Billionaires Dollar Series

I know it’s a long shot. I know things like this are nothing more than fun little quirks. But if I keep pushing, maybe I can make this bookstore as magical for all customers as it is for me. Maybe I can make it a destination, a place people come to take pictures. A place for book lovers and dreamers.

But Cole doesn’t say anything disparaging. Instead, I’m treated to the marvelous view of him carefully rolling up his sleeves, one inch at a time, methodical and calm. “Well,” he says. “I think you’ll need some help with that, no?”

“You want to help?”

“I know how to use a glue gun.” He reaches for it and turns it back and forth. “Well, I think I do. Point and shoot. How hard can it be?”

I should tell him to leave. He’s in the store he’s planning to tear down, looking like a million bucks, and I’m letting him.

Consistency is key, Skye, and you’re not displaying it.

I choke back my inner logic. “We need to stack them first, I think.” I grab a few of the books and start arranging them in a formation. In my head, I know exactly how I want it to look, but actually getting there proves harder.

Cole feeds me books, one after another, and helps me prop them up on the sides. “Like this?”

“Yes.” I glance at him under my side-swept bangs. He looks collected, like he does this all the time. “Why do you want to help? We’re practically enemies,” I point out.

He doesn’t answer, just hands me another book.

“Well,” I say, “maybe I’m giving myself more significance than I deserve. You’re my enemy, but maybe we’re more like a small obstacle in the way. An annoying mosquito, you know.”

Cole’s lips are twitching again. “You’re not a mosquito.”

“But we are throwing a wrench into your plan of world domination.”

“Hmm. Yes, you are certainly doing that.” He hands me another book.

“So why help us?”

“Maybe I don’t like winning without a bit of fight,” he points out. “Maybe I like winning fair and square. That’s part of the joy of betting.”

I inspect the heart we’ve constructed. It’ll look good surrounded by yet more books. It’ll look like the shelf itself opened up into a heart-shaped window, a glance into a different world.

“So this is like entertainment for you.”

He plugs the glue gun in. “Sure, if you want to see it that way.”

That makes it easier to understand, then. I lean over and pretend to inspect his forearms. Cole glances down and then back at me, a frown on his forehead.

“Just looking for scratches.”

His face clears into a grin. “My new cat and I get along very well, I’ll have you know.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course. She probably has a butler and two valets.”

“You seem to have a very skewed idea of my life.”

I cock my head and look at him. Cole looks back at me, the picture of smugness itself. This might not be the right time to admit that I’ve been stalking him on the internet. Simply write in Cole Porter and a wealth of information appears. Nearly everything about him is available at your fingertips.

How much he’s worth (in the billions). The building influence he’s amassed at such a young age (thirty-four). The lack of a serious partner for years (at least four).

“I know you have a driver who takes you everywhere.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“I saw you arrive here once. You climbed out of the backseat.”

“It’s more efficient. I can work while I travel.” He hands me another book. “The glue gun is hot.”

I reach for it. “Thanks.” Time to make permanent decisions.

“Do you want me to hold the books still?”

“Yes, please…” We both fall silent in concentration as I glue the base of the book-shaped heart into place. He helps hold it down, big hands spread across the covers of two discarded books. He has long fingers, tan across the back, with a smattering of hair faint across his knuckles. Those hands had been on my skin. Caressing, smacking, gripping. And his fingers had been inside me.

I glance away quickly, only to see amusement on his face. He might not be able to read my thoughts, but the flush on my cheeks is clear. “You’re wearing your hair down today,” he comments. “You normally don’t.”

“It gets in the way when I work. And you shouldn’t be noticing that.”

“I shouldn’t?”

“In the way that you’re not noticing my non-existing scratches?”

He’s got me there, and my eyes drift down to the opening in his shirt, where skin beckons. “All right. So I’m not exactly consistent. I think we’ve established that where you’re concerned.”

His grin is back. “I disagree. You’re consistently difficult.”

I reach for another book and glue it, his hands moving effortlessly to help pin it in place. “You’re a consistent nuisance, too.”

“I haven’t been told that in a very long time.”

“Because you’re surrounded by ass-kissing sycophants? I’ve heard that’s a problem among the powerful. My sympathies.”

Cole laughs, and it’s warm and true. I’d meant to poke fun at him, but he’d taken it in stride, and the sound unsettles me. I like it too much. “Yes,” he says. “I’m coddled from morning to evening, with no one daring to tell me the truth. It’s how I’ve built a booming business.”

“No. You have to handle critique, or you’ll get nowhere in life.” He reaches across and holds the next set of books effortlessly in place. “Also, excellent use of the word sycophants.”

“I have a degree in English Literature.”

“It shows. Now glue these.”

I follow his advice. We don’t know anything about each other, despite the fact that we’ve seen each other naked. “How did you build yours?”

“My business?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Are you trying to get more advice out of me to win this bet? You know I’ll give it to you, but it’s a dirty tactic.”

“Maybe.” I reach for another book, stacking it on top. “Or maybe I just realized that we actually know very little about one another.”