Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Are you ladies here for the signing?” he asks.

  What a dumb question. Everyone is here for the signing. “Yeah,” I tell him, trying to be polite but also sending the get-away-from-me signal at the same time. “We’re here to see all three guys, but especially Michael Knight.” I know this is going to trigger him, which is why I say it. The indie book world is a great place, but it can also be a petty place. Online bullying, shaming, authors being rude to their readers—there are all sorts of things that turn readers off and make them abandon an author. Those kind of incidents aren’t common, but they do happen. But there’s a reason this whole thing about KL approaching us is really fishy to me.

  KL wanted to be one of the Wordsmiths. Badly.

  I know this because he posted all about it in his private reader’s group. He went on a small rant in one of those posts where you have to click ‘read more’ at the bottom. I read more, and so did all of the 2,000 people in his group, and who knows who else. It was one of those backfire moments because I think he was going for sympathy—like he was some slighted party who’d been left out of the cool kids club, but instead it read like he was a petty, jealous ex on an epic, post breakup-rant. His reader group, which I joined just to watch the train wreck, went down by about 200 people after that little event. I never thought he’d show up here. He hates the guys. This should be interesting.

  “Oh, yeah, Michael,” he says, sounding exactly like the bitter ex I just described. “He’s. . .he’s an interesting one for sure.”

  “He’s great,” Ro says, jumping in to the conversation to back me up. She’s great at reading situations like this without us having to speak a word to each other. “He’s my favorite of the three.”

  “Really?” He can’t help but sound jealous when he asks that question. This whole thing is getting weird. I mean, what the hell is he doing here? Is he crashing another author’s signing or something? Did he buy a ticket? I’m not going to ask him any of these questions because then he’ll just keep on talking to me, and that’s the last thing I want, even though he doesn’t seem to be reading my body language at all.

  “What is ‘interesting’ supposed to mean? Are you surprised that I’m here for Michael?” He seems taken aback by the question.

  “Well, honestly, a little bit.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask, putting my drink down and making my voice a little confrontational. “Why’s that? You know what, you can answer that question second. What are you even doing here?”

  “Research,” he says. “I’m doing a little research.”

  “On what?” Rowan jumps into the conversation. “What kind of research?”

  “I want to see exactly what readers see in this little group they’ve formed,” he says. “That, and to connect with readers like you.” The last part makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and it sounds like some rehearsed bullshit. I think I’m imagining it at first, but it also kind of sounds flirtatious, in that creepy way that he seems to say everything. When I look up at him I see the look in his eyes and know that my intuition is right. “Beautiful readers like yourself, that is.” Is this fucking guy serious? Not only is he bad at reading my body language, but he’s also terrible at talking to women. Ironic considering the kind of books he writes.

  “And you think showing up unannounced and uninvited to this event and asking women why they read the Wordsmiths’ work is appropriate?”

  “I’m not here for the event. It just so happens that I’m passing through on the way to a different signing tomorrow. This is on the way, and last I checked the hotel bar isn’t a private room. I’m just hanging out.”

  “Right,” Rowan says. “Very smooth.”

  He makes a face like he was just sucking on a lemon, but he doesn’t move. You’d think at this point he’d get the idea that we didn’t want to talk to him. “Let me help you with your research, okay? And then you’re going to walk away and leave me and my friend to our drinks. You ready?” He nods. “Great,” I begin, sounding as sarcastic as I can. “The guys are great writers. I buy everything they write, and Michael in particular. I love his writing. It makes me happy.”

  What happens next is a little surreal. He rolls his eyes at me. Literally. It takes a moment before I realize what I’m seeing. This professional author, this petty little man who’s stalking the event, is standing in front of me, rolling his eyes at what I just said. My blood starts to boil, but I don’t want to cause a scene. I’m about to tell him exactly what I think about him when my phone vibrates on the bar. Thinking it’s finally Harley, I ignore this asshole as he stands over us and check my phone. Only it isn’t Harley. When I see what’s on the screen I really wish it was.

  Ro sees the look on my face. “What is it? Is that her, finally?” I keep looking down at my phone, and I know my face changes immediately. If it looks anything like what I’m feeling as I read the text on my phone then I must look horrifying. “Everleigh?” she asks again, sounding more urgent. This time I look up. “What is it? Who texted you?”

  I don’t say anything at first, I just stand up and excuse myself. “I’m sorry Ro, I need a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need some fresh air. I promise I’ll tell you what it is, but for right now I need you to not ask me and just let me go. I promise I’m okay.” That last part is a lie, but the first two things I really do need her to do.

  “Go,” she says. “If Harley gets here I’ll text you. Just keep me in the loop, okay? Don’t go missing.”

  “Thank you.”

  I get up abruptly and gently bump KL out of my way. Outside the air is warm, and the streets are alive with activity. I should be happy. I shouldn’t feel alone, but I do. I realize that I separated myself from Ro and the other readers, but I need some time to myself. I think I’ll walk around and find someplace where I can sit and think.

  And eat. I’m starving.

  7

  Knight

  For a hotel that isn’t that big, they have a hell of a gym. Top notch. And I should know, I’m usually a gym rat when I’m not writing. Keeping in shape keeps me sane and helps me deal with some of the issues I’ve had. It’s not a cure, but it’s a little something that helps me cope. There’s something meditative to me about pushing my body to the absolute limits of what it’s capable of. I started hitting the gym after Jenny left, when I was in the darkest time of my life. Even though I couldn’t write much and I was in a terrible headspace, working out was the one thing that brought me back from the brink of depression. I didn’t need therapy or pills, I needed to push my body to its psychical limitations as often as I could. I still try to do it every day. I’m not planning on going that hard tonight—a light sweat with some cardio will do—but on a normal basis I like to make my workouts as uncomfortable as possible.

  I’m listening to music on my phone—heavy shit mostly. Some metal and hard rock that gets me going when my body wants to quit. I start thinking about Everleigh again. How hot she looked, how easy it was to talk to her, how much she loved my work. The truth is that girl’s been in my head since I laid eyes on her only a couple of hours ago. I’m sure Grayson and Colton are down at the bar doing shots and taking selfies as I sweat my balls off in here. I don’t want to miss Everleigh or for her to think I’m rude, so I decide to shoot her a text and let her know I’ll be a little late.

  Less than a minute after I send the text I see that she’s writing me back.

  Everleigh: Hey. No worries. I should probably get my fat ass on a treadmill too, but can’t now. I’m not even at the bar. I stepped out to get food by myself.

  By herself? Why is she by herself? Maybe I’m being selfish, or reading too much into her text, but it doesn’t make too much sense to me as to why she’d be at some restaurant alone. I hope nothing’s wrong. I stop the treadmill and text her back.

  Me:Want some company?

  I wait a few seconds until I see her response.

  Everleigh: Sure. That would be nice. />
  She texts me the address, some quaint little place that’s only a few blocks away from the hotel. There I go using that word again. If only Colt could hear me. It’s true though, there’s no better word for it. It’s a town full of quaint little places. As we were driving through on the way here all I could notice was the complete lack of chain stores and franchised restaurants. No Dunkin’ Donuts, no McDonald’s, no Subway, and no damn Walmart. None of it. Every little shop and restaurant is unique. It’s a town of small businesses, which is probably why I feel so comfortable here. It’s a place where regular people are just trying to start a career and make a living. It’s the perfect place for indie authors.

  My body’s still warm from the workout, and I try to keep my pace somewhere between a stroll and a jog so that I can cool down a little and get my heart rate back to normal by the time I get there. It’s only a few blocks, so it takes just a couple of minutes to walk there. Jameson’s Burgers and Fries sounds like my kind of place—nothing too fancy, food so good you can smell it from the street, a line out the door, and great looking food. I’m sold. But I’m not here for the fries, I’m here to make sure Everleigh is okay.

  Grayson and Colton keep texting me asking me how long I’m going to be before I get to the bar, and I text them back that I’m not sure, that I had to run out for a few, and that they should mingle without me. I really should be there. The allure of this whole thing for readers is that they get all three of us at once, but right now I’m not worried about advancing my career or selling some books, I just want to make sure Everleigh is okay and see her one more time. I text her.

  Me:Where are you?

  She writes that she’s in the back, at a table for two, minus the second person. I’m here to fix that. I make my way through the masses of hungry people waiting in the front and tell the hostess that I’m meeting a friend. I see Everleigh across the crowded dining room and wave. She waves back and forces a smile, and I can tell even at this distance that she’s not happy.

  “You have balls,” I say, standing over her. “I could never eat alone. I’d feel weird about it.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she answers. “I have my phone. I don’t know what the hell people did before these things. Back then you’d look like a weirdo just sitting alone, staring around a room. At least now you have entertainment and can block the world out.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” I ask. She looks up and her eyes appear bloodshot. Her face has a mild strain to it, and the energy she has now is totally different than the vibes I was getting at the bar. “Who am I to ask that, right? This coming from the guy who basically didn’t leave his house for two months after his wife left him.”

  “Do you always talk about yourself not in the first person?”

  “What do you mean?” I joke. “Do you not like how Michael Knight is speaking right now?” I get a smile from her. It’s a small one but it’s genuine, and her face changes completely.

  “Are you gonna sit down or just hover over me?”

  I pull out the second chair and sit across from her. She puts her phone down, face up, on the table and looks right at me. She isn’t speaking, but she looks like she wants to be spoken to. “Should I ask what’s wrong?”

  “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe because this amazing woman who told me that she was going to be with her friends all night is sitting alone in the back of a burger place, staring at her phone and looking all sad. That was my first clue.”

  “You think I look sad?”

  “I think you look very different than you looked before. I know we just met, but you can tell, you know. It might help to get whatever it is off your chest.”

  She looks around after I say this to her, like she’s considering whether or not to be honest with me, or even how much she wants to reveal about whatever is bothering her. I did the same thing earlier when we talked about Jenny leaving. Why are we so guarded around new people, especially of the opposite sex? I’m as guilty of being a little guarded as anyone, especially after what happened with Jenny, but maybe we just need to find the right person to open up to.

  “Remember before when I was telling you about the bad time in my life a few months back?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “When you were reading Into Your Eyes?”

  “Right. That’s when I left my ex. But he. . .let’s just say that he didn’t agree with my decision.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Yeah,” she says, looking down. “Jeremey’s a little bit of a control freak, and he’s used to getting what he wants. I had a girl on social media reach out to me that used to date him that I was mutual friends with on Facebook. She told me all kinds of shit—some of it was familiar, like trying to control everything I did and everyone I saw. But some of it was a little darker, like he hit her once or twice. That’s when she left him just like I did.”

  “Fuck.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m a little alarmed by her story, but I don’t say much. Instead I just let her vent because she clearly needs to get some of this off her chest. “Did he ever?”

  “No, never,” she reassures me. “I’d never let a man hit me. I’m not a victim like that. But I did let him talk to me in demeaning ways and try to control what I do. I don’t know why the hell I let that go on as long as I did. Anyway, he keeps leaving me these creepy texts, saying how we’ll be together again, and what a mistake I made. I just keep trying to move on and he keeps contacting me. I blocked his number but he must be getting new phones or burner phones and texting me. It just upset me, is all, so I left to get a breather.” She takes a deep breath when she’s done explaining. I’m glad it’s nothing major, at least not at the moment, but more than that I’m glad that she felt comfortable confiding in me. We just met, but I can feel the connection between us.

  “I guess I just have bad luck with guys,” she continues. “Just before some guy tried hitting on me at the bar. Some author.”

  “Author? Who? Was it Gray or Colt?”

  “No, no,” she says. “Not the guys. Some creep. . .I’m honestly not even sure he’s really an author. Probably just some hotel guest pretending to be an author to get laid. Anyhow, I blew him off.”

  “Hey,” I say, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “It’s okay. All of it. Forget about the creep and forget about the ex. You’re not with him now. You left. You moved on. You realized that it was wrong and that he was wrong, and here you are, eating burgers alone with a B-level indie romance author. Life is good!”

  I get another smile from my sarcasm. It’s what I was going for. I love it when she smiles. She’s gorgeous regardless, but when her cheeks raise up her eyes take on this lightness, and her face becomes even hotter than it normally is. I’m listening to every word she’s saying, trying to be supportive and say the right things back to her, but in another part of my brain all I can think about is how much I want her. There’s this raw attraction that I felt when I saw her at the bar, and it’s there again. Whenever I’m in her presence my arms just want to reach out and grab a hold of her by the waist and pull her into me.

  “Hey, don’t call yourself that,” she says. “You’re A-level to me. You’re why I’m here, remember?”

  “What do you want me to write in the books you brought?”

  “Umm. . .sign them to Everleigh, your number one fan!”

  “I sure won’t,” I joke. “No way in hell. But I’ll think of something cool.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.” What happens next shocks me a little. I don’t know why, it’s nothing major, but this time she’s the one who reaches across and grabs my hand. I look down and then back up to her eyes, and her expression is back to the one I remember from the bar—she’s got that something in her eyes that let’s me know that she’s interested in me as more than just her favorite author. We just met, but there’s something there, and I think we’re both feeling it. “Thanks for listening. I’m okay. I’m reall
y excited about tomorrow, and I appreciate you leaving your adoring fans to come sit and listen to me vent in some burger joint. It means a lot.”

  “I think most of the fans are for Colton, honestly. Gray’s got his hardcores as well. I’m just happy anyone wants to read my books and have me sign them. But to tell you the truth, there’s no place I’d rather be right now than here with you. They can have the shots and selfies. I’m happy right here with you.” The place is packed, and the buzz of hungry people laughing and talking, coupled with the music that’s getting louder is making me want to get out of here. It’s a cool joint, and the food smells amazing, but it’s not food that’s on my mind right now.

  “I have an idea,” Everleigh says to me, still holding onto my hand, only now she’s caressing it with her thumb in a tender way, her eyes never looking away from mine as she speaks.

  “Oh yeah?” I inquire. “What’s that?” She’s definitely peaked my interest.

  8

  Everleigh

  I surprise myself by what I’m about to say. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I’ve known that I wanted him since we bumped shoulders at the bar today. I’ve always loved Michael’s books and I admire him as an author, but seeing those eyes and that face changed everything for me. It became real. I didn’t expect to feel this way, but it’s real and I’m not going to fight it.

  “There’s a back door that leads to an alleyway which I saw someone go out of earlier,” I tell him. “It’s probably pretty abandoned back there. Know what I mean?”

  He hesitates for a second, but only for a second.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  I flag down the waitress and ask for a check. I throw some cash on the table and take him by the hand out the door, trying to be inconspicuous as I do. We step outside in the alley, the darkness keeping us safe for now.