Funny… I expected to be a lot more excited about meeting the C.J. Anson. But I wasn’t. In fact, I was kind of disappointed, because…
My “unicorn” author, unfortunately, turned out to be a complete rude asshole.
I stared at the computer screen with my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I’d gone over the same sentence at least twenty times but something about it was off.
For the past four hours I’d been writing without a break. My brain was telling me to step away from the computer and my current work in progress, take Timber for a long walk, then come back and tackle my word salad again once my mind was clearer.
I’d probably feel stupid once I returned and the problem with my sentence structure or word choice smacked me right in the face.
Before I could even rise from my chair, the cow bell above the door clanged, indicating I had a customer. Or someone coming in simply to chat.
Timber, who’d been curled up at my feet under the desk, unwound his lanky body and with a soft woof headed out to the front to see if some kind soul had brought him an afternoon treat.
“I’m in the back,” I called out.
Most of the locals knew where to find me and I rarely got customers who weren’t local. I waited for an answer to see who had entered, but none came.
Since that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand, I pushed to my feet with a groan to see who came in. At forty-one, sitting for hours at a time made my body go on strike. It also liked to remind me often that I wasn’t twenty-one anymore.
That was another good reason to take Timber for a walk. Fresh air would do my stiff body and my mushy brain some good.
I headed toward the front of the store only to find neither Timber nor a customer. Glancing out the window, only one vehicle was parked out front. A new Ford Bronco Raptor.
I knew exactly who it belonged to.
The sound of Timber’s nails on the wood flooring came from the area where both C.J. Anson’s and my books were shelved.
Should I even bother? He was only going to tell me he didn’t need any help.
I grinned. Of course I should. Even if just to annoy him.
I peeked around the corner and saw Chase scratching Timber behind the ears and my dog’s eyes closed in ecstasy.
I’d have that same reaction, too, if he scratched me like that.
Apparently I needed to have a little discussion with my dog about loyalty. If someone didn’t like his dad, then Timber shouldn’t like that person. That was Canine Behavior 101.
“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” I said dryly.
Chase’s brown eyes rose from Timber to me as I walked between the shelves to get to where they were.
“I don’t need any help.”
Of course. If the man was anything, it was being consistent in his grumpiness. Two could play at this let’s-be-a-dick game. “I didn’t ask if you did.”
“But here you are anyway.”
“Well, if you weren’t aware of it yet, it’s my store.”
“You made that clear the other day.”
I hiked my eyebrows up to the top of my forehead. “Did I? I wasn’t sure.”
Chase grunted and turned to stare at the books. His books. Was he here to sign them?
That would mean Chase would have to admit he was C.J. Anson. I had a really strong feeling he wouldn’t.
Hmm. I couldn’t put a finger on why I had that feeling. For some odd reason, I just did.
Living in this area as long as I had, I’d been taught that you never run from a bear. You made yourself as big as possible, faced them down and created a lot of noise. You challenged them and hoped they backed down. Running would only get you hurt or killed.
Chase was that damn bear.
“Tell me, are you always this…” Miserable. “Personable? Or are you only like this with me?”
“Why would you think you’re special? I’m like this with everyone.”
I thought he might not have any redeeming qualities, but clearly I was wrong. He had the brutal honesty thing going for him. Even if it was only him being honest about being an asshole. “Why?”
“I don’t like when people put their noses where they don’t belong. If you’re friendly with people, that gives them an opening to ask a lot of questions.”
I noticed him spinning the wedding ring he hid the other day as he continued to stare at the shelves of books, most likely hoping I’d give up and wander away.
Whether he liked it or not, I was not running from the bear, I was standing my ground.
I studied Chase’s profile. He clearly hadn’t shaved since he’d been in here the other day. Growing out his beard made sense though, if he was trying to remain “undercover.” The photo his publisher used on the back of his books must have been taken at least ten years ago when his face had less lines and was clean shaven.