Page 37 of Accidental Blind Date

After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Fine. But Mr. Hemingway isn’t going to like this.”

“Mr. Hemingway can shove it,” I say with a smile.

The hardhat men grab their things and make their way to the door. But just before they reach it, Dax walks in.

“Gentlemen,” he claps his hands with a grin that immediately disappears. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“We got kicked out,” one of them says. Tom hides in the science fiction section. Summer bites her lips and proceeds to ring up a customer who is buying a stack of cookbooks. And I cross my arms over my chest, preparing for battle.

“By who?” Dax snaps. Then his eyes lock on mine. “Right. Of course. Well, she is not in charge of this contract, I am. And I say you’re staying and finishing the eval.”

“And I say, you’re leaving.” I make my way to the front, stopping right behind them, trapping them between Dax and me.

“You can’t fire people that I hire,” Dax argues.

“And you can’t hire people without my consent.”

“I bought your bookshop, Libby. I don’t need your consent.”

“From my brother. You bought it from my brother. I did not agree and like it or not, I do have a say in my own family’s business.”

“Like it or not, that’s not how power of attorney works.”

“So, are we staying or going?” the head hardhat asks.

“Staying!” “Going!”

We talk at the same time, and both our glares harden.

“I have an idea. How about we have this discussion privately,” Dax suggests.

“Gladly.”

Dax and I step out of the shop, leaving the customers with Summer and Tom and the orange shirt crew to their own devices.

“What is the matter with you?” I say as soon as the door closes.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I am just doing my job.”

“And I am doing mine!” I nearly shout. “Or trying to. But it’s a little hard to work when my shop is being overtaken by Bob the Builder and his stooges.”

“That’s two different shows…” he points out.

“Don’t change the subject. You can’t just come in here and start knocking walls down.”

“I’m going to have to make room for Hemingway inventory,”

“Hemingway inventory,” I nod, biting my lips with a judgmental grin.

“And the coffee shop.”

My eyes slice up to him. “Coffee shop? What coffee shop? Way With Words doesn’t need a coffee shop.”

“Maybe not, but Hemingway Books does. Every one of my stores has an in-house coffee shop and this one isn’t going to be any different.”

I let out a persecuted sigh. “Doesn’t it bother you?” I ask.

“Does what bother me?”