by Fiona Archer
“That’s so cool, Nadia.” London smiled as she used her trademark purple fountain pen to personalize a message on the inside page of the book. “There.” She finished with her signature. “All yours. How about a bookmark, too?” She reached to the pile of shiny printed matter splayed out in the shape of a fan in front of her.
Nadia nodded, sending the curls of her pretty blonde hair bobbing. “I’d love one.” She held up her phone and bit her lip, as if deciding whether to say more.
London could guess what was on her mind. Thank God Jinx had done her hair and makeup earlier this afternoon. London normally cringed at having her picture taken, but even she had to admit Jinx’s skill with creating a “look” had made her feel all sorts of special this evening. And considering the news crew was here tonight filming her signing as part of their series on local authors, she was damn grateful.
“Would you like a photo?” she offered.
Nadia’s face broke into a smile. “You don’t mind? I wasn’t sure if I could.”
“Of course you can.” London rushed to reassure her. She stood and held her arm out, inviting Nadia to stand beside her. London was a hugger. Always had been. So putting shy readers at ease was no chore. “Cleo, can you take a photo of Nadia and me?”
“You bet.” Cleo snagged the reader’s phone and took a quick series of pictures.
Now with phone in hand, Nadia wore a huge grin. “Thank you so much,” she said before she and her friend walked off, each admiring their signed copy.
“Here, you must be parched.” Cleo placed a glass of white wine on the white cloth covered table. “I’m moving you on from iced water.” The bookstore manager looked stunning in an emerald halter dress that finished a few inches above her knees and showed off her long legs to perfection. “You’re doing an amazing job, babe. The reporter told me they’ve shot some great film. Anything you need?” Before London could reply, she pursed her ruby coated lips. “Hmm, more copies. And maybe a few more bookmarks.” She bent over some opened boxes behind London, grabbed handfuls of paperbacks and restocked the table.
London smiled at the line of readers in front of her. At least twenty stood patiently waiting for their turn. Aged mostly around late teens to their thirties, she was pleased to see a few women who must have been into their fifties. The higher spread of demographics, the more chance she’d have of her readers following her into another genre like mystery and suspense.
A quick glance at the clock told her an hour had passed. Wow, the time had rushed by. And still the room was packed.
Jinx and Harper stood near the front window display showcasing all of London’s books, sipping wine and chatting with a couple of readers. Her mom and dad tasted the array of finger food on a long side table. Near them, she caught sight of Aidan, his six foot three frame standing out above the crowd in the room.
Another towering man should have been here. Well, two of them. Heath and Derek. Aidan had warned her the guys had caught a suspect in their double murder case. Her brother had looked at her searchingly as he’d advised her both men would try to make her signing, but no guarantees.
London took a sip of her wine as she sat back down and thought more about Aidan’s behavior. Call it her fertile author’s imagination, but when she couldn’t hide her disappointment at Heath’s possible no-show tonight, she was sure Aidan wanted to ask her more questions about how well she knew him.
Sure, she was happy for Heath that a suspect in his case had been found. But well, tonight’s signing and filming was a big deal for her, and yes, she wanted the chance to show Heath a glimpse of her life as an author.
She sighed as she looked down at the table and picked up her pen, ready to start again.
“London,” a cold, toneless voice said above her. “So lovely to see you.”
She looked up into the cool stare of Angelique Dupree, successful author of mysteries and the person who’d written the scathing critique of London’s secret project. The woman’s dark hair was combed out in a gravity defying fullness only achieved with ozone-depleting levels of hairspray. Her make-up was heavy but precise, as if the glossy blood-red stain on her lips had been tattooed on. An image of Alexis Carrington from the ’80s TV show Dynasty, minus shoulder pads, came to mind.
“Angelique.” London smiled, enjoying the flicker of annoyance in the woman’s artic blue gaze at London’s refusal to be intimidated. Damned if she would cower at her own book signing. “How nice of you to come to my event.”
“Your teenage romances are sweet. And huge sellers.” The last sentence was said with an air of disbelief that grated on London’s patience. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here. I wanted to see this film crew in action. I’m in talks with their producer.” Angelique waved her hand in the vague direction of the TV crew off to the side. “They want to do a more in-depth profile of an author with a proven track record. The producer chose me. Apparently she adores reading mysteries and suspense.”
What I want to write. Have written. The very piece of work Angelique had so contemptuously dismissed.
Keep it classy.
“That’s wonderful. I hope you can make your plans happen.”
“Hope doesn’t enter into it, London. Either you have the talent to make wishing into a reality or you stick to what you’re best at.”
London blinked at the verbal power-punch. Was Angelique’s remark tough love since Angelique had read her work?
She studied the woman standing before her. Those cold blue eyes, sharp and hard, so very hard. Aren’t eyes the window to someone’s soul?
A hard soul can also be a jealous one. A sudden realization washed through London. Her pulse quickened. Maybe Angelique’s reasons for dismissing London’s first three chapters had nothing to do with the quality of the writing, but resentment. Had London allowed her fears of taking the huge gamble of switching genres grow to the point she completely doubted her abilities as a writer?
Or was she deluding herself with second-guessing the opinions of a bestselling author simply because the woman was a bitch?
“Anyway, I must hand you back to your fans. Enjoy your evening.” Angelique looked over at the film crew’s producer and smiled with the glee of a lion sighting a gazelle. “Courtney!” She called out and headed off in direction of the crew.
London dragged in a cleansing breath and smiled at the reader standing patiently a few steps away. “Hi there.”
The next fifteen minutes whittled her line to ten readers. London guessed she had so far signed maybe a hundred copies of Rory’s Girl, plus extra books from the series readers had brought along.
As another satisfied reader moved on, she sipped her wine, finishing off the glass.
A man wearing a rumpled brown shirt and creased dark pants pushed his way in front of the next reader. London barely recognized Henry. His dark hair stood out in places as if it had been raked with a hand, and dark stubble covered his chin. He quickly looked around as if logging his surroundings.
London frowned as recognition sank in. “Henry?” Hadn’t he declined to attend the signing when she invited him?
Ignoring the glare of the reader behind him, the renowned thriller writer leaned over the table toward London. “I have to speak to you.”
“Okay, but”—she smiled in apology at the reader waiting and gestured toward the lady for Henry’s benefit—“people are lined up, and I need to see them first.”
“No, it has to be now.” Henry’s voice rose. He pulled off his glasses, rubbed his bloodshot eyes with his hand and then shoved the thick black frames back on his face. “I can’t wait.”
The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Concern had her rising from her seat. She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Look, Henry, whatever is up, just give me twenty minutes. I promise I’ll be free soon.”
Henry scanned the room, his gaze locking on the store’s doorway before his body stiffened under her touch. He jerked his head back to face London. “Don’t leave.” With no fu
rther explanation, he skittered past her toward the back of the store.
London stared as he dived behind a tall row of bookshelves and disappeared from sight. She turned back and gazed toward store’s entry. The spot was empty save for two readers she’d met earlier and signed their books.
How odd.
The poor woman who’d been waiting her turn to meet London wore a bewildered expression.
“Hey there. We like to keep things lively.” London joked as she sat and set about working through the line, answering reader questions and smiling through a volley of reader-author selfies. Close to the twenty minutes she’d guessed earlier, London handed a signed copy of Rory’s Girl to the last reader and smiled as Cleo announced the signing was officially over and readers were welcome to browse the store for another half hour.
Dropping her purple fountain pen onto the table, London looked up.
And spotted a man entering the store.
Not any man.
Heath.
Excitement shot through her body as her gaze drank in his tall form. His dark pants and matching open necked shirt added to the air of command that always swirled around him.
Heath’s piercing blue gaze locked with hers, stealing her breath. The surrounding chatter and laughter in the store faded into the background as he strode toward her.
She stared, unable to look away. Heath angled his body as he brushed past another man, the action highlighting his powerful shoulders that stretched the cotton material of his shirt. She curled her hands as the urge to feel the muscled hardness of his body took hold.
Mindless of her readers now browsing the nearby bookshelves, Heath rounded the table before her. She rose, as if compelled by the silent directive of his gaze.
“Hi.” She ignored the breathy tone of her voice, too aware their bodies were now only inches apart.
“London.” His gaze swept over her. “You look gorgeous tonight.” He wrapped a hand around her upper arm, his touch sending a scattering of tingles through the silky indigo fabric of Jinx’s top. He brushed his lips on her cheek, lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Pleasure warmed her blood, both at his touch and the fact he regretted not being here for the start.
“No problem. Aidan explained.”
Heath glanced across the room to where her brother studied them. Something flickered in Heath’s gaze, and she could have sworn some male understanding had flashed between the two men. An understanding of what? When she glanced at her brother, his expression gave nothing away.
Her parents, on the other hand, looked openly curious as they paused from sampling some of the finger food. Standing with them, Aidan’s girlfriend, Mercy, wore a huge grin.
London hid her groan. Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago the bubbly blonde teacher had tried to set London up on a double date with one of her colleagues?
A glance toward the store’s front window revealed Jinx, Harper and Cleo all wearing matching grins to Mercy’s.
And then there was Grandma Shaw, who gave her the thumbs up, before turning to survey the books in the erotic romance section.
“We have an audience,” London said softly to Heath.
“Knew that going in.”
She looked up at his declaration. So he was aware his kiss would get noticed. He’d kept the kiss classy but still with a note of possession—a right he hadn’t declared or asked of her yet.
Such a manly, confident action set the nerves in her belly fluttering.
She couldn’t help but tease. “Not shy about being seen by my readers?” With a grin, she added, “They may think you’re one of my cover models.”
His grin showed off the sunlines at the corners of his eyes. “What kind of screen test is required? I don’t take my shirt off for just any woman.”
Her gaze dropped to his chest. His wide, hard chest. It would be so easy to picture him shirtless, maybe in jeans and boots, leaning back against a wall, his cop’s badge pinned to his belt. She risked a peek at his face. The corner of his mouth twitched. Dammit. The sexy detective knew exactly what she was thinking.
“Hmm, I’ll have to check your rates. If you’re too expensive, I’ll ask Seth instead.”
His bark of laughter drew stares from some of her readers. Stares that soon turned admiring. Nadia even winked at London.
She giggled. God, she loved her readers.
“The bastard would do it simply to annoy me.” Heath’s eyes glinted with humor. “Are you happy with how things have gone tonight?” He glanced over her head at the film crew. The camera guy was panning shots around the room.
“I am. The reporter interviewed me earlier. Cleo assured me I didn’t turn into a nervous ninny answering the questions.” Maybe it was the shot of vodka Jinx had given her seconds beforehand that settled her nerves? “My readers turned out and had fun. Tomorrow I’ll check my social media and make sure I comment on any photos they post.”
She loved when her readers shared posts on her Facebook timeline and elsewhere.
“You have a big following online?” He shook his head at her surprised look. “Hey, I’m a clueless guy when it comes to fans and—” He broke off and looked above her, his gaze narrowing as if searching for the right words. “Young adult romance.”
“Okay, you score points for remembering the right genre.” A reminder this detective didn’t miss a damn thing. “And yes, I have a following. I’d say a healthy one. My readers are pretty dedicated to staying in touch with me.” Not just about books, but the normal, sometimes funny, everyday stuff that also builds a deeper connection.
He studied her face before commenting. “That means a lot to you.”
She shrugged. “Without readers I don’t have a career. I can still write books, but if they aren’t engaged, then my stories go unnoticed.”
A plausible scenario if her new project fell flat.
“Did you make an announcement tonight about your new project?”
“No.” Heck, no. “I can’t reveal something so important to a small number of people. I want all my fans to feel included. The best way is to send a newsletter and make a post on my website and on Facebook. Have them appear simultaneously. That way we cut out as much misinformation as possible.”
Heath opened his mouth to reply, before his gaze narrowed as someone moved up beside her.
“London.” Henry pushed his way close, gripping her upper arms and squeezing. “Listen to me.”
“Henry”—she tried to step back, but he increased his hold—“what’s going on?”
“Let go of the lady,” Heath ordered in a deadly soft voice that sent a chill down her spine.
She whipped her gaze to Heath. “It’s okay, I promise.” She turned back to Henry. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Search in your dreams, London.” Henry’s wide-eyed gaze bordered on feverish as his hands squeezed her arms to the point she grimaced in pain. “The answers to what happened are here in your dreams.” Henry broke away, ignoring Heath as he looked toward the front window. All she saw was Harper and Jinx starring back at Henry with raised eyebrows.
What on earth was wrong? Concern for her friend overrode any thoughts of her signing. “Look, let’s go to the stock room and talk.” She grabbed Henry’s hand, but he pulled free as if burned from her touch.
“No. I’m out of time.” He stepped back, gave her one last pleading look. “You have to make things right, London. Don’t fail me.” With those words, he turned and hurried out of the store.
London could only stare as Henry moved out of her view.
“What the heck was that about?” Harper moved to her side with Jinx close behind. The café-owner gently rubbed London’s arm. “You okay, hon?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I don’t, I—” She broke off. “That was weird.”
“What did he mean ‘search your dreams’?” Heath placed a steadying hand at the small of her back.
“I have no idea.” She glanced
at Cleo who joined them. “God, I’m sorry.”
“Babe, chill.” The bookstore manager looked to Heath. “Henry’s an oddball at the best of times. But he’s also an international best-selling author of kickass thrillers. We can’t stock enough of his books.” Returning her attention back to London, she frowned. “But he’s always been semi-normal around you.”
“I’ll try his cell in a bit.” Maybe by then Henry would have calmed down enough to explain to her what had upset him so.
Heath’s stare focused in the direction Henry fled before he turned his attention back to her. “Don’t worry.” He moved his hand from the small of her back to the curve of her hip. “Everyone’s had a great night.”
“Our girl’s the toast of the town.” Grandma Shaw, resplendent in a slinky black pantsuit and silver mules, came over and kissed London’s cheek. “Doesn’t she look fabulous, Heath?”
Heath smiled down at the elder Shaw. “Beauty runs strong with the women in your family, Estelle.”
Her Grandma’s eyes twinkled with delight as she smiled toward Jinx and Harper. “I like him.”
“Hey, sweetie. Looks like the camera crew is starting to pack up. You ready to go soon?” Her mom joined them with the rest of her family and Mercy in tow. At some point, Derek had arrived. With everything happening, she’d missed his entry.
Harper and Jinx stepped back to widen the circle around London.
“Sounds like a plan, Mom.” She wrapped an arm around her mom’s shoulders and glanced at the small cocktail plate in her father’s hand. “I see you’re enjoying those mini-meatballs.”
Her dad chuckled. “Your mom’s limited me to four. We’ve made a reservation at The Pink Door for dinner.” He glanced around the circle. “Everyone still coming?”
Cries of agreement came from all. The Pink Door was in Pike Place Market, served Italian food, and was one of London’s favorite restaurants. A light pink door in an alley was the only entry to the gastronomic delights lying in wait.
