Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love Book 5)

by Ali Parker

  “Really?

  “Yep. His name is Wes. He’s super friendly. And he’s a writer.”

  “A writer?” The skepticism in Riley’s voice was as obvious as her fatigue.

  “Yeah, he bought me a drink the other night and we sat and chatted. It was nice to talk to someone after the day I’d had. Job hunting hasn’t been going as I’d hoped. It’s a bit rough out here. There’s lots of competition and everyone seems to be looking for everything I don’t have.”

  Riley made a worried sound in the back of her throat. “Maybe the timing is off. Maybe this wasn’t your big shot at New York.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s that. I think I just need to step up my game and use my elbows.”

  “Use your elbows?”

  “It’s hard to get anywhere in this place unless you’re willing to literally elbow people out of your way to get noticed or served.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  I chuckled. “It’s been a learning curve. That’s for sure. Back home, everyone gets out of your way and apologizes when you bump into them. That’s not the case here.” I paused as I crossed the street outside the motel. Instead of taking a right, I hooked a left, followed by a right, and I wove down narrower streets toward a part of the city I’d discovered late last night after Wes dropped me off. I’d pulled up Google maps on my phone and made a game plan about where I was going to search for work. This was the place. It was full of one-way lanes with street parking and little businesses all up and down the streets.

  There were countless bookstores, hair salons, barbers, antique shops, thrift stores, a bohemian interior design store, a small local grocer, and several charming restaurants with sandwich boards out on the sidewalks.

  It smelled like baked bread, clam chowder, and chocolate.

  “How are things with you?” I asked, changing the subject. “Any luck finding someone else to rent out my room?”

  Riley sighed. “No bites yet. Madison and I have been talking about it. To be honest, we don’t really want to replace you. We want to keep the room open. You know, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Don’t make me say it, babe.”

  I felt my eyebrows drawing together on my forehead. “In case I fail in New York and have to move home?”

  Riley didn’t say anything.

  “Wow, Ry,” I said, shaking my head as I skirted around a sandwich board. “That’s nice. Real nice. I appreciate the support.”

  “We do support you! We just don’t want to be unprepared for the worst-case scenario, you know? Crazy things happen and if—I mean if—this doesn’t go the way you want it to, at least you’ll have a safe place to land when you come back home. We believe in you, Briar. Are you seriously questioning that?”

  I licked my lips. “I guess I’m just sensitive to criticism right now. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll call you later. I’m about to pop into a place and drop off a resume.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  I dropped the call and took a moment on the sidewalk to collect my thoughts and put my game-face on. I turned my back to the street and looked up at the storefront of a used bookstore with a coffee shop attached to it. The smell of chocolate was coming from there. The windows on either side of the door were massive, and on one side, there were two tables with a bench seat against the window. On the other side was a bar-height table with stools so customers could face outward and look out onto the street. As of right now, all the seats were taken.

  And there was a hiring sign taped to the door.

  I gripped the strap of my purse on my shoulder. This was it. I wasn’t going to get shouldered out of the way. And I wasn’t going to be overlooked. This place looked charming and popular, the perfect place to meet people and make new friends in a new city.

  I just had to get the manager to say yes to me.

  I strode inside. A bell chimed above my head as I stepped in and I was hit with a wave of sweet and savory scents. Chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg. It all smelled glorious.

  Breathing it in, I looked around.

  The coffee bar sat right smack in the middle of the shop. The front portion was all tables and chairs, seating for the cafe customers. Behind the bar was a lounge area of rich brown leather sofas. Blankets and pillows were draped over all of them and books lay scattered across every surface. On the far wall behind the sofas were floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, and to the right was a winding wrought-iron staircase that led up to a loft where there were yet more books to peruse and purchase.

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  There were two women working the coffee bar. One had silver hair that was shorter on the sides and longer on the top. The longer section was basically a curly mohawk and the ends were neon pink. She had big black plugs in her earlobes, floral tattoos on her neck, and a hoop through the middle part of her nose.

  The other woman was younger, probably in her early twenties. She had brown hair that she wore in a ponytail and wasn’t wearing any makeup that I could see. She had rosy cheeks and worked fervently at the espresso machine, making drinks called out by her co-worker.

  I got in line behind two other people and made my way to the front. When it was my turn, the woman with silver and pink hair flashed me a confident smile.

  “Hey, newbie,” she called to me. “What can I get you?”

  I licked my lips and looked down at the folder in my hands that contained my resumes. I pulled one out and put it down on the counter before speaking as clearly and confidently as possible. “Hi, I saw your hiring sign on the door and wanted to throw my name in the hat. My name is Briar and I’d really like to work here.”

  She spun my resume to face her, plucked a pen from where it was clipped to the pocket on her black apron, and scanned my resume. “Waynesville, hey? Where’s that?”

  “North Carolina.”

  “That’s where you were born?”

  I nodded.

  “What are you doing out in New York?”

  “I needed space to do my own thing and figure my life out. My town felt smaller and smaller with every passing day and I couldn’t be the woman I wanted to be there. But I think I can be her here.”

  “And my shop will help you do that?”

  “I think so.”

  “And what will you bring to the table that will make it worthwhile for me?”

  I swallowed. This woman wasn’t playing games. She watched me like a hawk, her gaze flicking from my eyes to my mouth like she was watching for my expression to betray me.

  “I’m a valuable asset,” I started. “I’m punctual and have excellent communication skills. I believe in positive work environments where colleagues respect each other and support each other. I want to be part of a team, not just a staff member. And I love books and coffee,” I added.

  The woman tapped the end of the pen on the counter. “That’s it?”

  She’s not buying it. Just be honest with her.

  I sighed and looked her in the eyes. “Look, I really need someone to give me a chance. If you’re looking for honesty, here it is. I needed a fresh start because I knew if I stayed in Waynesville, I’d become exactly what every other woman in that town became. I’d marry a local guy and work an unsatisfying job until I started popping out his kids, and then my ambition will become my family. Which is all fine and good. But I don’t want to start that there. I want more. And in order for me to get more, I need someone like you to take a chance on me so I can afford to get out of the shitty motel I’m staying at and find a real place to live.”

  She chuckled. “Your honesty is refreshing. A little much, to be honest, but refreshing.”

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

  “Don’t be. You want a chance? You’ve got it.”

  My eyes widened with surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” She held out her hand to me. “My name is Margaret, but you can call me Mare. Can you start on Saturday?”

  I
nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes absolutely!”

  “Good. Be here at six o’clock sharp. The shop opens at six thirty on weekdays. Eight o’clock on weekends. Can you do four to five shifts a week?”

  “The more the better.”

  “We’ll go over everything together on your first morning. Now either order a coffee or step aside. I have customers to serve.”

  I grinned, stepped out of the way, and crammed my folder of resumes into my bag.

  Chapter 10

  Wes

  Briar wasn’t at her motel room. I’d asked which room was hers at the front desk and knocked, but nobody answered. Presumably, she was out job hunting as she said she’d be.

  I wondered if she’d had any luck so far. New York wasn’t an easy place to find employment, especially if you didn’t have a lot of experience under your belt. There were so many other people scrambling to get the same job that those without years of relevant work experience fell to the bottom of the pile and were endlessly looked over until they threw in the towel and packed up and left to start over someplace a little smaller.

  Apparently, someplace a little smaller wasn’t Briar’s vibe.

  I couldn’t blame her. There was something magical about New York City. I’d always thought so. Sure, it was a little wild, like a concrete jungle, and the people who lived here could be a little animalistic, but once you got used to it, all that was kind of part of its charm.

  I got back in my car and started cruising around the block and side streets near the motel, looking for the red-haired girl who’d been strolling around in my brain for the last twenty or so hours. The sun played a game of peek-a-boo behind clusters of heavy dark clouds, but it didn’t rain.

  I hooked a left and came to a stop at a red light. As I waited on traffic, I scanned the sidewalk, and there, walking with a grin on her face stretching from ear to ear and a distinct pep in her step, was Briar.

  Her red hair was curled in a big mane that stuck out every which way. She was dressed nicely in a pair of black jeans, black ankle boots, and a blazer with a mustard-colored scarf, and her eyes looked dark and dramatic. I did a little double tap on the horn.

  Briar looked up as I rolled down my window and called hello.

  Her grin broadened and she did a little hop step over to my passenger window, which she peered down into as she stood on the curb. “What are you doing in these parts?” she asked.

  “Would it be weird if I said I was looking for you?”

  “A bit, yes.”

  “Well then, I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  She giggled softly and shook her head at me. “Smooth.”

  I nodded at an open spot near the curb up ahead. “I’m going to park up there. Do you have a minute to chat?”

  Briar nodded and stepped back from the window. She made her way down the sidewalk as the light turned green, and I pulled into the open spot just as she arrived. My window was still down so she leaned over and rested her forearms on it as I turned my radio down.

  “Guess what?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I got a job.”

  “You did? Where? When?”

  She beamed. “Just now. It’s a coffee shop and used bookstore around the corner called Books and Brews. I walked in and basically begged the manager to hire me and she did! I can’t believe it.”

  “I’ve been in that place,” I said. “It’s a cool little store. Congratulations, Briar. That’s excellent news. And a load off your back, I’m sure.”

  “You have no idea. Now I don’t have to obsess so much about pinching my pennies.”

  I nodded at the passenger seat of my car. “Do you have plans for the rest of the afternoon, or would you care to join me for lunch so we can celebrate this new job of yours?”

  Briar pursed her lips and looked both ways down the street. “I don’t know if I should. It might be best if I got things ready for work on Saturday and spent some time looking for a place to live. Once I start working, it’s going to be harder to have time for such things and I want to get a head start.”

  “How about we look at rental apartments together over Thai food?”

  Briar eyed me with the smallest hint of a smile playing on her dark lips. “You’re persistent, you know that?”

  “My agent and publisher would disagree.”

  “Agent and publisher? Damn, you’re a bigger deal than you led me to believe last night, aren’t you?”

  “A writer never boasts about his career.”

  She rolled her eyes but laughed softly. “Right. Of course he doesn’t. You know what? Thai food sounds great. But it’s your treat, big shot. I don’t have cash to throw around on chow mein and curry.”

  I chuckled. “Deal. Get in.”

  Briar let her purse fall from her shoulder and opened the door. She dropped her bag on the floor in front of her seat and passed her umbrella over the headrest into the backseat. Then she slid inside, closed the door behind her, and put her seatbelt on.

  Her stomach growled.

  She pressed two hands to her belly and offered me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’m starving. A soon as you said Thai, I was done for. I didn’t get around to having breakfast this morning. I just wanted to start handing out resumes.”

  “We’ll take the fastest route to the restaurant then.”

  My favorite Thai restaurant in the city was a little hole in the wall place about six miles outside of Times Square. It was owned by an elderly couple, who’d long since handed management down to their daughter and her husband, who had been running it smoothly for the last decade. Now their children worked there as well. They had two sons and two daughters, and everyone pulled their weight at the restaurant and seemed to love working together. Every time I’d been there, laughter always flowed out of the kitchen and the staff joked with their customers so regularly that the banter had become an expected part of the experience.

  Briar and I took our seats at a table near the window, which was trimmed in Christmas lights year-round, and picked up our laminated menus.

  I already knew I wanted spicy cashew chicken. Briar, however, seemed unsure what she should order. I went over some options with her until she eventually decided on a red curry with bamboo, carrots, mint leaves, peppers, and coconut rice. She ordered hers with tofu and we sipped water while we waited for our food and scrolled through rental listings on our phones.

  Briar wanted something within walking distance of her new job. That added up since she didn’t have a car.

  “I’m not opposed to something a little further away so long as it’s on a public transit route,” she said as she adjusted the filters on her search. “But I don’t want a commute that’s more than twenty minutes, if possible.”

  “People are always looking for roommates in New York,” I told her. “There’s such high turnover here. People get opportunities out of town and need to rent their place out. Or someone couldn’t make it work out here so they’re moving home. There are endless possibilities.”

  “Affordable ones?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Ahh.” I chuckled, tapping the side of my nose. “There’s the rub.”

  Briar didn’t have much money to throw at her rent every month and I doubted the coffee shop would pay much above minimum wage. If she chose a place wisely and was mindful of her spending, she’d just be able to make ends meet.

  I wished I could help her with something a little nicer. Maybe something she wouldn’t have to share with a stranger. All she needed was a one-bedroom apartment nearby. Perhaps something with a nice view and some stable businesses on the ground levels that attracted good business and honest folks. It was easy to end up in the wrong part of town here.

  But I doubted there was a classy way to offer her financial aid. Even if there was a good way to offer it, I knew full well she’d say no. She’d already told me she wanted to make it out here on her own. Handouts weren’t her style.

  “I like the look of this one,” Briar sai
d as she scrolled through the posted pictures of a listing on her phone. “Nine hundred dollars per month. Shared utilities. Two bedrooms. One bathroom, but that’s not the end of the world. And the current resident is a girl my age.” She held her phone out to me. “What do you think?”

  I flipped through the photos of an apartment with plenty of natural light, light gray laminate floors, and bare walls. Whoever lived there either had just moved in or didn’t have the cash flow to spruce the place up and make it lived in. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  “It looks nice,” I said. “Clean, too.”

  “I’m going to email her and ask if I can come see it.”

  I gave Briar back the phone. “Good idea.”

  Our food arrived as Briar finished wrapping up her email. She put her phone away and leaned over her bowl of curry so she could inhale deeply. She closed her eyes as she smelled the dish and smiled. When her eyes opened, their bright green fell on me. “This smells amazing.”

  “It tastes even better.”

  She picked up her cutlery and set to work on her meal. I could tell by the way she shimmied in her chair like she was doing a little happy dance that she liked it.

  While we ate, I asked her dozens of questions about herself. She’d been living in my head like this hollow cut-out of a woman and her name was appearing in my work. I needed to know more about her if I wanted to use her as a muse.

  “So you’re an only child?” I asked.

  Briar nodded and added more curry to her plate of rice. “Yes, my parents only ever wanted one. At least that’s what they claimed when I begged them to make me a little brother or sister when I was little. I didn’t know what I wanted, of course. I just liked the idea of it all. As I got older and hung out with friends who had little siblings, I was secretly grateful that I didn’t have to share my parents’ attention or any of my personal belongings with another kid. Selfish, I know.”

  “Not really,” I said. “I’m an only child too, so I get where you’re coming from.”

  She smiled appreciatively at that. “My parents are the light of my life, if I’m being honest. Being an only child made us a really tight unit and I miss them a lot. I’m happy they’re traveling because they love it so much, but even as a grown ass woman, I still get separation anxiety when I don’t see them enough.”