I gulp, reaching inside my bag. The guy is straight to the point. I can appreciate that since he gives me the heebie-jeebies.
The sooner he looks at my book, the sooner I can leave.
“Yeah—I mean, yes. I did.” Forcing confidence past my tongue even after I’d slipped up in the beginning.
I set it down between us even though my fingers twitch at my side, itching to snatch it back the second they let go.
“It’s a first edition.”
My mouth gapes. “How can you be so sure?” He’s hardly glanced at it.
He flips back to the first page. The handwritten inscription on full display. His finger taps at the other page. A decal smaller than a dime is just below his index. It looks like a sticker.
I can feel the heat from his stare, he’s angry.
“What is that?” I’ve never noticed it before.
“What did you say your name is again?”
I choke down a ball of spit. “…Rory.”
He arches a brow. “Hale?”
I nod, not liking that gleam in his eye. “Look, I have somewhere I need to be,” I say, lying straight through my teeth.
His hand slams down on top of mine before I can take my book and I have to force my feet not to jump back. What is this guy’s problem?
Whatever it is, it isn’t worth being here any longer. I reach for it again, but he slams his hand over the top. Same as before.
“That’s not your last name,” he sneers, getting in my face now.
Inside I’m petrified, but I do my best not to show that I’m shaking. How can he know that?
“It was a present.” Oversharing, why I’m not sure. Trying to defend myself maybe?
“Know someone that can afford a first edition, aye?” He sucks on his teeth. “Those don’t run cheap. Especially not your copy. It’s one of the rarest, if not most desirable editions out there.”
I had no idea.
His mouth turns sinister. “Know what that means?”
“I came here to find out more about it,” I mumble, shaking in my skin.
Honest, I wasn’t aware of its value. I mean, I know it had to be a nice copy, but I didn’t know to this extent.
“It means you’re a thief.” His hand slams down on the wood of the table, and this time I do jump. Way past caring if I look scared because I’m beyond that point.
Terrified a more accurate word.
His posture shifts suddenly, attention elsewhere as something catches his eye.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling at my still open bag. Grabbing, he reaches for the dangling lanyard. The Hardin logo and name down the band.
My work badge.
A photo with my name hanging from the bottom. My eyes widen with clarity.
If this guy had any doubts about believing me before, I’ve just given him the fuel to the already burning embers inside his head. According to my lanyard, my last name isn’t Hale. The boldness of the letters registers that clear as day.