“No. Though even if I had, he
wouldn’t spread your little secret. It’s just that the rest of your family seems less intent on letting you maintain your cover.”
“What are you talking about?”
Christoff pulled a magazine out of his interior coat pocket and laid it on the table. The latest issue of M & S. With a picture of her grandfather smack dab on the cover.
“Oh God.” Cecily’s hands fumbled as she flipped through to the article. Ten full, glossy pages, complete with family pictures. Including her. “Oh God.”
She skimmed the interview. The focus was, as usual, on the family’s diversified empire, with plenty of nods given to their charitable foundations and the fact that the family hallmark was investment in people. The bulk of the article talked about her grandfather, her mother, and uncles, including speculation on whether her Uncle Hugh was going to finally enter the gubernatorial race.
“‘Intriguingly absent from our interview was the next-generation heir apparent, Genevieve’s daughter, Cecily Dixon, a graduate of Brown University and Northwestern, founder of The Hero’s Help Alliance.’ Oh my God. I am not the heir apparent.”
“You’re the eldest grandchild. Stands to reason that at some point you are.”
“No.” Cecily shook her head vehemently. She might have been considered on that track once, but she’d blown it. “No. No. No. No. That’s not who I am. That’s not what I want. You know how hard I’ve worked to keep myself separate from all this. I can’t let this get out. I don’t want people looking at me differently. And the last thing I need is a repeat of Jefferson. Once was enough, thanks very much.”
“Sweetie, if anybody who even vaguely resembles the likes of Jeff the Jerk comes sniffing around you, you can be sure that I, as your trusty pit bull, will slice his balls off.”
“I do love you. But I’m serious. We have to round up every copy of this magazine in town.” She shoved her laptop into its satchel.
Christoff gave her the Eye. “You know that means you actually have to go to the bookstore, right?”
Inglenook Books. The place she’d been studiously avoiding for the last three months because she couldn’t bear to see its proprietor. What exactly would he think of her suddenly showing up in his shop? Cecily cringed. “You could go for me.”
“I was just there, which is where I got this copy, and it would look pretty damned weird if I went and bought up all the rest.”
Reaching out for his hand, she put on her best begging face. “Christoff, in the name of all our years of friendship, you have to help me with this. Don’t make me go in there alone.”
He squeezed her hand. “Babycakes, you know I’ve always got your back.”
Cecily relaxed. “Thank you.”
“But we’re not going in there without a plan. Here’s how this is going to work.”
~*~
“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been willing to take a chance on hiring me.”
Reed Campbell shut the register drawer and looked at his newest employee. In her late thirties, Brenda Walker had just emerged from a vicious divorce, wherein her cheating bastard of an ex had traded her in for a younger model. Stress had whittled her down, and bitterness had carved deep grooves around what might’ve been a pretty mouth if she smiled. She had no retail experience to speak of, having spent the duration of her marriage as trophy wife to a cardiologist, but she knew books. An avid reader and long-time customer of Inglenook well before Reed bought the place, Brenda had been a familiar face as long as he could remember. She’d worked on a number of literacy campaigns with his mother over the years. Offering her a job had seemed like the obvious and kind thing to do, even before his mom started pressuring him to do it.
A good thing, too, as there was no chance of saying “no” to Anita Campbell.
“You’re a smart woman. You’d have figured something out.”
“Yes, well, I’m grateful to you that I don’t have to.” Brenda did smile then, and something about that curve of lips and the tone of her voice had a wisp of unease blooming.
Surely she wasn’t flirting with him?
She laid a hand on his arm, her thumb lightly stroking the underside of his forearm. “It’s nice to know that there are still some kind men out there.”
Nope. He wasn’t imagining it. Brenda was actually coming onto him.
Shit.
Reed resisted the urge to jerk away. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings or shatter whatever nascent confidence she’d managed to rebuild in the wake of her divorce. But he had to shut this down in a hurry. What could he do? What could he say that wouldn’t embarrass them both?
The door chime sounded, and Brenda’s hand fell away as they both turned toward it.