Chapter Three
Paige
After a wonderful lunch, I walk back to my shop, feeling better and lighter than I had earlier in the day. My mood isn't quite so grim anymore. Hanging out with Skyler tends to do that for me. I love that girl. She's my rock and my bright spot of sanity and clarity in this world.
Which, probably says something about my own mental state.
I open up the shop and step inside, taking down the “Be Back Soon” sign and putting the “Open” sign back in the window. Feeling anxious and a bit hyper, I putter around the store. I dust shelves that I dusted only yesterday, try to tidy and organize shelves that are overflowing, and do everything I can to make it look less cramped and cluttered.
My level of success is minimal. Even though they're gone, and I love my parents, organization and tidiness weren't exactly their strong suits. Not that I've done much better in that regard.
What my folks excelled at, however, was community relations. They were heavily involved with the social and political scene in Port Safira and were always running events through the bookstore that got the community involved. I have no doubt that they would definitely be able to adapt to the changing culture and demographics of the city and keep the shop going strong.
But then, they always had a head for business. I don't. I majored in Classic Literature when I was at UCLA and planned to become a teacher. Eventually, I wanted to get my doctorate and teach at a collegiate level. That was my goal and my life plan.
It was, unfortunately, a plan that I never got to see to fruition because of my parents' illness. I had to come home after my junior year and care for them until the end. And once they passed, I felt lost. Lost and stuck.
Actually, I felt completely lost and stuck. I still do, in some respects.
I'd never intended to be the owner of this bookstore. Even though I can quote passages from obscure texts and give you a dissertation on classic authors, knowing what it takes to make a business thrive is not among my skill set.
Not only had I never intended to be a bookstore owner, I never intended to live my life in Port Safira. At least, not until I retired, and was looking for a quieter, slower pace of life. I grew up here, and the town, although I love it, holds no mystery or excitement for me. And once I got a taste of the world outside of Port Safira while I was away at school, I wanted nothing more than to explore even more of it.
But, with my parents gone and being the only one left to keep the store going, I feel like I'm obligated to do this. Like it's my duty to keep Bookworms afloat as long as I can. Other than the house, this is really all I have left of them. They poured their hearts and souls into this place, always calling it a labor of love instead of a job. I feel like I'd be betraying their memory if I sold or closed the doors for good just because it's inconvenient or not something that I really want to do with my life.
This shop is my parents' legacy. How could I throw it all away? What kind of a horrid child or monster would I be if I turned my back on what my folks had built?
I'm in the back of the shop doing some inventory when I hear the bells above the door tinkling as somebody walks in. A moment later, I hear a couple of voices. And I cringe when I hear one that I distinctly recognize. With a sigh, I set down my clipboard and walk to the front of the shop, already bracing for what's to come.
When I step into the front of the shop, I see them both standing there, looking around like they're already taking measurements and making plans for what they're going to do with this place – my place – as if it's definite that I'll be packing up my books and moving along.
That sort of arrogance and presumption ignites anger within me.
“Mayor Goodrich,” I say, doing my best to hide my disdain for the man.
“Ahh, Paige,” he says in his best politician voice – which sounds too much like a greasy used car salesman voice to me. “Lovely to see you again.”
Yeah, wish I could say the same. “Nice to see you as well,” I say. “What can I do for you?”
I look at the man standing next to him and don't need a name to know what he is. He's yet another in the long parade of developers Mayor Goodrich has been dragging around town. No doubt plotting the demise of even more of Port Safira's homegrown businesses in the name of progress.
The man gives me a smile I'm sure he intended to be charming, but from where I'm standing, it just looks smarmy. Wearing an obviously expensive suit and wire-rimmed glasses, the man is five-foot-ten, has blue eyes, and dark hair shot through with gray. He's well-built but is growing slightly soft in the middle.
If I had to guess, I'd say that he was probably an athlete back in college and probably still plays a little racquetball on the weekends with his boys down at their exclusive health club before going to their even more exclusive country club for overpriced drinks and meals that will put on twice as many calories as they'd just burned off at the gym.
“Paige Samuels, I'd like to introduce you to Damon Moore,” Goodrich says. “He's a property developer.”
Called it. “Yeah, I kind of figured,” I say. “Seem to be a lot of those in town these days.”
Goodrich clears his throat and did his best to avoid looking uncomfortable – and wasn't very successful at it. He'd paraded half a dozen different developers through my shop, all of them thinking that meeting me is simply a formality on the road to them buying my place and destroying it.
“Mr. Moore here –”
“Damon, please.”
Goodrich gives him that toothy politician smile that just drips with insincerity. “Damon, then,” he says. “Damon –”
“Wants to buy my property for a considerable amount, demolish it, and put up luxury condos,” I say, cutting the Mayor off. “Yeah, I've heard the sales pitch before.”
“You haven't heard my pitch, Ms. Samuels,” Moore says.
“No disrespect,” I say, “but, I really don't need to hear your pitch. I'm not interested in selling.”
Goodrich and Moore exchange a brief look and I can see irritation crossing the developer's face. It looks like our good Mayor had made some assurances or promises to the developer that he's going to be hard-pressed to keep.
“Tell you what,” Moore starts, “how about I take you out to dinner and we can discuss the matter further. Maybe in a more – relaxed – atmosphere?”
I stare at the both blankly for a moment, not believing that they just can't seem to take no for an answer.
“Am I speaking Chinese or something?” I ask.
The two men exchange another look and then turn to me, clearly perplexed. I let out a long breath, doing my best to control my temper.
“I've told you a million times already, Mayor Goodrich, I am not interested in selling,” I say. “So, you can stop bringing these damn vultures around here because it is not going to happen. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have work to do.”
Damon looks at me and a slow, greasy smile spreads across his face. I can already read his thoughts. He's taking this as a challenge. Like this is some sort of a game he thinks he can win or something. But, if that's what this creep really thinks, he's got another thing coming.
“Damon, can you give us a moment,” Goodrich asks. “I'd like to speak to Ms. Samuels in private.”
The developer smirks and gives me another of his greasy smiles that makes my skin crawl. Narrowing my eyes, I shoot Goodrich a dirty look that tells him that I have nothing to discuss with him in private or not.
Damon nods to the Mayor before he turned and left the store. Through the front windows, I watch him on the sidewalk. He pulls out his phone and starts to check on something – probably ruining somebody else's life for money, no doubt.
Goodrich turns to me and gives me that politician's smile again. It makes my skin crawl every bit as much as Damon's had. There's just something gross about these men who think they hold all the power and control in the world. Masters of their own universe who think they can bully and bribe anybody into anything. And I have no doubt they win a lot of the battles they pick.
Christ, I hate men like these two.
And if they think they can bully and bribe me into anything, maybe because I'm a woman, I'm going to have to set them straight. I'm not a woman who is easily intimidated or pushed around. I may not be as outspoken as Skyler, but I'm also not some wilting flower, either. I know how to dig my heels in when I need to.
“Paige, listen,” Goodrich starts. “I don't think you're looking at the big picture here.”
“Oh? And tell me, Mayor,” I spit, “what is the big picture here?”
He sighs and wrings his hands together. “Look, we both know the truth of the matter, Paige,” he says. “Your bookstore isn't doing well and hasn't been for some time now –”
“That's none of your business, Brian,” I snap.
I try to always be respectful, but Brian Goodrich never fails to get under my skin. I grew up with the guy, went to the same high school, and know exactly what kind of a self-serving, self-aggrandizing, shameless, political whore he is. I know he has designs on offices bigger than Port Safira's mayor. I've even heard rumors of him running for a seat in the Senate in the future. And, I have to say, his lack of a moral compass, ethics, and decency would help him blend right into congressional culture these days.
“No, it's not my business, technically speaking,” he says, with a placating, condescending tone in his voice. “I only want what's best for you, Paige. I've always liked you –”
“No, Brian,” I reply, matching the tone in his voice. “You've always wanted to fuck me. There's a big difference.”
He gives me a patient smile. “That was a long time ago, Paige. I'm not the same guy I was back in high school,” he says. “If you could –”
“Oh? So, that wasn't you with your hand on my ass, trying to talk me into going to a hotel with you while your pregnant wife was at home at last year's Christmas tree lighting ceremony?” I say, my eyes wide with feigned shock. “Because the guy who was groping me – the piece of human garbage I told to get screwed – sure looked and sounded a lot like you.”
I see the color flare in his cheeks and he looks away for a moment. After clearing his throat, he straightens his shoulders and looks back at me. Although that patient smile on his face remains, I can see that any trace of actual friendliness has evaporated. Clearly, Brian is a man who doesn't like being turned down. And dislikes being reminded of his failures even more. Yeah, I think he would do really well in D.C.
“Look, I had a lot to drink that night –”, he starts.
“Don't even give me that bullshit, Brian,” I snap. “The only reason I didn't tell your wife is that I actually respect Morgan and I know what this would have done to her.”
“And I appreciate you not telling –”
“Shut up, Brian,” I sneer at him. “I didn't do it for you. I did it for Morgan.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his blond hair. “Look, I don't want to keep rehashing the past with you –”
“Given your past, I wouldn't want to either,” I say.
“Paige, believe it or not, I'm trying to help you here,” he says. “Your shop is going to go under. We both know it.”
“And, so what if it does?” I ask. “How would that impact your life in any way, shape, or form?”
“Honestly, it wouldn't,” he says. “I'm simply trying to help you get something out of this deal before you lose everything, Paige.”
“Oh, well isn't that sweet of you, Brian?”
He sighs again dramatically. “Paige, I can help you negotiate here,” he says. “I can force these developers to pay you top dollar for this land. They're desperate to have it because it sits in a prime location.”
“Prime location, huh?”
Goodrich nods eagerly. “Absolutely,” he says. “They want to develop this whole street. Bring in some high-end, name brand retailers. It'd be a huge boost to the local economy.”
“Not to mention the fact that having some big-time donors in your pocket when it comes time for your congressional campaign wouldn't hurt your chances, right?”
He tries, but can't quite keep the smirk completely off his face. Which makes me angrier and even more disgusted with the man than before. And I didn't think that was possible.
“That's not very fair, Paige,” he says. “I'm just trying to do right by Port Safira and the people.”
“Do right by the town and the people?” I ask, laughing out loud. “By pushing out the people who've lived here their whole lives? By making the place so expensive that the people who built this goddamn town can't afford to live here anymore? Is that how you're doing right by the people of Port Safira, Brian?”
“Again, you're not seeing the bigger picture –”
“I swear to God, if you tell me I'm not seeing the bigger picture one more time, I'm going to find a big picture and cram it up your ass.”
Brian looks aghast for a moment then just chuckles and shakes his head, obviously amused by me. The usual cue that he's about to say something terribly demeaning, sexist, and altogether annoying.
“I sometimes forget what a spitfire you are,” he says. “Not one of your finer qualities, but adorable nonetheless.”
And there it is. Right on cue. I have to physically restrain myself from punching him in the nose. It's really, really hard though.
“I think you should go, Brian,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Just listen to me for a minute, Paige,” he says. “The development of Sapphire Avenue is going to happen. I'm just trying to help you maximize your opportunity.”
“Gee, what a guy.”
“If you don't sell the land here, and the development goes ahead without you,” Goodrich says like he's explaining something to a child, “your property is only going to be worth half of what I can help you get right now. Maybe even a quarter. If you sell now, you'll get top dollar, Paige. I'll make sure you come out of it smelling like a rose and with a ton of cash in your pocket.”
A wry grin touches my lips. “You know what I like better than the idea of a pocket full of cash, Brian?”
“What?”
“Having my little bookstore stuck in between two of your high-end, name brand stores,” I say. “I'd be willing to bet it would irritate the crap out of your snooty, hoity-toity developer friends.”
“Paige –”
“I've told you a million times already, Brian,” I snap. “I'm not selling my property. Not ever.”
“You're making a huge mistake,” he says, his voice turning cold. “Your shop is going to go belly up and you're going to be begging me to get you pennies on the dollar for it when you could have had a pile of cash.”
“Even if I do go bankrupt,” I seethe, “I still wouldn't give you the satisfaction of selling my shop to you. Maybe I'll just put up a lemonade stand. Or better yet, I'll leave it as an empty lot just to piss you off”
He sighs and shakes his head. “You're being incredibly stubborn and short-sighted about –”
“Get out of my shop, Brian,” I say. “Now.”
He gives me a long look before turning and heading out onto the street. I watch through the front windows as he puts on his best politician's smile and starts talking animatedly to the developer. No doubt assuring him that he can get me on board with the program.
“Asshole,” I mutter to myself and return to the backroom to continue my inventory.