Hold Me Down

chapter 4

Work on Saturday is a nightmare. The store is full of students looking for books they've been assigned to read over the summer. I am stressed by all the customers but I enjoy helping them.

When business slows down around noon, my boss asks me to inspect some new book shipments. I engage in the task, checking our inventory and making sure the shipments match the order.

When I look up to check the time, I am startled to see Will Herondale gazing right back at me. I jump in my seat.

"Theresa. What a lovely surprise." He smirks at me and leans over the counter.

What is he doing here? He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, and of course his black hair was messily handsome.

"What do you need?" I say through a forced smile.

He laughs. "I thought you would be pleased to see me."

"And why would I be when you practically insulted me the other week."

He smirked. "I was just teasing Theresa."

"Don't call me that." I couldn't believe we were having this conversation at my workplace. I couldn't even believe I was standing here talking to super powerful billionaire Will Herondale.

"I hate my real name," I say under my breath and push myself off the counter, heading to the back.

I gave no attention to him as he followed me. "Tessa."

I spotted my boss a couple yards away, observing us.

I plaster on the fakest smile I could muster up. "Yes?"

"I was in the area," he says. "I need to pick up a few things."

"What do you need, Mr. Herondale," I asked with forced politeness. My boss was definitely listening in on us, making sure things were going okay.

"I've ran out of reading material. Recommend me something, Tess. You're a reader aren't you?"

Tess? My heart skipped a beat at the new nickname but I pretended it didn't affect me. "Sure. What genre do you usually read?"

"Classical."

I was surprised. I also loved the classics. Perplexed, I led him to the classic section, where Hardy, Austen and so many more familiar names crowded the shelves.

"I never took you for a reader," I remark.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he says back. His eyes twinkled as he assessed the selection.

"Tell me. What's your favorite book here," he asks me.

"Bronte. Wuthering Heights," I say from off the top of my head.

He raises a perfect brow. "I would've taken you for an Austen fan."

"I do. Like her, I mean. Of course I do," I flame. Why was I stuttering? I was standing here discussing books with the hottest man alive. The effect he had on me was unexplainable.

"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, and he's gazing at me. I blush even more brightly. Why does he have this effect on me?

"Four years," I mutter. To distract myself, I reach down and select a copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

"This is a good one. I really enjoy Dickens," I tell him.

He scrunches up his perfect features. "That book seems so boring. Not my style. It sounds very depressing."

"What!" I exclaim. I adored A Tale of Two Cities. "This book is amazing." I launch into a heated discussion on why it was a literary masterpiece, and how it shaped all novels that came after it.