It's been a few hours since that disastrous conversation with Liam. And although I'm feeling a bit calmer, I'm still a mess. A big, fucking mess. I can't stop the tears from falling and I can't stop the pain that feels like it’s slicing straight through my heart.
I feel so stupid. I feel like an idiot. I should never have believed him to begin with. I know what people like him do. I know what they're all about. And all they care about is the almighty dollar. They're always chasing every last buck they can get. What makes it all the more disgusting is that they will literally step over anyone who dares to get between them and their money.
What makes this all the more devastating for me is that I believed Liam when he told me he wasn't like that. That he wasn’t like the others. I believed he was different. That he wasn't a money-grubbing, piece of crap like the rest of them.
Oh, how wrong I was. How stupid I was to believe him.
I angrily scrub away the tears that are rolling down my cheeks. I should never have let myself get so close to him. Or let myself get so attached to him. He seemed so different – like he was really one of the good guys.
“That should teach you,” I say to myself, my voice quivering. “There are no good guys.”
I'm leaning against the counter in my shop, grateful to not have any customers strolling through for a change. The last thing I want, or need is to let anyone else see me like this. I don't want to have to answer any questions. More than that, I don't want anybody's goddamn pity.
Except, maybe Skyler. She'll understand. If there's one person in this world that I can trust, one person who can help pull me out of the shit, it's her. Besides, I still owe her an explanation for why I went off on her before.
I pull out my phone and key in a quick text message and hit send.
Wine and chocolate ice cream night?
I wait for a few minutes before my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Skyler.
As long as it's double chocolate chunk ice cream.
I key in a quick reply and send it.
I'll bring two cartons. See you later. Love you. Always love you.
Make it three. And always love you back, her reply came in a few moments later.
A small smile touching my lips, I put the phone back down and try to get my head on straight. I need to focus on the things that still need doing around here. But honestly, I'm having a really hard time focusing enough to do anything at all. Well, anything but cry and feel sorry for myself, anyway.
I replay the conversation with Liam in my mind over and over and over again. And it never gets any better. It doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me…he looked me straight in the eye and lied to me. He kept insisting that I didn’t understand what he's doing. That he has some grand goddamn plan that I'm just not grasping.
Arrogant fucking asshole.
As if his plans are going to be all that different than Damon Moore's. Both of them are going to carve up my town and kill all of the charm and character of it. They're going to kill everything that makes this town special. Unique.
They're both pieces of garbage, but at least Damon Moore is upfront about his garbage status. He's not hiding what he's doing. Not that it makes it any better, but at least he's out in the open about it. You can't really blame a piece of crap for being what they are. But you can absolutely blame a piece of crap for trying to pass themselves off as a chocolate bar.
The bells over the front door chime and I roll my eyes. I am not in the mood to deal with customers right now. But, I don’t really have no choice. Not if I want to keep the lights on for another month. Letting out a deep breath, I wipe at my eyes again and do my best to avoid looking distressed or like I'd been doing what I was just doing – crying my eyes out.
When I feel reasonably composed, I step around to the front and see a woman I've never seen before. She's absolutely gorgeous. Tall, thin, blonde, with the type of body that a supermodel would envy. Dressed in a stylish black skirt, white button-down shirt, and dark jacket, she gives off the air of a professional.
“Hi,” I call. “Welcome to Bookworms. How are you today?”
The woman turns and looks me up and down. I can tell right off that she's appraising me. Judging me. Her scrutiny is intense and judging by the look of obvious distaste on her face, she found me wanting. I let out a small sigh and fight the urge to roll my eyes. I have to fight it really, really hard.
With Port Safira becoming so upscale now, I guess these are the kinds of people I'm going to have to get used to dealing with. So long as I can keep my doors open, anyway.
“Is there something in particular I can help you find?” I ask.
She finally tears her eyes away from me and looks around my shop. The look of distaste on her face continues to deepen. So, not only have I been found wanting, but so has my shop. Though, I can't really blame her too much for the latter. Bookworms is a little shabby and has definitely seen better days.
But, it's not okay for this bitch to judge me or my shop. I open my mouth to tell her she might be more comfortable in a shop that caters to a more high-end – otherwise known as snooty-as-hell – clientele.
“I'm looking for a book on relationship advice,” she says. “Maybe, something for a struggling marriage?”
The request takes me by surprise, and for a moment I stare at her stupidly, just blinking.
“Do you have anything along those lines?” she asks.
“Umm – well –”
“Do you speak English?” she snaps.
The condescending tone in her voice snaps me out of the spell of idiocy I'd been trapped in – and of course, sets me on edge. I don't like being spoken to – or more accurately, being spoken down to – like that. By anybody. Let alone by somebody I had met just thirty seconds ago.
“I speak English just fine, thank you,” I say.
“Oh, wonderful,” the woman says, rolling her eyes at me. “Thank goodness for small favors.”
I let out a breath, forcing myself to throttle my temper back. “As for your book,” I say through gritted teeth, “if you'll follow me back to our self-help section...”
I turn and without waiting for her, walk back to the self-help section. It's not a huge section – people in Port Safira aren't big on the whole self-improvement thing – but I think I have a few titles that fit the description of what she's looking for. I hear her heels clicking on the wood floor behind me, so I know that she's following.
Stopping at a shelf, I bend down and take out a couple of books. Standing up again, I hold them out, but she just stands there, staring at me. The way she's looking at me sends a chill down my spine. There's a malicious look in her eyes and a cold, cruel smile touching her lips.
“My husband and I are having some – difficulties,” she says.
I hold the books up. “Hence the books, I assume?”
“It's just a little rough spot,” she says as if she hadn't heard me, still making no move to take the books. I’m starting to get the impression that she doesn't actually want them. “We'll work it out though. One way or another. We will work things out though. Do you understand that, dear?”
The way she said, “one way or another” sets off red flags in my head. It almost sounds like a threat. Not a threat to me, but a threat to whoever her husband might be. And yet, the way she looks at me – with narrowed eyes that seem to penetrate my very soul – it's almost like she expects me to know who and what she's talking about.
I am getting the strangest, creepiest vibe from this woman and I want nothing more than to get her out of my shop as quickly as I can. Something isn't right. There's a strange energy about her. As if there's a pressure in the air between us that's building. A storm on the horizon that's gathering strength and is about to come crashing down over my head.
“I think that you should leave,” I say.