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“I’m looking for the business section,” the woman said.
“Anything in particular?”
“Contract law.”
“Third row to the left,” Min said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I most certainly will.” The woman gave her a charming smile before making her way briskly down the rows of books.
That coat is like a peacock, Min thought as she went back to sorting books. She was soon engrossed. The box was from a centaur’s house clearance. She noted down the titles on a pad of paper: Before the Great War, A History of Forest Dwellers, and Hoof Power: Run Better, Run Faster. She guessed that one was for the likes of minotaurs, centaurs, and fauns.
The bell tinkled again. Another customer. Two on a Monday morning was a rare occurrence. Min got to her feet, smiling and pushing her glasses up her nose.
Her heart sank.
It wasn’t a customer at all.
It was Quentin Jordak.
His appearance usually spelled a rent rise, which meant parting with money she didn’t have. “Hello, Quentin,” she said stiffly.
His pale gray eyes skimmed down her body, pausing a fraction too long on the swell of her breasts. Min pulled her cardigan tightly around herself.
“Hello Minerva.” He always addressed her by her full name. Even though he was probably only a couple of years older than her, Quentin was one of those guys who seemed old before his time. Tween high-breed humans were like that. A little bit stuffy, and somewhat boring. And even though Min ostensibly came from a high-breed family herself, her upbringing had been anything but.
She really had nothing in common with high breeds.
She took a deep breath and planted her hands on the desk. “What can I do for you, Quentin?”
Quentin adjusted his blue silk tie with slender white fingers. “I need to discuss some changes regarding your lease.”
Min stifled a sigh. “Let me guess. Another rent hike?”
“Not exactly,” Quentin said. “Your lease is getting close to its renewal date.”
Min tried not to look surprised. “I thought there was another year before that was due.”
“There was. But the terms have changed.” Quentin brought out a paper from his official-looking briefcase and handed it across the counter. As she took it, his fingers slid over hers, and lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Quickly, Min withdrew her hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed Quentin had less than professional intentions toward her. The lingering looks he cast over her body, the way he would lick his lips as his eyes strayed to her breasts—it made her uncomfortable.
She usually wore jeans and baggy t-shirts. Unfortunately, today’s tee had shrunk in the wash and her breasts tugged at the tight material. If she’d known he was going to turn up she would have found something baggier to wear.
Like a sack.
Focus, Min.
She stared down at the piece of paper in her hands. There was a lot of legal jargon she had no hope of understanding, but the address on the top of the document was unmistakably the right one: the Westerly Bookshop, Lot 305 Motham Perimeter Road. Below that were the words “Lease Termination.”
Min’s eyes widened. “Perhaps you could explain this to me in more detail.”
Quentin smirked. “Of course. Shall we go into your office?”
Min’s chest tightened. Sure, she needed to understand this, but no way did she want to be alone with Quentin. “There’s a customer in the shop at present. Let’s sit in the nook.”
Quentin nodded. When she circled the desk, his eyes did a once-over of her body. Her jeans weren’t even tight fitting, but that look made her feel like she was parading around in her underwear.
Min stifled a little shudder as she led the way.
