by Dylan Newton
“Look, I’m so sorry. I should’ve warned you they’d be probably camped outside for me. My fans know I attend this conference every year, and—”
“Drake, stop!” Kate’s voice was soft but emphatic. “You don’t need to apologize. You were amazing out there, and it’s humbling that people love you so much, they’ll wait outside in forty-degree weather on the off-chance they’ll see you. It’s just as much part of your job to validate your readers as it is for you to write your books.”
Drake shook his head in confusion.
“Then why are you angry?”
“You think I’m angry?” A strangled sound came from Kate’s mouth, and she blinked furiously, glaring at the elevator ceiling. “I saw what you did for that poor woman. You heard her story, hugged her, and then you hid a hundred under that single and gave it to her!”
Drake fumbled for words. “I thought she could use it. I mean, her shoelaces were barely holding up her sneakers, and it’s not like I can’t afford—”
“Stop!” This time, Kate looked at him, swatting his chest with her hand. A tear raced down her face, followed by another one. “Stop t-t-talking right now.”
Drake’s breath stalled in his throat, horrified he’d made her cry.
She sniffed, glaring and blinking up at the ceiling again. “What you did out there was kind. And honorable. You gifted her with your words, your thoughts, and your riches, all in one gesture.”
“B-but,” Drake stammered, intercepting her hand as it smacked at his chest again, “then why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset. I’m overwhelmed. And I’m trying really, really hard not to cry.” Kate swiped at her eyes, looking at him as the bell dinged, announcing they’d arrived at the penthouse floor. “Because now my skin is going to be all blotchy for your fancy conference dinner tonight.”
Drake put his hand to the small of her back, allowing her to precede him out of the elevator and down the hallway toward the only two doors on the floor. He worked to untangle her words and actions.
“So, you’re not angry I made you wait?”
Kate gave a teary laugh. “No.”
“And…we’re still on for dinner tonight? Even though it’s likely to be awkward and miserable with Rachel and Everstone there?”
Kate handed him a set of keys and pulled out another paper pouch with her own set. Setting a card against the door sensor on the left of the hallway, she waited until the reader blipped, opening her door before responding.
“Here’s what I think.” She wiped the last tear from her face and jutted her chin forward, eyes sparkling. “You’re going to knock at my door at seven, and we’re going downstairs together, and neither Rachel nor Evan will ruin our dinner.”
Then, before Drake could process that answer, Kate’s lips were on him, her kiss deep and wet and so fierce with emotion, he could only blink, speechless, when she finally pulled away. She brought her finger up to Drake’s mouth, carefully rubbing something off before cupping his face, drawing him down until he could see every fleck of hazel in her green eyes.
“Sometimes karma just needs a swift kick in the ass, and trust me,” she said in a low voice, her mouth curving in a sexy smile that made him instantly hard, “I have the perfect set of size-seven stilettos for the job.”
Chapter 17
At seven o’clock, a knock sounded on Kate’s door.
“Are you ready?” Drake asked, his voice muffled by the door. “Everyone expects us to be fashionably late, so if you need more time—”
“I’m almost ready.” Kate hauled open the door, and there stood Drake, dressed in a black suit, a crisp white shirt, undone at the top, and holding two black ties in his hands.
He looked gorgeous.
As he paused in her doorway, Kate was glad she’d thought to pack more than her typical suits. After tearing up in the elevator, then practically mauling him in the hallway, she’d taken time with her updo and makeup to ensure she’d live up to the promise she’d made him—to do her best to kick karma in the ass, and help him stand tall and enjoy this evening in spite of Rachel and Evan. She’d brought with her a light gray, washed-silk slip dress that was her go-to for when she wasn’t sure of the level of formal wear required at an event—it could easily straddle uptown chic and laid-back classy, depending on her hair and accessories.
“C’mon in,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.
“I, uh, didn’t want to clash with you. So I brought two ties.” Drake gave a lopsided grin, holding up the ties for her perusal.
Both were black and would clash with exactly…nothing.
“Hmm. Tough choice. There’s this one, which has black stripes on black, or this one, with black paisleys on a black background,” she said, starting out sarcastically, but then realized he might actually be serious when his eyebrows drew together and he peered at each option, then her dress, as if the two were a challenging sudoku puzzle.
“Your dress is gray, so which one would you think?”
Kate bit the inside of her cheeks, warding off a smile. She took a tie in each hand as if debating. Finally, she stood on tiptoes, slipping the paisley one around his neck. She leaned in close enough to smell that amazing cologne he wore and, under it, the warm scent that was uniquely Drake, then lowered herself back down, smiling.
“This black paisley on black is perfect with my dress. You’re so thoughtful to check.”
Drake smiled as he flipped his collar up and knotted the tie with quick, practiced movements.
“You look outstanding. And your toenails match your dress.” Drake nodded at her bare feet as he adjusted the length of his tie. “But I’m thinking some sort of footwear might be required. You know—so that you’re armed for any battle, and all.”
“Okay, now it’s your turn to choose.” Kate dumped out the two pairs of heels she’d brought, slipping one foot into the nude heel and the other into the black stiletto with the silver tip—the same one she’d accidentally stabbed him with a few weeks ago. She turned first to one side, then the other, and then she caught Drake’s frozen expression.
He looked a little…stricken.
She kicked off the black one, laughing.
“I’m just messing with you.” She slipped on the neutral shoes. “You only just got those stitches out of your arm last week from these bad boys. I brought them as a joke.”
“No,” Drake said thickly. “Wear the black ones with those deadly silver tips. Definitely.”
“Really?” Kate looked at him in surprise.
“Please.” The intensity of Drake’s gaze ignited something deep in her belly.
“Okay.” Her cheeks warmed, but she acted natural, slipping out of the nude heels and into the black stilettos.
Kate grabbed her clutch, then took Drake’s arm. As they waited for the elevator, she smoothed her hair, giving herself a once-over in the mirrored doors. Instead of making her look washed out, the gray slip dress made her pale skin glow, and the black stilettos gave the whole ensemble a more edgy vibe. Luckily, she’d halted her almost-cry before it had done serious damage to her complexion, and there wasn’t a bloodshot vein to be seen in her eyes. And Drake—he was like a formal-wear model. One she hoped to have all to herself tonight.
Kate smiled at the picture they made together in the mirror.
“Don’t worry,” she said as they got out of the elevator. They walked past the first ballroom, which was hosting a large wedding reception, and paused before the doors to the second ballroom with the label WNY Writers’ Guild Conference affixed to the sign by the entrance. “I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”
They pushed open the ballroom doors. Drake stiffened, coming to a halt.
“Damn. Imani was right. Everstone’s not alone.”
Kate scanned the crowd, following her client’s gaze…and then she recognized the bored woman from the online fan video. Drake’s ex-girlfriend, Rachel. She wore a purple sequined dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, and was mor
e posed next to Evan Everstone than with the man as he carried on a conversation with the huddle of people around them, oblivious to the gorgeous woman at his side.
In other circumstances, she might have felt bad for Rachel, who was so obviously being treated as just another pretty decoration. But these weren’t other circumstances. Kate reminded herself that directly in front of her was the woman who had, single-handedly, given Drake a complex about his writing and his love life.
“She’s…a lot,” Kate murmured, and Drake laughed.
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re here. She’s a lot…less, now.”
Rachel spotted them entering the ballroom, and Kate noticed her spine straighten as she noticed Drake wasn’t alone.
“Excuse me, Mr. Matthews?” A man in a gray pinstriped suit approached, reaching to shake Drake’s hand. “I’m Preston Ball, the new president of the Guild.”
“Great to meet you. I’d heard you were voted in this year,” Drake said, then gestured to Kate. “I’d like you to meet Kate Sweet, owner of Sweet Events, who is managing the launch party for Halloween Hacker this weekend. I wanted her to meet the group so instrumental in jump-starting my writing career and allow her to mingle with writers, readers, and fans of the genre in case there are any last-minute book launch ideas from it all.”
“Excellent,” Preston said, shaking Kate’s hand. “So glad you both made it. I spoke on the phone with your publicist, and she’s asked me to seat you two at a table toward the back, and not at our VIP table. Is that—I mean, are you aware of those arrangements?”
Drake’s polite smile never faltered. “Imani knows I prefer to sit in the back when possible. More unobtrusive that way when I have to leave. Deadlines, you know.”
“I’m sure you keep a grueling writing schedule.” Preston bobbed his head and adjusted his red tie, tugging it away from his neck. “We’re so thrilled to have you again this year at our Western New York Writers’ Guild. I’ll be introducing you personally as our keynote speaker. But, uh, we had a last-minute guest who requested the VIP table. We’re thrilled, of course, to host the man who is, I understand, producing the adaptation of your new book?”
“Evan Everstone,” Drake supplied, an expression of distaste ghosting across his features. “We’ve met.”
“He’ll be seated at the VIP table, and he’s agreed to speak after your keynote speech as they begin to serve dinner.” The man adjusted his tie again, fidgeting with the ends. “Are you certain you don’t want to sit with us this year, as you have in years past? I mean, it’s exciting to meet Mr. Everstone, but our people were so looking forward to sitting with you.”
Drake paused, clearly unable to come up with a response that wouldn’t offend the group’s president, yet not give up his seat away from the VIP table, Everstone, and his ex.
Kate cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault.” She pasted on a pained expression. “We’ll be leaving early tonight to resolve some last-minute issues with the launch preparations. But there may be a good compromise—how about we meet each of the VIPs before the dinner begins? Drake can take pictures, have time to chat with them, and then he’ll speak and we’ll slip out before anyone is the wiser. Will that work?”
Preston Ball beamed. “Absolutely. What a wonderful idea! I’ll take you to them myself.”
The writers’ guild president led them around the ballroom, and Kate estimated Drake shook hands, took selfies, and signed books, napkins, and even a full-size poster of himself, for more than two dozen various important personages for the WNYWG. He was always gracious, humble, and cognizant of his role, never passing on an opportunity to deflect praise toward the writers’ guild, his agent, his editor, his publicist, or his readers.
Kate found her way to the table that had a card with Reserved written in marker with a fast, shaky hand, and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle they’d placed on the table in a chiller at the hastily arranged second VIP table. Other people helped themselves to chairs at the table, ignoring the Reserved sign, and soon all but a couple of places were taken by people she didn’t know. She set her clutch on an empty chair for Drake, enjoying this opportunity to relax. She smiled and made small talk with strangers until the room became silent with a tapping on the microphone.
Preston stood at the podium onstage and greeted the crowd, thanked the organizers and sponsors, and finally introduced Drake, giving what Kate was coming to understand was the standard introduction—likely written by Imani for such occasions. It provided a synopsis of Drake’s writing career, from his first short story sale to his upcoming Halloween release. But before he turned the microphone over to Drake, Preston added his own flair to the last of the author’s bio.
“If you’ve had a chance to know Drake Matthews, as we have here in WNYWG, you’ll know he lives his life by this simple saying: It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.” Preston bobbed his head at the smattering of applause, and then finished off the introduction. “Without further ado, please give a warm welcome to our very own Western New York Writers’ Guild bestselling author, Drake Matthews!”
The room erupted in applause as Drake shook Preston’s hand and took the floor. Kate smiled to herself as Drake gave the same wholehearted speech, with slight variations, that he’d given at his mother’s charity event, interspersing personal anecdotes about the group’s members here and there, to give it an unmistakable feeling of authenticity. The man may say his gift was with the written word, but Kate had seen far too many botched toasts and speeches to know a good public speaker when she saw one.
Kate lifted her wine, noticing she’d drained her glass. Normally, when she was working, she’d limit herself to one glass of wine, just to be social. However, since her work was basically done, she wanted to celebrate. It had been an amazing day—with the helicopter trip, followed by the limo ride and being with Drake on what wasn’t technically a date, but what felt like a fantastic date. All of that made her decide that two drinks were allowable.
She’d just poured her second when Drake wrapped up his speech. Kate set down her glass and stood to clap with the rest. Drake ducked his head, waving and grinning as he was whisked offstage.
Preston returned to introduce his next special guest, Evan Everstone, who came up and began to speak—much less eloquently—about horror on the big screen. It was about five minutes into his talk when someone snatched Kate’s clutch off the seat and tossed it onto the table, knocking over Kate’s wine in the process.
“Whoa, that’s my purse!” Kate snatched her clutch, using her napkin to soak up the wine, wiping off the droplets that had splashed her clutch before glaring at the individual who’d plopped down in the now-empty chair.
It was Rachel Lackey.
Drake’s ex.
Kate waited, assuming the woman was going to apologize, but Rachel only flipped her brown, wavy hair over her shoulder. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together as she speared Kate with an icy glare.
“Who in the hell are you?”
Kate gaped at her rudeness, but she’d been raised not to make a scene and she sure wasn’t about to do anything to ruin Drake’s time in the spotlight. So she extended her hand in greeting.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Kate Sweet.” Kate put her professional smile on as Rachel gave her a limp, sweaty-palmed shake. “I’m Drake Matthews’s event planner—”
“Among other things,” said a voice at her back, and Kate recognized Drake’s low voice before she turned to him.
Drake smiled, his eyes apologizing for Rachel being there even as his mouth continued to speak like he wasn’t at all bothered. “She’s also a passable field surgeon, a whiz with a paring knife, an organizer of impromptu book signings…and so much more it’s impossible to list.”
Kate gave a weak smile, hoping to convey she’d had nothing to do with initiating this conversation. “I’m sorry. I tried to save you a seat.”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind.
” Rachel waved her hand, dismissing Drake without even looking in his direction. “I’m Rachel Lackey, soon to be Mrs. Everstone, and I’m always glad to meet Drake’s assistants. I mean, how could we writers function without people like you to do all the dirty work, allowing us to focus on our craft? Isn’t that right, Drake?”
Only then did Rachel bother to look up at Drake, her blindingly white smile tight with what Kate interpreted as a challenge.
As if. Rachel had no idea whose date she’d just decided to troll.
Kate gathered her clutch and placed a warning hand on Drake’s arm.
She’d handle this.
“You are so right, Ms. Lackey,” Kate said. “In fact, my assignment tonight is to make sure Drake doesn’t get caught up in awkward, meaningless conversations. I’m sure you understand. If you’ll excuse us? Drake has a very tight schedule, and we have some important details to cover before his big book launch this weekend.”
“I heard about that,” Rachel said, swirling the swizzle stick around her fruity drink with a crafty expression. “Rumor has it, the party might even get a look from the EVPLEX committee. I mean, with the movie adaptation being announced at the same time, it’s more important now than just another freak-show book release.”
Kate rocketed up from her seat, the abrupt motion causing nearby attendees to glance her way before refocusing on Everstone’s speech at the podium. She’d just opened her mouth to retort, intent on giving Rachel a piece of her mind, when Drake’s voice sounded low in her ear.
“She’s right. Let’s stick around for dinner. I can handle my ex, and it’ll give you the chance to chat up Everstone with your final plans for this weekend’s launch. That was our plan, remember? You deserve that award.”
Just then, as if on cue, Everstone finished his speech. The attendees clapped dutifully, the noise a fantastic cover as Kate looked down at Rachel, smiling genially as she left her with one parting thought.
“I’m so happy your book brought you together with Evan. You two are obviously made for each other, and it left Drake gloriously single. A fact I plan to take full advantage of tonight.” Kate winked at Drake’s startled expression, knowing he’d overheard. “You enjoy your night. I know I will.”
