ask what I'm doing.
But if he can summon my worst nightmare, then I'm summoning what's guaranteed to be his new nightmare. I bet he cracks like an egg.
"Whoever manages to chase this man out of my store gets a gift card for $500!" I shout into the silence. It'll be the best money I ever spent.
"Jesus Christ." He glances around, mildly alarmed now. See? Billionaire, meet your new nightmare.
"Are there any limits on what we can buy with it?" someone at the far side of the shop calls.
"No limits!" I shout back.
Two hundred partially intoxicated readers size him up, considering their chances of getting him out of here. Fifty seemingly decide they can take him. They step forward like they're ready to go to war.
Lincoln breaks exactly like I knew he would, backing up a step. "Christ, I'm going. I'm going!" He holds his hands up like he's pleading for mercy, his eyes on the large group slowly advancing toward him. "Just…fucking stay right there, ladies."
"Ahh, come on!" a brassy redhead near the front calls. "Chase scenes are our favorite."
"And you're so pretty, you don't even need a mask," someone else yells.
"Fuck my life." Lincoln looks at me like he's ready to strangle me now. Honestly? Totally worth it. I think that's actual panic in his gaze. And is that sweat dripping down his brow? "This isn't over, sweetness."