Dangerous (20 page)

I knew the question was coming. He had checked periodically while he and my mother were in Europe, but he would be relentless now that he was back. “We had a Fourth of July promotion, and since then, sales have increased.”

“By what percentage?” he asked in full business mode.

“I don’t know off the top of my head.” I stared out the window, preparing myself for the miserable ride home. I wished I was screaming down the mountain on my crotch rocket, instead of being drilled.

“Son, how many times have I told you that you need to be aware of every facet of the business if you’re going to be successful? I only had to tell Dylan one time, and he got the concept. Why do you refuse to listen to anything I have to say?”

“I was listening when you told me that micromanaging lowered morale of a business’s managers. You’re micromanaging.” I knew that would piss him off, but it was the truth.

“Stone!” he growled, clearly aggravated by my comment. “I’m not micromanaging. I’m trying to teach you to be successful in business. You had a choice. You could come to Europe with us to learn other cultures and to tour sites of historical importance, or you could stay here and concentrate on learning the ins and outs of business.”

Like that was much of a choice.

“Not to mention that when you make the choice not to micromanage, you’d better be confident that you have a competent manager,” he added.

“Are you saying that I’m incompetent?” I asked, angry at his implication.

My mother spoke up this time, buffering as usual. “That’s not what he said, Stone,” she said softly, turning to look at me over her shoulder. “He’s just ensuring that you understand that you have to have a capable manager before you decide to turn them loose with your business.”

“And that even if you have a capable manager, you still have to be fully aware of everything that’s going on,” my father added.

“I do understand that,” I told them, more than a little frustrated.

“If sales aren’t where I need them to be by the end of July, then I will close Quail Mountain Books. I may have set the criteria, but this is your project. You’re the only one who can determine the outcome of the bookstore,” my father said.

“I know that,” I said, my voice growing louder. “How many times have you told me?”

“Apparently, not enough,” he grumbled.

I clenched my jaw, angry that he was insinuating that I was too stupid to comprehend his incessant droning. I didn’t flunk out of boarding school because I was ignorant. I flunked out because I didn’t give a shit. A difference that I would’ve thought my parents were intelligent enough to understand.

Most of the time, my test scores were fine. I just didn’t really give a crap about keeping up with homework. I had a modicum of success last year in public school, but it was probably because the amount of homework that was assigned every night was much less than the boatload that was mandatory at my previous school.

The rest of the ride home was made in silence, which suited me fine. I helped my father carry the luggage to their bedroom.

“Well, I’ve got to get to the bookstore,” I announced to my parents, as my father and I joined my mother in the great room.

“Thanks for picking us up,” Mom said, hugging me again.

“You’re welcome.”

I walked to the front door and made my exit before my dad found another topic that would make for a good lecture.

Relieved when I was out of the house, I walked swiftly toward my bike, eager to feel its power, to hear the hum of the engine, and to let the wind blow away any remnants of my frustration. I pulled the bike into a wheelie as I raced down the driveway. The bike’s soothing effect was immediate, and by the time I arrived at the store, most of my irritation had dissipated.

Once I arrived at the bookstore, I found Dara in the kitchen, rinsing out a glass. “Hey, Stone,” she called over the sound of the running water as she turned to look at me. “Where’ve you been?” She put the glass in the dishwasher and turned to look at me with curious, green eyes.

“I went to pick my parents up from the airport,” I answered, leaning against the counter adjacent to her.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Your parents are back?”

“Yep.”

“Are you glad?”

“If my life were any more blissful, I’d be chasing rainbows on the back of a unicorn,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

“It can’t be that bad,” she said, shooting me a look of disbelief.

“It’s not,” I agreed, “as long as I sneak in after they’ve gone to sleep and leave at the crack of dawn. But I don’t really want to talk about my parents right now.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?” she asked, cocking her head to the side, her golden hair hanging straight and silky in front of her shoulders.

I motioned for to come to me. When she got closer, I reached out, grabbing her by the hips, and pulled her to me. “Who said I wanted to talk?” I whispered in her ear before I left a trail of kisses along her slender neckline. I could feel her body relaxing as it pressed against mine. I slid my hands around to her back as I kissed her gently on those shimmering pink lips, knowing that I’d be tasting strawberries soon. I skimmed my fingertips along the waist of her jeans and pushed my hands into her back pockets.

I felt a piece of paper with my left hand and snatched it out of her pocket as I pulled away from her. “What’s this?” I asked, holding it up where she could see it. “You’re not the one leaving notes on my motorcycle, are you?”

“No,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

I unfolded the paper and looked at the note, which consisted of dollar amounts.

$2,000

-$600

$1,400

“What’s this?” I asked again.

“Chance told me that his dad found me a car for two thousand dollars.”

“Chance?”
I asked, unable to hide my distaste as I spat out his name.

“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Chance.
His dad owns a car lot, and he found a car that he thought would be perfect for me. The only problem is
it’s
two thousand dollars, and so far, I’ve only saved up six hundred. I was hoping to have enough saved up by the end of summer, but I may have to work during the first few weeks of school. Granny said she could pay my insurance and give me a little gas money if I could buy the car.”

“What kind of car is it?” I asked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather drive Granny’s car?”

Dara wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure. It’s a small, red Chevy. It’s still in good shape, and it gets good gas mileage.”

“If I play my cards right, will you give me a ride?” I asked, folding the paper back up and tucking it back in her pocket.

“I thought you weren’t very good at playing cards,” she accused, narrowing her eyes at me until they were nothing more than vibrant, green slits.

“I told you. I’m good at everything. And the fact that you bought my bluff proves it,” I said, resting my hands on her hips.

“Is this where I tell you you’re conceited?” she asked innocently. “And
an
asshat?”

“Badass,” I thundered at her. “Clean the wax out of your ears, and get it right, woman. I’m conceited and a badass.”

“What did you say?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Oh, no,” I warned her. “You can swallow whatever insult is fixing to tumble from those pretty little lips of yours because I’m not going to listen. Besides, I’ve got to talk to Tom about our financials. My dad’s already demanding numbers.”

“Is that bad?” she asked.

I raked my hands through my hair, contemplating the answer to her question. “That depends on the numbers. He bought this business about a year ago, and he usually allots a set amount of time to determine whether it’s going to be successful. If the numbers don’t meet his criteria, then he’ll start making plans to sell or close the business at the end of July.

“I had talked him into buying this business, so I really wanted it to be successful.”

“You did?” She looked at me a little surprised.

“Luke loved to read, and he would’ve loved this store. I can’t really explain it, but somehow I feel like he approves of this store and what I’m trying to do.” Shit. I couldn’t believe I just told her that. I hadn’t told that to anyone. I knew the danger of getting too close to Dara, but I was too freaking stupid to keep my distance. “I’ve got to talk to Tom.” I hurried out of the kitchen before she started asking questions. Of all the girls I could’ve found myself attracted to, I had to pick Little Miss Inquisitive.

Tom was busy checking out customers. I pulled up a stool behind the counter and waited patiently for Dara to finish whatever she had been doing in the kitchen and relieve Tom from the cash register.

Once she did, Tom grabbed his laptop and joined me in my office.

“So what do the numbers look like?” I asked him as he stared at his computer screen, a yellow pencil tucked behind his ear.

“The good news is they have been steadily improving. The bad news is it’s questionable as to whether we’ll reach the numbers your father requires by the end of the month.”

I slowly exhaled. I wanted the store to remain open.
For Luke.

Tom and I raked over the numbers, and I tried to memorize as much of the necessary data as possible. I knew it was only a matter of time before Dad and I would be having a serious conversation about Quail Mountain Books, not that every conversation with my Dad wasn’t serious.

I wanted to be ready.

I glanced at my cell phone, noticing that it was time for lunch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take lunch?” I asked. “I want to talk to Dara about marketing.”

“I’ll be more than happy to eat while y’all handle the marketing,” Tom said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You know how much I despise it.”

“I know. Give you a bunch of numbers and a spreadsheet, and you’re in ecstasy. Talk about something creative like marketing, and
it’s
sheer torture.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
Sums.
Get it. I like numbers.”

“I get it,” I admitted with an inward groan. I threw a foam stress relief promotional item shaped like a book at Tom. “Go. Get out of my office,” I joked with him. “Go analyze combo meal numbers one through ten at a fast food joint.”

He chuckled as he strolled out the doorway.

I found Dara looking at a box of inventory that was ready to be shelved.

“Dara?”

“Yeah?” she asked, glancing up from the box.

“Let’s talk marketing.”

“Okay,” she smiled, clearly in her element. She turned away from the box and focused on me.

“I want to build off the momentum that we already have going from the Fourth of July promotion. I thought we might have a sale.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Sales have been steady for some of the new releases across the board, in books, games, CDs, and movies. I thought we might offer fifty percent off another item when the customer purchases any item that was released in July.”

“Would that fifty percent be off of anything in the store?”

“Anything that’s not a July release.”

“Okay,” she nodded, staring down at the counter. I could tell that she was deep in thought, and her mind was already processing ideas.

“Could you see about having some ads ran as soon as possible?
Maybe this weekend or next week?”

“Sure. I’ll start checking on it right now.”

“Maybe you could make some signs on some of that neon pink poster board in the supply closet.”

“I’ll take care of it, Stone.”

How did Tom and I manage marketing before she came along?
Apparently, not very well.
Dara was always ready to do whatever it took to get the job done. The beauty of it was that she’d take control and not only get the job done, but she’d do it right the first time. It made my job so much easier, and I no longer had to drag Tom through the wringer to get another opinion on marketing.

But could we get the numbers up by the end of July?

I desperately wanted to.

For Luke.

Chapter 10

Dara

Squinting against the bright, morning sunshine that radiated through the thin, white,
vinyl
blinds, I rolled over and stared at the red LED lights on my alarm clock. It was a few minutes after eight o’clock, and despite the fact that I didn’t have to work today, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. I kicked the comforter off my feet and rolled out of bed. Granny cooked breakfast every morning, and my stomach grumbled as the smell of biscuits and bacon wafted through the air.

I stumbled to the kitchen in my pajamas and found Granny sitting at the table reading the paper. “That smells so good, Granny.”

She looked up and flashed a brilliant smile. “Come on, honey, fix you a plate.”

I sat down in the chair across from Granny and picked up the plate that she had already set out for me. I buttered a warm biscuit, spread strawberry jelly on it, and grabbed a couple of slices of bacon.