TENSE - Volume One (The TENSE Duet Book 1)

by Deborah Bladon

  "You're a gem." She slides a spoon of the frozen treat into her mouth. "This is so good. No one in this city makes ice cream like Cremza."

  I take her word for it because I try to avoid anything too sweet. I gingerly eat a spoonful before I break the news to her. "I can't do lunch tomorrow. I met a guy on the train tonight. He asked me to meet him at a place in the West Village at noon."

  She stops just as another spoon of ice cream nears her lips. "You met a guy? As in, a guy you're going on a date with tomorrow?"

  "Lunch isn't a date. It's a casual meeting."

  That's where my dating barometer has been set for years. If a guy asks me out for coffee or lunch that's a sign of mild interest. If his first invitation is for dinner I know he's into me. There was one guy who asked if I wanted to go home with him while I was waiting in line to renew my driver's license at the DMV back in Florida. I didn't take him up on his offer but judging by the erection that was straining against his thin sweat pants, his interest in me was off the charts. At least it was until I told him I wasn't looking for a random hook-up and he started flirting with the woman behind him in line.

  "What's his name?" Cadence runs her index finger over the corner of her mouth to catch a dribble of melting ice cream.

  As tempted as I am to tell her every detail of my exchange on the subway with Nicholas Wolf, I don't. Den would recognize his name immediately. A copy of one of his books has been sitting on the coffee table in her living room for the past few months. It was a birthday gift from her mom. She hasn't read the book yet. The only time it's moved is when the table is dusted.

  If I confess that he's the man I'm meeting, she'll make it into a bigger deal than it is. I know that from experience.

  A picture of me talking to the very available star pitcher of the New York Yankees went viral six months ago. A gossip blog picked it up from a photographer who happened to be trailing him. There was nothing between us other than a brief exchange on a corner in Midtown when he asked me if I knew where a certain two-star hotel was. I pointed him in the right direction and then he kissed my hand in a token of gratitude before he darted across the street. I turned to watch him go and the photographer zeroed in on my face.

  That brief encounter made my picture the trending topic on social media for an entire twelve hours. I wore the hashtag of #halesbabe for less than a day until someone from work recognized me and tagged me in one of the posts. I tweeted that I didn't know Trey Hale and that I'd never been to a baseball game.

  Cadence thought it was fate, so she bought two tickets to a game and a Hale jersey for me. I fought her on it but we ended up at the ballpark bored out of our minds.

  Any mention of Nicholas Wolf's name now and I'll stir up the matchmaker in her again. I don't need that. I'm more than capable of finding a man to date on my own when I'm ready. Preferably it'll be one who doesn't have a fan club.

  "I asked what his name is." She picks up my bowl of ice cream and finishes the last scoop. "The guy you're meeting for lunch. Tell me his name."

  "Nick," I say clearly. "It's Nicholas."

  "Nick," she repeats back. "I like it. Where did you meet him?"

  "On the subway."

  "That's either romantic or creepy."

  "It's neither. I sat next to him, we talked and tomorrow we'll meet him for a quick lunch."

  "You don't seem excited." She narrows her eyes. "What's wrong with him?"

  His ego is the size of Long Island and he blackmailed me into meeting him. Other than that he's perfect.

  "I don't know him so I can't say what's wrong with him." I manage to plaster a fake grin on my face. "Ask me again tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell you."

  Chapter 3

  Nicholas

  If I pride myself on anything, it's my ability to focus. Give me a chair and my laptop, and I can churn out a chapter or two in the middle of Grand Central Station on a Saturday afternoon. My brothers call me the King of Compartmentalization.

  It serves me well. I get my job done and I keep my publisher happy. I haven't missed my self-directed, daily word count in over a year.

  The last time I fell off pace I was nursing a massive hangover brought on by the equally impressive advance check I'd cashed the afternoon before. I drank myself into a fog and ended up in the bed of a woman who didn't have an ounce to drink.

  The frequent text messages she sent me for weeks following that night didn't impact my writing at all. It did serve as a reminder that I'm apt to say just about anything if I've had too many beers.

  I told a stranger I loved her and wanted to marry her. She took it to heart, yet I couldn't remember a thing. For that reason, and that reason alone, I limit myself to one drink at a time.

  Yet, today, I'm on my second scotch and it's just past one o'clock in the afternoon.

  I blame Sophia, the petite brunette with the beautiful blue eyes I met on the subway.

  I didn't bother to get her surname or her number last night before I took off for the book signing. I thought I wouldn't need it. I assumed she'd be at this restaurant at least fifteen minutes before I showed up at noon sharp.

  Women tend to be punctual when you've got something they want. That might be a reservation at the trendiest bistro in the city. It could be the chance to spend a few hours with one of the most successful novelists in the world. More often than not it's the unspoken promise of what will follow the meal.

  I don't ask women to meet me here because I want to spend an afternoon describing my creative process. I meet them here because it's less than a block from the apartment I occasionally use as an office. I write there and when the mood strikes, I fuck there.

  I follow the same routine each and every time.

  It begins with lunch at my regular table in the corner of this bistro at noon sharp.

  If my date is receptive, we take a walk to my office.

  By early evening I'm on my own again with the physical ache gone and my mind sharp and clear.

  I want more. Hell, I need more, but it's not that easy.

  My face is on the back of six worldwide bestsellers. Shirtless pictures of me taken in a gym locker room have been morphed into too many memes to count.

  Women send me nude photos of themselves. I get propositioned on a daily basis.

  Ignoring it is an option but why the fuck would I do that? I revel in it.

  I'm riding this crazy train until I decide it's time to step back into reality. From where I'm standing now, I've barely left the station.

  "You're Nicholas Wolf. Sophia didn't tell me I'd be meeting you."

  I look up and into the face of a man with dark hair. He looks like he stepped out of a boardroom. I, on the other hand, look confused as hell. "Who are you?"

  "Gabriel Foster." He extends a hand over the table. "Sophia, my assistant, sent me here."

  "She told me about you." I shake his hand, but I don't offer the seat across from me because there's no need. He's settled into it, his palms on the top of the table. A thick gold wedding band circles his ring finger. "And your wife."

  "Isla." The way he says her name tells me he loves her. I feel an unexpected sense of relief. It shouldn't matter to me whether Sophia is fucking her boss, but for some reason, it does. This guy is too starry-eyed over his better half to touch another woman.

  "Beautiful name," I offer with a raise of my glass. "Will Sophia be joining us?"

  I already know the answer to that. I half-expected her to race to catch up with me when I exited the subway last night. I slowed from my regular pace to a leisurely walk with the hope that she'd fall into step beside me. She hadn't. After that, I spent the next two hours scanning the faces of the legions of women packed into the bookstore in Times Square waiting for me to autograph books, arms and yes, even the top of one's tit. Sophia never showed.

  He shakes his head. "She gave me a birthday card an hour ago with this address. She told me I'd be meeting someone special here. I've got to say, I assumed my wife would be sitting here waitin
g for me."

  "Sorry to disappoint." I chuckle. "I was under the impression I was meeting Sophia for lunch."

  "Really? How well do you know her?"

  I know she stood me up. She sent her boss to collect the promised book on her behalf. "Not well. We're barely acquaintances."

  "So you assumed Sophia was meeting you and I showed up? Is that what this is?"

  He's as polished as every high powered executive I've ever met. I know his type. Everything has a place in his world, including his assistant. If she fucked up and put him in the middle of an embarrassing situation, her ass is on the line. I highly doubt he views her as irreplaceable.

  "Sophia arranged for me to give you a gift." I reach into my bag and pull out the book I promised her last night. "Your wife asked Sophia to get me to sign Burden's Proof for you, but Sophia requested an advance copy of my next release."

  "Action's Cause?"

  I nod. I take great satisfaction in his knowledge of my work. He may run an empire that's successful enough to afford him the Rolex he's wearing, but he's practically salivating at the sight of the book in my hands. "I'll sign it to you."

  "To my wife." His finger darts in the air. "I realize it's meant to be a birthday gift for me, but Isla is by far, the biggest fan you have. Sign it to her. I. S. L. A."

  I suppose what they say is true. Sacrifice comes in many forms when another owns your heart and soul.

  I sign it quickly, my signature an illegible curl of dark colored ink.

  After sliding the book across the table, I finish the last swallow of scotch in my glass. "I'd buy you a drink to toast your birthday but I've got a deadline to meet."

  It's bullshit. My current deadline is more than a month away and I'm on track to meet it later this week. Sharing another second of my time with this guy isn't part of my day's plan; seeking out Sophia is.

  "Understood." He stands. The book I just signed is clutched firmly in his hands. "I'll keep this under wraps. I know you don't want details leaked before release."

  "I appreciate that." I do. The book is set to hit shelves and e-readers in less than two months and review copies have already gone out. Spoilers are an inevitable part of the process but keeping them to a minimum is advantageous to not only me but more importantly, to my publisher.

  The hastily pulled together reading and signing last night was the brainchild of my publicist. She's determined to create such a high level of buzz for Action's Cause that sales will surpass everyone's expectations. She's proven that she can work magic, so I follow her lead.

  "I can't thank you enough for this, Nicholas."

  "It's my pleasure." I open my wallet and toss a few bills on the table before I push to my feet. "Sophia is the one you should be thanking. This was all her doing."

  She's the one who managed to get the book into his hands without having to step foot near me. It's impressive. It's also annoying as fuck.

  "I'll thank her as soon as I'm back at the office."

  "Tell her I said hello." I pat him on the shoulder as I brush past him on my way to the exit. "And, if you wouldn't mind, tell her I'll be in touch."

  Chapter 4

  Sophia

  He'll be in touch? What the hell does that mean?

  "He said he'll be in touch with me?" I question Gabriel. "You're sure Nicholas used those words?"

  "I realize it's not my place to ask, Sophia, but is there something personal going on between you two?"

  My eyes drop to the book that's open on the desk in front of him. He summoned me to his office when he returned from lunch. I didn't know what to expect when I gave him that card with the address Nicholas had written down when I was sitting next to him on the subway. All I knew was that I wanted Gabriel to have that book, but I didn’t want to be the one to get it for him, so I copied the address into the generic birthday card I bought on my way to work, drew a happy face on the envelope and gave it to my boss at noon. I wasn't even sure Nicholas would still be waiting for me by the time Gabriel got to the bistro.

  Last night after I got home I did what any single woman should do before she goes to meet a virtual stranger for lunch. I did an online search. Typing Nicholas Wolf's name into Google yielded tens of thousands of results. The top result was his website, the rest of the listings on the first page were reviews of his books.

  It wasn't until I clicked on the image search that I uncovered a treasure trove of information. It seems that Nicholas Wolf has one standard sorry approach that he uses to pick up women. It's not only weak, but it borders on narcissism in its worst form.

  The second I saw a picture of a woman holding a book in her hands with an address in the West Village written in it, I knew I'd never step foot in the place. When I spotted a second image with a different woman holding a book with the same address, I cursed aloud.

  The guy I met on the subway last night uses his own books to pick up women. He writes down the address of that bistro in a copy of his book, meets for lunch and then probably takes them to the hotel around the corner for a quickie.

  I suppose the book is a parting gift of sorts.

  Thanks for the fuck. Here's a copy of the book I wrote so you can remember our mid-day roll in the hay.

  That might not be exactly what he says to the women he has sex with, but it has to be close.

  "Nothing is going on between the two of us." I shake my head vigorously. "I met him on the subway when I was on my way to his book signing, sir."

  "You must have made quite the impression on him." He smiles. "You coerced him into giving me a book that hasn't been released yet. I don't know how you did it, but I'm forever grateful."

  I tricked him. No special skills required.

  "I told him you enjoyed his work and he offered the book." Under the pretense that I'd show up at the place he met both of those women who posted pictures of his invitation on their dating blogs.

  I don't have a dating blog. You have to actively date to have one of those. What I do have is a book that technically belongs to Mr. Foster in my desk drawer. I wonder if he'd notice if I ripped out the page with the restaurant's address written on it and the personal invitation Nicholas offered to me.

  I somehow managed to get out of this without my boss being aware that I sent him on a mission to get his own birthday present. I don't want to press my luck by showing him the book that Nicholas used as date bait to try to lure me in. I need to pick up a new copy of Burden's Proof on my way home and give that to Mr. Foster tomorrow.

  I'll burn the other copy. I got what I wanted. That means I never have to see Nicholas Wolf or speak to him again.

  ***

  "Is that you, Sophia?" A now familiar voice asks as the man, that I stood up at lunch, approaches from my left. "What are you doing in here?"

  I saw him enter the bookstore a few minutes after I did. I might not have noticed him if it wasn't for the loud gasp that came from the female store clerk when he walked past the check-out desk. Apparently, she knows exactly who Nicholas Wolf is.

  "I'm buying one of Andrew Star's novels," I drawl as I adjust the books in my hand. "I've heard it's one of the best detective mysteries ever written."

  "The only person who would have told you that is Andrew Star."

  I roll my eyes. "I doubt that he's the only one who enjoys his work."

  "His mother might but I met her at one of my signings last year so it's doubtful."

  "As much as I'd like to stand here and listen to you talk about how great you are all night, I have some place I need to be." I take a step to the right, my ponytail swaying with the movement.

  He moves to block my path. "You had to be some place this afternoon and you blew that off. You can blow off whatever your plans are now to talk to me."

  "I didn't blow you off." My cheeks flush, not just from the burst of anger I feel but from the double meaning of the words. "I sent Gabriel to get his gift because I knew it would mean a lot to him to meet you."

  A smile teases his mouth at my smal
l admission. "So you admit that I have some talent? Gabriel strikes me as an educated, cultured man. If he likes my work it must have some merit, agreed?"

  "There's a guy in Times Square who wears boxers and paints his entire body silver every day. Then he acts like a robot for tips. Gabriel took a selfie with him one day. Perceived talent is all in the eye of the beholder."

  "You're comparing my work to a guy who parades around in his underwear?"

  "I guess I am." I nod. "I don't like his work either but plenty of people are fans, including my boss."

  "Are you actually going to read Star's book?" He dips his chin toward my hands. "I can summarize it for you on the spot and save you the money."

  I'm not planning on reading either of the two books I'm currently holding. I only picked up Andrew Star's book when I spotted Nicholas heading my way. Right now, it's covering the copy of Burden's Proof that I came in here to buy.

  "This is a spoiler free zone." I circle my elbow in the air. "I want to savor every page of Mr. Star's masterpiece."

  "I thought detective novels weren't your thing." He rubs his jaw. "If I remember correctly your exact words were that you've never read a detective novel in your life."

  "There's no time like the present to start." I nudge past him, my shoulder rubbing against the heavy gray sweater he's wearing. "I might as well do it with the best."

  "The best?" He grabs my arm, his breath whispering over my cheek. "If you want to start with the best, Sophia, open the copy of Burden's Proof that you've been trying to hide since I walked in."

  Shit.

  Double shit.

  I turn quickly so I'm facing him directly. I look up into his face. Christ, the man is handsome. He's also ripped under those clothes. I saw a few pictures of him shirtless last night.

  There was one meme about uncovering the mystery beneath his gym shorts. My eyes drop to the front of his jeans before I level my gaze on his mouth.

  "The book isn't for me. It's for Mr. Foster. You ruined the copy his wife gave to me so I need to replace it."