Book Selfish Novels & Stories

Sophia asked. “Because she self-published a memoir five years ago,” Margaret said. “Thirty copies, sold mostly to friends. I found it in a charity shop.” She pulled a small, plain paperback from her bag and set it on the table. “She called it The Feeling I Can’t Explain. I’ve read it four times.” The hallway went quiet in the way it always did when something arrived that deserved the silence. Cloe looked at the paperback, at its plain cover, at the particular humbleness of something that had been made without expectation of being found, the way all the most important things in this story had been made.

His chest tightened suddenly, and his hands were shaking badly now, worse than before, that it took him three tries to get the briefcase open, the latches clicking loudly in the silence. Click. His fingers slipped. “Fuck.” He swallowed hard and tried again. Click. The second latch opened, and Noah inhaled sharply, then slowly lifted the lid, and froze, because what was staring at him from the inside of the briefcase was not two million dollars' worth of drugs, not even money or a gun, but a single textbook: Ross Business Ethics. There was nothing else in there, just a fucking textbook.

The bell above the bookstore door jingles, and I decide—right then and there—that it’s too cheerful for the kind of day I’m having. I flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED knowing that the customers will ignore it and come in anyway. Luca doesn’t look up from the ledger. “Professional,” he says mildly. “I contain multitudes,” I reply, leaning over the counter. “Mostly sarcasm and unresolved trauma.” “Shocking.” The bookstore smells like paper and espresso and calm. Which is a cruel joke, really, because calm is not something I’m currently familiar with. Calm is something other people get. People whose girlfriends don’t have homicidal fathers currently enjoying the perks of being at large.

Julian Blackwood didn't believe in *kindness*. He believed in **results**. In **control**. In **winning**. And yet as he stood in the midst of *Chapter & Soul* bookstore, with Lena Carter's soft voice still lingering at the edges of his mind like morning mist, something strange tangled deep in his chest. "*Maybe you should start,"* she had breathed. An effortless sentence. Soft, nearly shy. But it had hit harder than any boardroom betrayal or market crash he'd ever faced.

I blushed, shook my head, and cleared my throat. “I mean, I’ve been planning to give you since you solved the assignment. The book is very important, it costs the owner’s life.” “What?” he asked in surprise. He’s too young to know the story of the book. The book isn’t popular because it’s the author’s first book. He was a psychologist and also labelled a psychopath. What he wrote in the book was facts about human nature, how to read people and how to make them respect you at all costs as their boss.

I ask and Everett shrugs. "Fuck if I know." He says, grabbing something else from his bag. "Can you believe these bookmarks they gave us?" He asks, showing me the pink tasseled piece of cardboard with the words 'Smut Slut' written in gold leafing displayed proudly on both sides. "If we're gonna do it, we might as well go all in." I say, looking at my own bookmark that says 'Emotionally attached to a morally grey character' in loopy font. At least mine's black.

so here we saw a change. They talked... they hide their feelings... but there is some progress.. isn't it? Share your thoughts, and do add my new book SAMSON- MAFIA AND HIS THERAPIST... 17 chapter are free.. to read... I promise you will see the pain in their love story too... he is insomniac and she came as his therapist...

ALEXA'S POV I turned to the employee and blushed as I was taking up the small path to the next shelves. "Sorry," I mumbled as I put the book back in its shelf and went to the clothes rack to buy a few items. I took a few tops and bottom, then made my way to the counter to see the same employee. "The book you held a while ago was from an old orphanage home, alot of people take that book with them but only to come back weeks later to tell me they don't want it," I chuckled along with the man and took my stuff to leave.

My mother replied. I had never really been into big parties. Everytime my mom threw one, I always managed to sink into the background and read my books. I kept to myself. I didn't have any friends and had never even had a boyfriend. I really kept myself from ever having anything to tie me down. I was leaving tomorrow and not looking back until I had finished seeing everything. "Now don't you look absolutely beautiful." My mother whispered She had spent the last week taking me store to store to find the perfect dress.

In the end, the inquisitive one won but first, I listened for footsteps and when I could make out none, I got off the bed and went for the book, flicking its first page open. The only person who could give me a book was Zena but it was also weird, what kind of book it was. It wasn’t the usual one we both read and enjoyed. It was some sort of self-help book and its title was even more weird. “Kicking trauma’s butt with style!”