Page 26 of No Shelf Control
"Don't curse at me, River."
"Then reschedule the meeting."
"Fine," she sighs. "Is this about the girl you've been flipping out over? Because, honestly, River? You can't just blow off meetings because you're busy with some girl."
"Jasmine isn't just some girl, Sam," I grit out, pissed and bristling. Hell no, she doesn't get to refer to Jasmine that way. "And she's none of your business. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you stay the hell out of my personal life."
Shocked silence echoes down the line. I've never threatened to fire Sam before. But fucking hell, the last thing I need right now is my assistant trying to dictate my life. I don't care if she is worried; that isn't what I hired her to do.
"You're right," she finally says, her tone frosty. "It's none of my business. I'll reschedule the meeting."
Dammit.
"Sam, I—"
"I'll text you the updated meeting details," she says before hanging up on me.
"Fuck my life," I groan up at the ceiling of the car. Now, she's pissed. I'd like to blame Jasmine's infuriating little ass for that, but it isn't her fault.
I haul myself from the SUV, shove my phone into my pocket, and stomp across the parking lot to the shop. The bell over the door jingles when I push it open, stepping inside.
I stop for just a moment, taking a look around.Book of Loveis in an old building in downtown Santa Maria, but the inside has clearly been renovated recently. It's nice.
The walls are painted a deep purple, making the space seem even larger than it is. The shelves are plum, with kitschy signs and book dragons placed strategically between rows of books. One wall contains a display of vibrators and wine. The others are dominated by massive floor-to-ceiling shelves.
A small café is built along the back wall, with couches, chairs, and plush rugs scattered around to give the entire space a cozy, inviting feel.
"Welcome to the—" The brunette who was on my porch with Jasmine last week steps around a shelf with a bright, welcoming smile. It falls when she sees me standing in the doorway, her eyes widening. "Oh, um…hi?"
"Where is she?" I growl.
"I don't know who you're talking about," she lies. She isn't very good at it either because her eyes immediately dart to the open door behind the front counter, then back to me.
I turn, heading that direction.
"Hey!" the brunette squeaks indignantly, darting across the shop like she intends to head me off at the pass, but I'm a lot faster than she is.
Apparently, I'm not meaner than she is. She kicks me in the back of the knee, damn near dropping me beside the counter.
"Jazz, run!" she cries. "He's here!"
"Goddammit," I growl, grasping the counter to keep myself upright. And then a book cracks me in the back of the head. "Stop throwing shit at me."
"Books aren't shit. And you aren't getting her arrested again!"
"I'm not here to get her arrested," I say, batting another book out of the air. Jesus Christ. Are all of Jasmine's friends as wild as she is? "I just want to talk to her."
"About what?" The brunette—Olive, according to her name tag—eyes me suspiciously, another book poised in her hand, ready to throw.
"For starters, about why she's been avoiding me since we slept together," I growl.
Olive lowers the book, gaping at me. "Holy shit. You two fucked? No wonder she's been…" she trails off. "She's in the back."
I eye her warily. "You going to throw anything else at me if I go back there?"
"Nope." She grins, hiding it behind her back. "Feel free to have sex in the back all you want. I won't even listen."
Jesus Christ. Does the bookstore attract wild women, or are wild women attracted to the bookstore?
