The Best Gift. Irene Hannon

look how blue the sky is,” A.J. enthused. “And the sun feels so warm for November! I guess you haven’t had a hard freeze yet, because the geraniums and petunias still look great.”

      Blake looked at the sky, then glanced at the flowers in the planters along the street. He wouldn’t have noticed either if A.J. hadn’t pointed them out. And for some reason her comment made him feel as if he should have. Which aggravated him. He didn’t need any guilt trips. What he needed was time to brief his new partner before the shop opened.

      “If you’re ready to come in, we can get started,” he said shortly.

      A.J. turned back to him and tilted her head. “No time to smell the flowers along the way, Mr. Sullivan?”

      “I have work to do.” His voice sounded unnaturally stiff even to his own ears.

      “I think God would appreciate it if we took a moment to admire His handiwork, don’t you?”

      “I’m sure God has better things to think about. If He cares at all.”

      A.J. raised one eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of cynicism in that comment?”

      Blake shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just say I haven’t seen much evidence that God cares.”

      A.J.’s eyes grew sympathetic. “That’s too bad. Because He does.”

      Blake frowned impatiently. “Look, can we just get down to business? Because we’ve only got an hour before the shop opens, and I’d like to show you around before the customers start coming.”

      “Absolutely. I’m ready whenever you are.”

      He stepped aside, and as she swept past he caught a faint, pleasing fragrance. Not floral. Not exotic. Just…fresh. It seemed to linger even after she moved away.

      A.J. took a moment to look over the shop, something she hadn’t done Friday night. As she completed her circuit, her gaze returned to Blake. He was still at the door, and he was staring at her. She couldn’t quite read the expression in his eyes, but it looked as if he’d found something else to disapprove of. Her chin lifted a notch.

      “Anything wrong?” She tried to keep her tone mild, but a note of defiance crept in.

      Blake studied her attire. She wore a white peasant-type blouse in some wrinkly fabric, and a funky bronze cross hung from a chain around her neck. An unusual metal belt cinched her impossibly small waist. Her skirt, made of several progressively longer layers of what appeared to be a patchwork of fabrics, brushed her legs mid-calf. If his attire bordered on preppy, hers could well be described as hippie. Which did not evoke happy memories.

      “Mr. Sullivan, is something wrong?” she repeated more pointedly.

      He frowned. “I haven’t seen clothes like that in a long time.”

      She looked down and smoothed her skirt over her hips. “Probably not. They’re from a vintage clothing store I discovered in Chicago. Pretty cool, huh?”

      Actually, he had another word for her attire. But he settled for a less judgmental term. “Interesting.”

      The look she gave him told him very clearly that she knew exactly what his opinion was. And that, in turn, she had judged him to be stuffy, uptight and conventional. “Very diplomatic. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” Before he could respond, she turned back to the shop. “So, how about that tour?”

      Blake thought about responding to her comment— then thought better of it. He had to work with this woman for the next six months, and it would be to both their advantages if they made an effort to get along.

      “Sure. Let’s start with a walk-through.”

      The shop wasn’t huge, and A.J. only made a few comments as Blake showed her around. There was a small area for children’s books, and sections devoted to books on travel, cooking, fiction, gardening and general non-fiction. There was also a reading nook, with four comfortable chairs, and a coffee and tea maker tucked in a back corner. A small stockroom and tidy office were behind a door marked “private.” Two big picture windows flanked the front door, and each featured displays of the latest releases. The older building was well-maintained, with a high ceiling and hardwood floors, and A.J. felt comfortable in the space immediately. Just as she’d felt comfortable in the tiny apartment she’d found Saturday. It, too, was in an older building, in a neighborhood that had obviously seen better days. But it was safe and in the early stages of renewal, the real estate agent had assured her.

      When the tour was over, Blake waited for her to say something.

      “This is a great space,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It’s sunny and bright and inviting. There’s a nice selection of books. And the layout is…interesting.”

      She’d borrowed the word he’d used earlier to describe her attire, and Blake gave her a suspicious look. “What does that mean?”

      She lifted one shoulder. “We might want to think about rearranging a few things.”

      He frowned. “Our customers seem to like this setup. We do quite well.”

      “Yes, that’s what Seth Mitchell said. Which reminds me, I’d like to spend some time going over the accounts with you.”

      A flicker of amusement crept into his eyes. “That could be a little tedious. It might be better if I meet with your accountant. Or, if you don’t have one, I’m sure Mr. Mitchell can recommend someone. But I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have today.”

      The condescending tone was back, but this time A.J. was ready for him. “That’s kind of you,” she said sweetly. “I do have a few.”

      “Shoot,” he said amiably.

      “Okay. Let’s start with some basics. I’d like to get the details on return on capital, net profit, blue-sky value, inventory turnover rates, payroll expenses and any major debt. I’d also like to get some breakdowns on customer demographics, sales by book category, store traffic patterns and volume, and repeat customers. That’s just to start, of course.”

      The dazed look on Blake’s face was totally satisfying. As was the lengthy time it took for him to recover from her barrage of questions.

      “I’m not sure I have all those answers at my fingertips,” he said slowly. “It might take me a couple of days to pull the data together.”

      “Okay. I jotted down some other questions, too.” She fished in her purse and withdrew two pages of additional typed questions and handed them to him. “You might as well work on these at the same time.”

      He scanned the list quickly, frowning, and when he looked back at her she could read the question in his eyes. She answered it before he could ask.

      “I have an M.B.A. From Wharton. I chose not to pursue a business career for a variety of reasons. But I have the background. And it’s kind of like riding a bicycle. You never forget.”

      Blake felt his neck grow warm. Jo had long ago taught him not to judge a book by its cover. Yet that was exactly what he’d done with A.J. She didn’t look like a businesswoman. At least not his image of one. So he’d assumed she had no business skills. He felt suitably chastised—but he didn’t like being made a fool of. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      She shrugged. “You seemed to have your mind made up about me from our first conversation. So I figured I’d wait and play my hand when the time was right. Which turned out to be today.”

      So A.J. wasn’t some ditzy airhead after all, he conceded. She had business savvy. Quite a bit of it, if the questions she was asking were any indication. But it was only textbook knowledge. She might be able to analyze the balance sheet, but she had no practical experience. And he did. He knew the book business. So she needed him. Which meant he still had some leverage. And some control. That knowledge gave him some comfort. Because ever since Jo’s death and A.J.’s first phone call, he’d been watching