Free The River Burns by Trevor Ferguson Page B

am quite stumped as to what that might entail. How it relates to the sign in the window—I confess to being baffled.”
    Tara smiled. He wasn’t that bad a guy, not really. She’d met worse. “You asked if I have retail experience. Isn’t every business, ultimately, about selling? Commerce revolves around buyers and sellers. Intrigue is one lure. If you are willing to concede that I garnered your interest, then you kinda have to concede that I’ve proven something here.”
    â€œAh, excuse me? Proven what?”
    â€œThat I have enough experience to sell. In this case, I’m selling, in a manner of speaking, don’t take this the wrong way now, myself.”
    Good speech. Major pat on the—
    â€œSo,” the shopkeeper supposed. Tara demonstrated that she was giving him her fullest attention, even as he grew hesitant, still baffled. “So you do want the job.”
    â€œHardly,” Tara let slip.
    He nodded, as though to confirm his own assessment. “I didn’t think a job in retail was part of your—how shall I put this?—persona.”
    Sounding creepier, dude .
    Taking a breath, she pressed on. “A business proposition, sir, that’s what interests me. My name is Tara Cogshill.” She stuck out her hand. “You are?”
    â€œWillis Howard. I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Cogshill.”
    â€œTara,” she corrected him. She wondered if she should not correct him twice, for did he not give his names in reverse order? “I’m pleased to meet you . . . Mr. Howard?” He didn’t contradict her, so his first name must really be Willis. “Despite the fact that your anteroom over here is a disaster.”
    â€œAh.” Willis Howard stepped back, peered over his shoulder. “I do have my secret plans. It’s a question of time and, of course, resources.”
    â€œPrecisely. That’s where I come in. At the moment I have time. In a modest way, resources, too.”
    â€œAh. You want to redesign my store?”
    â€œNot a chance. Not your store.”
    â€œThe anteroom?”
    â€œOwn it, actually.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œThe products inside, at least. I’m proposing a store within your store. Which saves me the headache of setting up a business in a town where I’ve only just arrived. I don’t even know my way around yet. This spares us becoming direct competitors, as well. My start-up costs will be minimal. Maybe I can get off the ground without high risk.”
    â€œAnd,” he said, speaking slowly, smiling as though he found the idiocy of her proposition as amusing as it was irritating, “I’m selling you part of my store because—” He let his voice trail off, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Rather than do that, Tara strolled over to the room in question and gave it another look.
    She faced him.
    â€œDull, useless, wasted space that produces negligible revenue. You can’t put items of value in here because you can’t keep your eye on them. You can’t put big-ticket items in here, such as those grandfather clocks, because if you spent time in this room with a customer your clientele on the other side might rob you blind. You cannot afford—it’s illogical—to hire someone merely to keep an eye on this tiny room. So you’ve made it a junk room that just doesn’t pay. No, the only solution that makes sense is to allow me to take over the space, run my own business, one that’s complementary to yours, and pay a percentage of sales in lieu of rent. A win-win-win proposition.”
    Her proposal flew out with such alacrity, the bows tied and the buttons done up, that Willis Howard was unable to mount a quick defence. He realized that that was exactly what he was attempting to do—defend himself, and his shop, against her onslaught.
    â€œI’m—sorry. I don’t think so, Miss,