Chapter 21: Liars Like Us: Chapter 21

Sabine is already waiting for me outside when I arrive at the shop. I park, hoping the Bentley will be vandalized in my absence.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she drawls, eyeing me. “You’ve got that freshly fucked look.”

My face reddens. I unlock the front door. Still talking, she follows me inside.

“Which is interesting, since when you called to give me the news, you said that this thing with you and the billionaire was purely a matter of convenience.”

“It was.”

“What changed?”

I flip on the lights, stash my handbag under the counter, and turn to her, sighing. “In a nutshell? The man is a sorcerer. He entranced me with his dick. Now I know why it’s called a magic wand. But let’s never talk about it again. I’m pretending it didn’t happen.”

“Deal.” She pauses. “Which means I’ll ask again in ten minutes.”

“I know. In the meantime, let’s make a list of how we can spruce this place up.” Propping my hands on my hips, I gaze around the shop in dissatisfaction. “It’s starting to look like a feral cat shelter in here.”

Sabine laughs. “Starting to?”

“Oh, be quiet. I never claimed to be Martha Stewart. Wait, you’re the stylish one. You make the list. Here’s a pen and a pad of paper.”

Her eyes light up when I hand them to her. “Can I be in charge of the whole project, not just making the list?”

I shrug. “Why not? I’ve got the decorating skills of a raccoon on meth.”

“Speaking of raccoons on meth, what are you wearing?”

Frowning, I look down at the outfit I’m in, then back up at her. “Clothes.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“What’s wrong with this outfit? I think it’s interesting.”

“Yes, if you’re high on cocaine, it looks interesting. To the rest of the world, it looks like a cry for help.”

“I’ll have you know I got this on Rodeo Drive.”

She arches a brow. “They opened a clown store on Rodeo?”

“You’re fired.”

She laughs, shaking her head and turning away. “I’ll get started on the list.”

I go to the office and work for about an hour before coming back up front just as a good-looking young guy is walking through the door. Wearing board shorts, a hoodie, and flip-flops, he looks around, smiling.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I want to get a book for my girlfriend. I’d rather support a small business than those big corporate guys next door, so I thought I’d try here first.”

This person is my new best friend.

“Great, thank you! Are you looking for something specific?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and glances away. His cheeks turn ruddy. He clears his throat, then says, “Uh, yeah. Do you carry the uh, spicy stuff?”

Wiping down the counter near the espresso machine, Sabine looks over her shoulder at me and waggles her eyebrows. I know what she’s thinking: the perfect man does exist.

I say warmly, “We sure do. I’ve got a whole section of erotica. Follow me.”

I lead him to the romance section and point out different areas on the shelves. Each is tagged with a discreet white plaque with a number of red peppers, from one to five.

“So we’ve got a hotness rating that we use for an easy, at-a-glance gauge of spice. One chili pepper is the lowest spice rating. It’s pretty much only kissing. Two chili peppers is kissing plus some foreplay or frisky talk, but no open-door sex scenes. When you get into the three-chili range, you’re gonna get some lovemaking, but nothing too explicit. Four chilis will include explicit sex, probably multiple chapters of it, and five chilis”—I chuckle—“will get you some serious barn-burner sex. Anything goes with five chilis, which is probably why it’s our most popular seller.”

When I turn to him, he’s staring at the shelves like he was just ushered through the pearly gates of heaven and is thrilled by the look of the place, but is also quite confused at how to find his way around.

I say gently, “Would you like me to make a recommendation?”

His relief is palpable. “Could you? That would be awesome.”

“Sure. Which chili pepper are we looking at?”

His cheeks go ruddy again. He says sheepishly, “Five.”

Smiling, I pat him on the shoulder. “Good man. She’s a lucky girl. Try this one.” I pull out one of Harper’s favorites and hand it to him.

He looks at it doubtfully.

“Don’t let the flowery cover fool you. This sucker will burn off your eyebrows.”

To prove it to him, I take it back and flip to a chapter famous for its eloquent depiction of a woman stimulating her lover’s prostate with a vibrator while performing fellatio on him in front of fifty people at a sex club.

I tap the page. “Here you go. Read that.”

We stand shoulder to shoulder, reading the page together, until he exhales and says faintly, “Holy shit.”

“I know. It’s amazing, right? This author’s a genius. She has this new series coming out at the end of the year about a woman who decides to explore her sexuality after leaving a stifling marriage and winds up having like ten different lovers, all devoted to her needs.”

Appalled, he looks at me. “Ten?”

Great. I’ve traumatized him.

I’m about to reassure him that his girlfriend has no interest in having ten lovers—probably—but before I can, I’m interrupted by a voice from behind us.

“It does seem excessive, doesn’t it?”

The tone is deadly soft and filled with menace. We turn.

Callum stands three feet away, staring at my customer with his nostrils flared, his fists clenched, and violence burning in his eyes.

Beside me, the young guy audibly gulps.

I say to him, “Go ahead and take that to the register. Sabine will help you check out.”

I’ve never seen anyone run so fast. He sets a land speed record.

When he’s gone, and I’m alone in the romance aisle with the T-Rex, I say, “What are you doing here?”

He demands, “Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone?”

His furious tone takes me aback. “Why? Is there an emergency?”

“Yes,” he says, jaw clenched. “I was trying to reach you.”

When I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him with lifted brows, he adds, “I don’t like it when I can’t reach you. And your shop phone goes straight to voicemail.”

My internal anger thermostat ticks up several degrees, but I keep my voice calm when I reply. “What’s the emergency?’

“That is the fucking emergency.”

He says it as if it should be obvious. As if not being able to get in contact with me after only a few hours being apart is the rudest and most inconvenient thing he’s experienced in his entire adult life, and I should immediately throw myself at his feet and beg him for forgiveness.

“Callum?”

“What.”

“Take a deep breath.”

He glares at me, vibrating at a high, dangerous frequency that I bet only dogs can hear.

“Come on. Just take a breath. Do that Zen thing you do when you’re aggravated. You’re about to explode, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning crabby billionaire bits off my bookshelves.”

He closes his eyes, inhales slowly and deeply, and unclenches his hands. Exhaling through his nose, he rolls his shoulders. Then he cracks his knuckles as if he’s preparing for a fistfight.

I watch him do all that, wondering what his childhood must have been like. I know he’s privileged, but he acts like he was raised by wolves.

When he opens his eyes, he seems calmer. But then he opens his mouth and ruins the impression.

His voice even, he says, “Flirt with another man again, wife, and I’ll send you his head on a platter.”

He seems sincere about that threat, but I can’t take him seriously. I can’t get mad either. It’s too ridiculous.

“How very Biblical of you,” I say sweetly. “Will you also be sending plagues of frogs and locusts?”

He’s about to snap some bossy Callumism or other at me, but gets distracted when he glances at my ring finger and realizes I’m still not wearing the giant diamond. Then he pulls his bull-pawing-the-ground impression again and bristles.

“Stop.” I hold up a hand. He might be about to bite it off, but I continue. “I can’t wear that thing. It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?” he hisses through clenched teeth.

I sigh in exasperation. “I should get a medal for dealing with you, you lunatic. I also think you need to reevaluate your caffeine intake. Yes, that’s what I said, not safe. Look around, billionaire. This isn’t Bel Air. They have a word for people who wear expensive, showy jewelry around the rest of LA. It’s target.”

When he frowns, I ask, “Don’t you ever watch the news? People get followed home and robbed in their driveways for their Rolexes and diamond rings all the time.”

I see it register. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He exhales and mutters, “Fuck.”

Then he spins on his heel and stalks out, leaving me standing there wondering if I should start putting tranquilizers in his morning coffee.

For such a control freak, he loses his shit on the regular.

Sabine pops her head around the corner of the shelves. “Wow. I’m so impressed by how you handled him.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Of course.”

“You could at least sound apologetic about it.”

“Except we both know I’m not. And where is all this new patience coming from, Em? I was expecting you to clobber him with the nearest copy of Bridgerton.”

Sighing, I walk around to the other side of the shelves where she’s standing. “He must’ve dicked all the anger out of me.”

She snorts. “That must’ve been some good dick to calm you down so much.”

“I told you, he’s a magician.”

“More like a warlock. That guy’s wound so tight, you can hear his inner bomb ticking.”

“Let’s stop talking about him. I’ll get a headache. What did you come up with for ideas on décor?”

“Lots. I’ll show you. Let me make us an espresso first.”

I pull up a stool at the counter while she prepares the coffees. Once they’re made, she sits beside me and spreads out several sheets of paper on the counter between us.

“Okay, wow. That’s a big list.”

“This place needs big help.”

After a cursory glance at one page, I say, “Were you planning on installing an Olympic-sized indoor pool as well? This is ridiculous.”

“No, this is perfect. We need to draw customers away from ValUBooks, and as of now, there’s no draw. Lit Happens needs more than a facelift, Em. It needs emergency surgery.”

“God, you’re dramatic. Harper would be proud. But fine. If we did everything on this list, what would it cost?”

Without a hint of hesitation, she says, “Five hundred thousand dollars.”

I start to laugh. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t own the building. I’m not making those kinds of improvements in a rented space.”

“So buy the building.”

I’m about to laugh again, but close my mouth and think about it instead.

She says, “Commercial real estate’s always a good investment.”

“I agree. I’m just allowing my brain a moment to remember that I’ve got a bunch of money now and could actually afford to buy a building.”

She says drily, “Maybe you can invest in a stylist while you’re at it.”

“Oh my God. You’re a jerk. What’s so wrong with this outfit?”

“You look like a camp counselor who went off the rails and started murdering people in the woods.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to be my stylist, but I can’t pull off the femme fatale look.”

“Em, if you let me dress you, I could make you look like Marilyn fucking Monroe.”

“Could we have a more current and less tragic reference? I don’t want to look like a dead movie star. Plus, I’m not blonde.”

“But you’ve got the red lips and doe eyes.” She sizes me up and tries again. “Sophia Loren.”

“She’s too tall. And sultry. And you’re still in the last century.”

“Selena Gomez.”

I stare at her. “If you can make me look like Selena Gomez, I will buy you a house.”

“I’ve never understood how you don’t think you’re adorable.”

“I’m as adorable as a wild boar.”

“I wasn’t talking about your personality.”

“Have I fired you yet today?”

“Yes. Back to the list. Let’s get this place looking sexy!”

Sighing, I say, “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to the landlord to see if he’s even willing to sell.”

We go back and forth for another half hour, exchanging ideas and discussing possibilities, until the front door opens again.

A glowering Callum makes a beeline straight for me.

“Oh, look,” says Sabine. “The warlock is back. And judging by his expression, you’re about to practice all that fun new patience of yours.”

Callum stops in front of us and stares down at me as if he’s deciding what to bite first. Then he thrusts out his hand.

“Here.”

I look at the small red velvet box he’s holding. “What’s that?”

He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and exhales.

“Oh for God’s sake, Callum, take up yoga.” I snatch the box from his hand as Sabine looks on, amused.

The box opens to reveal a simple and lovely eternity diamond wedding band.

He snaps, “Is it plain enough for you?”

I’m not sure what to make of this. On one hand, it’s thoughtful. He listened to my complaint, respected my wishes, and went right out and bought a new ring.

On the other hand, what the fuck is the matter with him?

Deciding I don’t want to argue, I slip the ring on my finger and hold out my hand to admire it.

“Yes,” I say softly, pleased. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

That sets him back on his heels. He was probably expecting a fight. He looks confused for a moment, frowning and blinking, then says brusquely, “Good.”

The three of us stare at each other in awkward silence until Sabine says, “Hi. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Sabine.”

“I know who you are.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “The proper response is ‘Hello, Sabine. I’m Callum. Nice to meet you.’ Try again.”

His look could peel the wallpaper off. Unaffected by it, I smile at him and gesture to Sabine.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot in agitation, then growls, “Hello, Sabine. I’m Callum. Nice to meet you.”

“Good boy,” I say. “Now, may I please get back to work?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “But I want you home by five o’clock. And turn on your fucking phone!”

Watching him storm out the door, Sabine says, “Looks like you’re not the only wild boar in this relationship.”

“Did he really just tell me when I should be home?”

“He did. Five o’clock sharp, baby.”

We look at each other, then she smiles. “Reservations for two at the Beach House at five thirty?”

“Perfect. Somebody’s gotta teach that man who’s in charge.”

We high-five and go back to the list.

When I walk into the house later that night after dinner with Sabine, Callum is waiting for me in the dark like some nocturnal predator lying in wait for a meal.