Billionaires Dollar Series

“Cupcakes from yesterday. I tried a new recipe.”

I’m already hurrying down the steps. “What kind?”

“Carrot cake.”

My stomach grumbles at the sound of that. “Carrots are nutritious, so they count as breakfast, right?”

Karli laughs at me, already ducking behind the curtain into the storage room. “Absolutely!”

The day goes by without a hitch. I’m polishing some of our reading lights-golden, old-school, one of Eleanor’s many touches-when the doorbell jingles again. We’ve had several customers already, and each jingle has buoyed my mood even more.Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

I might be a failed writer. An okay-ish sister. But I’m a good bookstore employee, and my posters are already paying dividends.

A voice reaches me. “Delivery for Miss Skye Holland.”

“Oh. Wow. Yes, this is the right place. Skye!”

I peek around the corner. A courier is holding a massive box, filled to the brim with potted plants.

He nods when he sees me. “Miss Holland?”

Putting down the box, he hands me a small slip. “Sign at the bottom, please.”

I sign my name on autopilot, still gazing at the delivery. There’s at least ten plants, the green and leafy type. The kind that looks almost like ivy, spilling out of the rims of their pots.

“Well, have a nice day then, ladies.”

“Bye,” I murmur at the delivery guy.

Karli’s voice is warmer. “You too. Thanks.”

When he’s gone, she turns to me with incredulous eyes. “You ordered this? For the store?”

Weakly, I nod.

“This must have cost a lot. But it’ll look so good… like that picture you showed me the other day, of the old bookstore in Paris. Ours looks a little bit like that already. This will look amazing.” She bends and pulls out a pot of Devil’s Ivy. “We could have this on the spiral staircase. Look how long the tendrils are!”

“Yes. Fantastic.” I bend and pick up the entire box, and as I do, I notice the small white envelope tucked inside one of the pots. “I’ll put it in the back for now, all right?”

When I’m safely hidden by shelves, I pull out the note. There are ten digits written in a square, masculine hand. Below it, a single sentence. For the next time you feel like sending me a message.

I slip the note into my pocket, where it feels hot, like it’s burning straight through the fabric of my jeans and searing my skin. I hate that he has this effect on me. That I can’t seem to get over the amazing night we spent together, before I knew I was sleeping with the enemy.

Buy plants. He’d seen it on my list yesterday, the list he’d made fun of, before giving me “actual” business advice.

I smile down at the box of plants. I had gotten him to drive across town to confront me about the posters himself, and that meant I was succeeding in being a nuisance. Before these two months were up, the bookshop would be far more than just a nuisance. It would be a successful, thriving business, and he’d have to eat his bet and his smugness both.

Karli doesn’t ask me about the decision to get the plants, not even as we put them up. She thinks it’s a great idea. I nod, though guilt roils in my stomach at the credit. She still doesn’t know that my one-night stand and the man bound to demolish our business are one and the same.

I should tell her, but as soon as it dances to the tip of my tongue, I swallow it back down again. It’s a truth I’m having trouble wrapping my head around myself, to be honest.

Karli is in a great mood for the rest of the day, ever since I offered to call my accountant friend and the plants got delivered.

My phone rings late that afternoon, my sister’s caller ID on the screen. I groan.

Karli looks at me sympathetically. “Isla?”

“Say you’re busy. You’re allowed to be, you know.”

“I know.” I step into the storage room and press answer. My older sister’s voice, chirpy and high, rings out.

“Oh, Skye, I’m so happy to get a hold of you.”

I always answer, I want to say. Getting a hold of me is never a problem. “What’s up?”

“You know the car show Rodney is going to tonight?”

“A car show?”

“Yes. I told you about this last time we spoke, I’m sure.”

I have to stop myself from sighing. Her new boyfriend seems nice-I’ve only met him twice-but he always has engagements out of town. “It’s tonight?”

“Yes. And I was wondering… It’s just no place for a kid, you know.”

Translation-she wants to be alone with her new boyfriend. It was always the same story with Isla. She would be infatuated with a new guy, or with a new hobby, and I’d be expected to step in as the go-to babysitter or helper.

“You want me to watch Timmy?”

“Oh, would you? That would be so good of you. You’re really helping me out here.”

Yeah, which was what she had said just two days ago, when she dropped Timmy off without any advance warning.

“Bring him by whenever. When do you and Rodney plan on being home?”

“Oh, you know, it might run late.”

“It’s a school night.”

Her tone sharpens slightly at the clear reproach in mine. “I’ll pack all of his school stuff as well as his overnight stuff, don’t worry. You still have that old pull-out couch in your living room.”

Right. So that means cooking a nutritious dinner, driving him to school in the morning, and making sure he has everything he needs for the day.

My sister is a nice person. Most of the time, at least. But she doesn’t think, and she never has, and somehow life had let her get away with it.

“Sounds good,” I say, hating how much of a pushover I’ve always been around her.

“Perfect!” she chirps. “I’ll bring him by around five. To the bookstore?”