In love with a billionaire

005

Smith 's Books seemed to shrink under the weight of the storm, its worn wooden walls vibrating with every rumble of thunder. The oil lamp on the counter sputtered, casting flickering shadows that danced across the book-laden shelves and the faces of the three occupants. Sebastian Hooper , still soaking wet despite his efforts with the threadbare cloth, leaned against a shelf near the counter, his arms crossed in a pose that mixed defiance with nonchalance. His once impeccable charcoal suit hung on him like wet skin, and his normally neatly styled brown hair clung to his forehead in untidy strands. Adeline Smith, sitting on her stool behind the counter, was leafing through Jane Eyre without really reading, her fingers clenched on the pages as if to grasp some anchor in this chaotic evening. Harold Grayson , by the door, had just returned from a brief attempt to check on the Rolls-Royce, his coat dripping again onto the threadbare carpet.

Sebastian asked , turning his head toward Harold with ill-disguised impatience. "Is the car ready to take us out of this hole, or should I start writing my memoirs here?" He accompanied his question with a dramatic gesture toward the room, as if the bookstore were a prison from which he was trying to escape.

Harold shook his head, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Not a chance, sir. The storm turned the street into a river, and the engine's still as dead as a fish out of water. We'll just have to wait." He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms with a resigned sigh. "But I'll let you stay dry a little longer. It's not so bad here, with Miss Smith to keep us company." He winked at Adeline, who looked up from her book just enough to give him a half-amused , half-exasperated look .

"Keeping company?" she repeated, her clear voice cutting through the humid air. "I'm not a hostess, Mr. Grayson . If you want entertainment, take a book." She tapped Jane Eyre with her fingertips, a gesture that seemed both a challenge and an invitation.

Sebastian sneered, straightening his shoulders as if to regain control of the situation. "A book? I prefer conversations, Miss Smith. They're more… unpredictable." He approached the counter, placing a hand on the scuffed wood, his fingers leaving a fresh damp mark that she pointedly ignored. "Besides, you didn't answer my question. What do you like so much about this novel? The love, the tragedy, or just the pleasure of identifying with a headstrong heroine?"

Adeline slammed the book shut, the sound a warning. "Do you really want to know?" she asked, her green eyes staring at him with an intensity that unnerved him. "It's the story of a woman who doesn't let herself be defined by men like you—rich, arrogant, and entitled." She stood up, stepping around the counter to stand in front of him, arms crossed. "Does that surprise you, perhaps?"

Harold hissed softly through his teeth, a crooked smile lighting up his weathered face. "Oh, she's got you nailed, Mr. Hooper ! She's got a point, eh? You do get a bit like that sometimes." He gestured vaguely toward Sebastian , as if to mime a man swollen with his own importance, and burst into a raucous laugh.

Sebastian glared at him, but an involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Thank you, Harold, your support is always so invaluable," he muttered, before turning his attention back to Adeline. "You're being harsh, Miss Smith. I'm not sure I deserve such a caricature." He lowered his voice, adopting a softer, almost teasing tone. "And I don't think I'm entitled to everything. Let's just say... I like getting what I want, when I want it."

She raised an eyebrow, a defiant glint in her eyes. "And what do you want right now? Besides dirtying my floor and criticizing my lamp?" She nodded at the rag he'd left on the counter, an implicit reminder of his mess.

Harold intervened before Sebastian could reply, approaching with a mischievous look. "Oh, I bet he wants some hot tea and a comfy chair, but he's too proud to say so! Isn't that right, sir?" He grabbed the cloth and pretended to wipe down a shelf, imitating a zealous servant. "No shame in that, eh. I'd like a hot toddy, if I could."

Adeline smiled, her first real one since their arrival, though fleeting. "No tea, no grog," she replied, her tone lighter. "But if you want to wipe down the shelves, I won't stop you." She returned to her seat, picking up her book again, but her eyes remained fixed on Sebastian , waiting for his reply.

He leaned further against the counter, crossing his arms with newfound confidence. "What I want? To survive this storm without completely losing my dignity, for starters." He glanced outside, where the rain hammered against the windows with renewed vigor, then back to her. "But I must say, your company makes the ordeal... less unbearable." He accompanied his words with a charming smile, hoping to break through her shell.

Adeline stared at him for a moment, her lips pursed as if to suppress a scathing retort. But before she could speak, a deafening crack of thunder shook the bookstore, making Harold jump and the lamp flicker. "Good heavens!" the driver swore, grabbing onto a shelf that creaked under his weight. "It feels like the end of the world out there!"

Sebastian , taking advantage of the distraction, dropped a spontaneous remark, almost without thinking: "If God wanted to drown us, he could at least have waited until I was in a pub with a pint in my hand." He accompanied his words with a shrug, a mixture of irony and resignation that escaped him in the moment.

A silence followed, punctuated by the patter of rain. Then, unexpectedly, Adeline burst out laughing—a clear, melodious sound that cut through the tension like a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds. She raised a hand to her mouth, surprised by her own reaction, and her shoulders shook slightly with the effort of composure. “A pub?” she repeated, her eyes sparkling with amusement she couldn’t hide. “You, in an East End pub? I’d like to see that, Mr. Hooper .”

Harold, delighted, stamped his foot on the floor, his throaty laughter mingling with hers. "Oh, that's the best! You in a pub, sir, with a pint and guys singing bawdy songs! I'd pay good money to see that!" He approached, miming an imaginary toast with an invisible tankard. "Cheers, boss!"

Sebastian , unsettled by Adeline's laughter, felt an unexpected warmth rise within him. He watched her, captivated by the transformation of her face—the usual severity softened by this spontaneous outburst, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyes shining in the flickering light. For the first time since he'd walked through the door, he truly noticed her beauty, understated yet striking, like a painting uncovered beneath a layer of dust. "You're laughing," he said, his voice softer, almost in wonder. "I didn't think it was possible."

Adeline pulled herself together, crossing her arms with feigned severity, though her lips still trembled with a suppressed smile. "Don't get used to it," she replied, picking up her book again as if to hide behind it. "It was just… unexpected. You usually look so serious."

"Usually?" he repeated, taking a step closer, intrigued. "You've known me for what, an hour? And you already think you know who I am?" He accompanied his question with a wry smile, trying to prolong this moment of levity.

She shrugged, a gesture that seemed more playful than defensive this time. "An hour is enough to see that you're a man who likes to give orders and complain when they aren't followed. But I have to admit, the pub remark... not bad." She glanced at him sideways, a teasing glint in her eye.

Harold, sensing an opening, joined the conversation. "Not bad? That's quite an achievement, coming from him! Usually, he only talks about factories and money. Now he's becoming almost human!" He approached the counter, resting his elbows on the wood with a knowing look. "I must say, Miss Smith, you have a way of shaking him up. I like it."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress a short laugh. "You two are insufferable," he said, shaking his head. "But if I can make Miss Smith laugh, I suppose this evening isn't completely wasted." He met her gaze, and for a moment, a new tension hung between them—not hostility, but something softer, more uncertain.

Adeline looked away first, returning to Jane Eyre with feigned concentration. "Don't get any ideas," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. Outside, the storm still roared, but in the bookstore, a spark had just appeared, fragile and unpredictable, like a flame in the wind.