Several weeks later, I’m sitting across a desk from a nice lady at the Small Business Administration office, listening to her list all the reasons why my business doesn’t qualify for a loan.
I’ve already heard the same thing from my bank.
And my credit union.
And the only rich person I know, my childless, elderly neighbor Maude, who still lives like a pauper despite winning millions in the lottery a few years ago. I have no idea what she does with all the money, but, like everyone else, she’s not interested in giving any of it to me.
I thank the SBA lady for her time and leave the office in a daze. Then I drive to the beach, park, and walk out to the sand, where I sit and stare blankly out at the shimmering blue Pacific, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to save Lit Happens.
I’ve already looked all over the city for a new space to lease. I didn’t find anything I could afford. Besides, I’d need first, last, and a security deposit to get into a new place, which might as well be a billion dollars for how out of reach that amount is.
Unless a ten-year-old VW Jetta counts, I have no assets I can sell to scrounge up some cash. I lease my apartment, which takes over half my salary because LA is an expensive place to live. Dad left me a little money when he died, but most of it went to funeral expenses and a rainy-day fund for the store.
Which has now been depleted.
A seagull lands near my feet. I say sadly to it, “I’m screwed, birdie.”
It stares back at me with zero sympathy before waddling off in search of someone less depressed.
After another hour of racking my brain for possible solutions, I give up. Using the app on my cell phone, I check the business bank account.
There’s enough in it to make payroll, plus about a thousand dollars left over.
I get up from the sand and walk back to my car. My head is spinning with thoughts, but one thing is clear: I need to tell my employees as soon as possible that Lit Happens is closing its doors.
Jameson’s in Beverly Hills is the kind of swanky steakhouse where a six-ounce steak with no sides costs eighty bucks and every server looks like a cover model.
If I have to fire these people I love, at least I can give them a beautiful meal and surroundings while I’m doing it.
That grand left in my bank account should just about cover the cost.
Seated around the table are Harper, Vivienne, Taylor, Sabine, and Mr. Murphy.
Dressed in heels and a slinky red dress that had everyone’s head swiveling when we walked in, Sabine is acting as if she can’t see the group of middle-aged businessmen at the bar salivating in her direction.
Next to her, Taylor restlessly taps out a staccato beat on the tablecloth as she looks around.
Murph examines the leather-bound menu with his eyebrows raised.
Harper, meanwhile, is twirling a lock of hair and batting her lashes at the big blond stud seated at a nearby table.
And to my left sits Viv, who just rested her hand on my jittering knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
A handsome young waiter walks up to the table and beams me an insincere smile. “Can I get some cocktails started for everyone?”
“Murph, will you order a few bottles of wine for the table, please? Maybe a red and a white.”
He glances up at me. “There’s nothing on the list under three hundred dollars.”
Taylor whistles. I try not to fall off my chair.
Seeing my stunned expression, Viv says brightly, “I’ll just have a sparkling water.”
“And I’ll have a vodka martini,” says Murph, snapping shut the menu and setting it aside.
“Make it two,” says Harper.
“Three,” chimes in Sabine.
“I might as well have one, too,” says Taylor, leaning back in her chair. With her choppy black hair flopping over one eye and the silver rings in her left nostril and brow winking in the light, she glares at the waiter, daring him to ask for her ID.
Surely disappointing her, the waiter simply says, “Very good, miss. And for you?”
“The same. Thank you.”
When he leaves, we all look at each other. The sound of other guests talking in the dining room and the elegant piano music piped in through the hidden speakers overhead seems very loud.
I take a deep breath, gather my courage, and begin.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering what this dinner is about. As you know, Lit Happens has been struggling. ValUBooks has taken all the foot traffic we had. And they have the Starbucks. And the floral section. And the incredible breakfast café. And that amazing selection of books. Their inventory is just so huge…”
I glance down at my clammy hands, which I’m wringing together in my lap. Inside my chest, my heart is shriveling. I clear my throat and continue.
“When my dad started the company decades ago, it was a different time. There was no internet to buy books from. There were no giant retail chains. There weren’t any tablets or cell phones to read on. And though I had faith that a small local store with real people who loved books more than anything would be something that customers would always want, it turns out I was wrong.”
I glance up to find everyone staring at me silently. I see sadness and resignation in their faces. Except for Harper, who looks panicked.
They already know.
My throat closes. Water wells in my eyes. Of course they’d know, they’re not stupid.
I’m the only stupid person here.
I’m such a failure.
“I’ve held it together as long as I can. I’ve tried everything I could think of to raise capital. I’ve tried every kind of advertising and looked for cheap space to rent…but the reality is, I can’t keep it going any longer. I’d give anything to stop it. I’d literally cut off my own arm if it would help.” My voice breaks. “But Lit Happens is closing its doors.”
A tear escapes my eye and slips down my cheek. Embarrassed, I dash it away with my knuckle. “I’m sorry, guys. I know how much all of you count on your jobs. I’m so sorry I failed you.”
“That’s bullshit,” says Taylor forcefully.
Startled, I glance up to find her scowling at me.
“This isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of that big asswipe, ValUBooks. Why the fuck would they move right next to another bookstore? It’s like they wanted you to fail!”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t personal. The location is great, and they’ve been expanding aggressively for a few years. To be honest, I’m surprised we didn’t get one nearby sooner.”
“But right next door?” she insists. “That’s fucked up!”
In a small voice, Harper asks, “What about our health insurance?”
Sabine sends her a withering look. “There’s continuation coverage we can buy until we find other jobs.”
Harper gazes beseechingly around the table. “That’s like double the cost, though, right?”
Murph says, “Will you be able to pay us our final checks?”
He’s expressionless, but I know he’s worried about his finances. His social security income isn’t much, and he’s on several medications, none of which are cheap.
“Yes, of course,” I say, getting choked up. “And I’ll give all of you glowing references, letters of recommendation, whatever you need. ValUBooks is probably still hiring…”
Viv squeezes my knee again and says gently, “None of us would ever go to work for them, Em.”
The others agree, but I shake my head again. “You should. They’ll probably be able to pay you more than I could. And you’re all qualified. It’s the obvious choice.”
Rescuing me from having to continue, the waiter arrives with a tray of cocktails and a sparkling water for Viv.
He distributes the drinks with silent efficiency as I fight the urge to burst into tears. When everyone has a drink in hand and he’s gone, I raise my glass for a toast.
“To the future. May it be as bright as you all deserve. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being such wonderful friends. Actually, you’re more than my friends. You’re my family. I love you all.”
When I lift the glass to my lips, my hand trembles.
Taylor says, “To the death of soulless corporations. May they all rot in hell.” She takes a gulp of her martini, then swallows and makes a face. “Fuck, that tastes like ass. I should’ve ordered a beer.”
Everyone else takes a sip of their drinks. Then Murph sets his glass on the table and looks at me. “What about you, Emery? What are you going to do?”
I draw a shaky breath. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been too focused on keeping the shop afloat to worry about what happens to me.”
Like where I’m going to get money for my food, rent, gas, utilities, credit card bills, and all the rest. The thought of it is overwhelming.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, trying to sound optimistic.
Mr. Murphy nods understandingly. “It won’t be easy, but you’ll find a way. You’re a resourceful person.”
I force a smile, grateful for his support and hating myself for putting everyone in this position.
The conversation moves on, but I can’t stop the overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame. If only I’d been more aggressive with advertising or been more prepared for the unexpected, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.
I try to push those thoughts out of my mind and focus on the present, but I can’t shake the weight of responsibility I feel. It’s suffocating.
This is all my fault. If only there were something I could do…
But I already know there isn’t.
This is the end.
The next morning, I’m alone in the back of the shop, slumped over my desk with my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the overdue bills scattered all over the surface, when I hear someone come through the front door.
Disoriented, I sit up. An invoice stuck to my cheek falls off and flutters to the floor.
After a moment, a deep male voice calls out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
I smooth my hands over my hair and stand. Due to the bottle of cheap wine I drank in the dark while crying myself to sleep on my sofa last night, I’m hungover and a little unsteady on my feet.
Trying to compose myself as I walk to the front of the shop, I take a deep breath and smile.
My smile falters when I see the man standing near the register.
He’s tall and well-dressed, wearing a beautiful gray suit fitted snug across his broad shoulders. His white dress shirt is open at the collar, revealing a strong, tanned throat. His hair is dark and so are his eyes, and his square jaw is shadowed with scruff.
He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. The cloud of testosterone surrounding him is probably visible from space.
His dark gaze rakes over me, head to toe. I swear I think he can see my naked body right through my clothes. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
“Hi?” I say uncertainly.
“Good morning.”
His voice is low and husky. He holds my gaze without blinking. He doesn’t smile.
My vagina wakes up from her six-month nap and screams at me that though this man looks like the emotionally unavailable type with major control issues, she would very much like to be wrecked by him.
“Yes, it is a good morning. A very good morning. It certainly is.” Don’t babble, idiot! I clear my throat and smile wider to mask my self-consciousness. “How can I help you?”
He tilts his head to one side and considers me. It’s like being hit with a spotlight. My entire body heats, scalp to toes. Then he looks around the shop, scanning it with interest.
“I was hoping we could help each other. I have a proposition for you.”
He turns his attention back to me and pins me in a stare so intense, it rocks me back onto my heels. Because my mouth has gone dry, I can only whisper, “Proposition?”
Then I suffer a lethal brain aneurysm and drop dead on the spot.
I know I must because of the next words I hear the gorgeous stranger speak, which could only happen in another dimension where all my mental functions had permanently ceased.
Gazing deep into my eyes, he says, “I want you to marry me.”
