The wall was done. "I don't believe it," he argued. His passionate defense both surprised and charmed me. "You're bright and vivacious. You're intelligent—extremely so. You have to give yourself a chance. Start small, and go from there."
"Is this the part where you tell me to believe in myself? The sky is the limit?"
"No. This is the part where I tell you it's getting late, and I need to go. Your shelf is finished, and I have had a lovely evening."
We stood up and lifted the bookcase, leaning it against my living room wall. Stepping back, we studied it in silence. Even Aubrey appeared for the inspection.
Each shelf sat at a crooked angle. One of the sidewalls almost lined up straight with the backboard's edge, the other had a quarter-inch margin. Six holes were visible in the backboard. And most inexplicably of all, the whole thing seemed to lean slightly to the left.
I started laughing. And I couldn't stop. After a moment of shock, Roman joined me.
"Dear Lord," I said finally, wiping tears away. "That's the most horrible thing I've ever seen."
Roman opened his mouth in disagreement, then reconsidered. "It just might be." He saluted. "But I think it'll hold, Captain."
We made a few more mirthful comments before I walked him to the door, remembering to give him his coat back. In spite of his jokes, he seemed more genuinely disappointed about our shelf failure than I did, like he had let me down. Somehow, I found this more appealing than his perfectly timed lines or charming bravado. Not that I didn't love those too. I studied him as we said goodbye, thinking about his "chivalry" and passionate belief in me following my heart's desire. The lump of fear I always carried around people I liked softened a little.
"Hey, you never told me your crazy dream."
The aqua eyes crinkled. "Not so crazy. Just still trying to score that date with you."
Not so crazy.Just like mine. Companionship over fame and glamour. I took the plunge.
"Well, then... what are you doing tomorrow?"
He brightened. "Nothing yet."
"Then come by the bookstore just before closing. I'm giving a dance lesson." The dance lesson would have lots of people. It would be a safe compromise for us.
That smile faltered only slightly. "A dance lesson?"
"You have a problem with that? Are you changing your mind about going out?"
"Well, no, but... is it like the Vegas thing? You covered in rhinestones? Because I could probably get into that."
"Not exactly."
He shrugged, the charisma on high-beam. "Well. We'll save that for the second date."
"No. There's no second date, remember? Just the one, then that's it. We don't see each other anymore. You said so. Super-secret Boy Scout... whatever."
"That might have been an exaggeration."
"No. That would be a lie."
"Ah." He winked at me. "I guess those two aren't the same then after all, eh?"
"I—" My words halted at the logic.
He gave me one of his roguish bows before sweeping away. "Farewell, Georgina."
I went back inside, hoping I hadn't just made a mistake, and found Aubrey sitting on one of my shelves. "Whoa, be careful," I warned. "I don't think that's structurally sound."
Although it was late, I didn't feel tired. Not after this wacky evening with Roman. I felt wired, his presence affecting both my body and mind. Inspired, I shooed Aubrey off the bookcase and started transferring my stacks. With each new weight addition, I expected collapse, but the thing held.
When I got to my Seth Mortensen books, I suddenly remembered the cataclysm that had sparked this whole evening. Anger kindled in me once more. I'd heard nary a word from the writer the entire time. The getting-hit-by-a-car thing might still be a possibility, but my instincts doubted it. He had stood me up.
Half of me considered kicking his books in retaliation, but I knew I could never do that. I loved them too much. No need to punish them for their creator's shortcomings. Longingly, I picked up The Glasgow Pact, suddenly anxious to read my next five-page installment. I left the rest of my books unshelved and settled on the couch, Aubrey at my feet.
When I reached the stopping point, I discovered something incredible. Cady was developing a love interest in this one. It was unheard of. O'Neill, ever the charming ladies' man, got around all the time. Cady remained virtuously pure, no matter the number of sexual innuendoes and jokes she traded across the table with O'Neill. Nothing tangible had happened thus far in the book, but I could read the inevitable signs of what was to come with her and this investigator they'd met in Glasgow.
I kept reading, unable to leave that plotline hanging. And the farther I read, the harder it was to stop. I soon took a secret, irrational satisfaction at breaking the five-page rule. Like I was somehow getting back at Seth.
The night wore on. Cady went to bed with the guy, and O'Neill became uncharacteristically jealous and freaked out, despite his usual surface charm. Holy shit. I left the couch, put on pajamas, and curled up in my bed. Aubrey followed. I kept reading.
I finished the book at four in the morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Cady saw the guy a few more times as she and O'Neill wrapped up their mystery—as enthralling as ever, but suddenly less interesting compared to the interpersonal developments—and then she and the Scotsman parted ways. She and O'Neill returned to Washington, D.C., and the status quo resettled.
I exhaled and set the book on the floor, unsure what to think, mainly because I was so tired. Still, in a valiant effort, I got up from bed, found my laptop, and logged into my Emerald City e-mail. I sent Seth a terse message: Cady got some. What's up with that? Then, as an afterthought: By the way, the hockey game was great.
Satisfied I'd registered my opinion, I promptly fell asleep... only to be awakened a few hours later by my alarm clock.
CHAPTER 10
Jesus. What had I been thinking? I had to work today. Not only that, I had to work in ten minutes. I had no time for "real" clothing or makeup. With a sigh, I shape-shifted form, my robe giving way to gray slacks and an ivory blouse, hair and makeup suddenly done to my normal, immaculate perfection. Brushing my teeth and adding perfume could not be faked, and after performing those tasks, I grabbed my purse and sprinted out.
When I reached my lobby, the desk clerk called out to me.
"Got something for you." He handed over a flat parcel.
Still conscious of the time, I quickly tore at the wrapping and stifled a gasp at what I found. Black Velvet Paint by Number Kit, read the package. A subheading proclaimed: Create Your Own Masterpiece! Contains Everything You Need to Paint Just Like a Real Artist! The "masterpiece" I could create depicted a desert landscape with a giant cactus to one side and a howling coyote on the other. An eagle soared in the sky, and a ghostly, disembodied Native American head floated nearby. Terribly stereotyped and cheesy.
A small piece of paper had been taped to it. Start small, the note said. Love, Roman. The writing was so perfect as to be unreal.
I was still chuckling when I got to work. In my office, I settled in front of the computer and discovered a second morning surprise: another e-mail from Seth. It had been sent at five in the morning.
Georgina,
A few years ago, while writing Gods of Gold, I met a woman at a class I took on South American archaeology. I don't know how it is for women; it's probably not even always the same for us men. But for me, when I meet someone I'm attracted to, time stands still. The planets come into alignment, and I stop breathing. The angels themselves descend to sit upon my shoulders, whispering promises of love and devotion while less heavenly creatures whisper promises of an earthier, baser nature. I guess that's part of being a man.
Anyway, that was what happened with this woman. We fell pretty hard for each other and dated off and on for a very long time. Some days we wouldn't be able to leave each other's side for more than a minute, and then later, months would go by without any sort of contact. I have to confess, this latter behavior was more my fau
lt than hers. I mentioned before that Cady and O'Neill are demanding. During phases when I was hot into my writing, I wouldn't be able to think about or do anything else that didn't involve my novel. I knew it hurt her—knew she was the kind of person who wanted to settle down and start a family, live a quiet and committed life. I was not that kind of person—I'm not even sure I am now—but I liked the idea of always having someone around, someone reliable who I could call up when I was finally ready to make time. It really wasn't fair to do that to her, always leave her hanging like that. I should have ended things early on, but I was too selfish and too comfortable.
One day, after not having spoken to her in a few months, I called her up and was astonished to hear a man answer the phone. When she came on the line, she told me she'd met someone else and wouldn't be able to see me anymore. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I started rambling, going on and on about how much I cared for her, how she couldn't throw away what we had. She took it all pretty nicely, considering what a psycho I must have sounded like, but in the end, she closed things by saying I shouldn't have expected her to wait forever. She had her own life to live.
The reason I share this embarrassing tale from the canon of Seth Mortensen is twofold. First, I need to apologize to you for what happened tonight. In spite of my grumblings, I really did intend to meet you. A couple hours before the game, I ran home to get something and suddenly thought of a solution to the snag that had been blocking me all day. I sat down to write, only planning to spend an hour on it. As you might be guessing by now, it took a lot longer than that. I got so caught up that I completely forgot about the game—and about you. I never heard my phone ring. I wasn't aware of anything else except getting the story out on paper (or rather, my screen).
This, I'm afraid, is a problem I frequently have. It happened with my ex, it happens with my family, and unfortunately, it happened with you. Don't even get my brother started about how I nearly missed his wedding. The worlds and people in my head are so alive to me that I lose track of the real world. Sometimes I'm not even convinced Cady and O'Neill's world isn't the real one. I never mean to hurt people, and I feel terrible afterward, but it is a failing I can't seem to overcome.
None of this justifies abandoning you last night, but I hoped this might offer some insight into my unbalanced worldview. Please understand how very sorry I am.
My second reason for the memoir is to address your comment about Cady "getting some." In thinking about her and O'Neill, I decided that Cady wasn't the kind of person who would wait around forever either. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't think Cady and my ex-girlfriend have a lot in common. Cady isn't looking to settle in the suburbs and pick out curtains with O'Neill. But, she is a bright and passionate woman, who loves life, and wants to live it. A lot of people were upset to see her break out of her devoutly chaste, puppy-at-O'Neill's-side role, but I think she had to do it. Let's face it: O'Neill takes her for granted, and he needed a wake-up call. Now, does this mean steps are being made to finally bring them together, as so many readers have asked? Naturally, as their creator, my lips are sealed on that, but I can say this: I have a lot more books with them in mind, and readers tend to lose interest when protagonists hook up. —Seth
P.S.—By the way, I bought the condo. Mistee was so excited that she took me on the spot, and we made love all over the granite countertops.
P.P.S.—All right, I'm making up that last part. Like I said, I'm a man. And a writer.
My eyes still heavy with sleep, I sluggishly pondered the letter's message. Seth had had a serious girlfriend. Wow. That shouldn't have surprised me, especially considering the sex scenes he wrote. I mean, he couldn't have pulled them all out of imagination. Still, it was hard to picture introverted Seth participating in all the social exchanges normally required of a long-term relationship.
And then the other part, his reasons for not showing. What to think of those? He was right in saying his burst of inspiration was no excuse for what he had done. The explanation did take away some of the sting, however, moving him from rude to simply thoughtless. No, maybe thoughtless was too harsh. Scattered, that was it. Perhaps scattered wasn't such a bad thing, I mused, since ignoring the real world allowed him to work on the written one. I just didn't know.
I pondered all this for the rest of the morning, my anger from last night growing cold in the wake of time passing and my speculation on a brilliant writer's mind. By the time lunch rolled around, I realized I had gotten over the hockey mishap. He had not intended the neglect, and it wasn't like my night had turned out too badly after all.
Around late afternoon, Warren came trolling around.
"No," I said immediately, recognizing the look in his eyes. I hated his presumption, yet always found myself eerily drawn to it. "I'm in a terrible mood."
"I'll make you feel better."
"I told you, I'm too bitchy."
"I like you bitchy." The succubus feeding instinct began waking up. I swallowed, annoyed at it and my own weakness. "And I'm really busy. There are... things... I should do..." My excuse sounded halfhearted, though, and Warren apparently recognized that.
He walked over to me and knelt by my chair, running a hand over my thigh. I wore thin, silky slacks, and the feel of his fingers stroking me through that smooth material was almost more sensual than on bare skin.
"How was your date the other night?" he murmured, moving his mouth up to my ear and then my neck.
I arched my head obligingly, in spite of my best resistance, liking the way his mouth grew fiercer against my skin, his teeth just teasing me. He was far from being a boyfriend but was still the closest I had to any sort of consistent relationship. That meant something. "Fine."
"Did you fuck him?"
"No. I slept alone, alas."
"Good."
"He's coming back tonight, though. For the dance lesson."
"Really?" Warren unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse, revealing a pale pink lace bra. His fingertips traced the shape of one of my breasts, following its inner curve down to where it met the other one. Then he moved his hand up to that breast, playing with the nipple through the lace. I closed my eyes, surprised at my swelling desire. After helping Hugh close the contract with Martin, I wouldn't have thought I'd need a fix so soon. Yet, the hunger tugged ever so slightly within me, mingled with lust. Pure instinct. "We'll introduce him to Maria."
Maria was Warren's wife. The thought of passing Roman off on her was too funny.
"You sound jealous," I teased. I pulled Warren toward me, and he responded by pushing me on top of the desk. I moved my hands down to unfasten his pants.
"I am," he grunted. Leaning over, he pulled the bra down to bare my breasts and lowered his mouth to one of the nipples. He hesitated. "Are you sure you didn't fuck him?"
"I think I'd remember something like that."
A knock sounded at the door, and Warren hastily sprang away from me, pulling up his pants. "Shit."
I, too, sat up and returned to my chair. With Warren's eyes on the door, I quickly used some more shape-shifting to neaten myself up and rebutton my blouse. Satisfied we were both decent, I called, "Come in."
Seth opened the door.
I clamped down on my jaw, lest it drop open in astonishment.
"Hi," said Seth, looking back and forth between Warren and me. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"No, no, you aren't," Warren assured him, clicking into public relations mode. "We were just having a quick meeting."
"Not a very important one," I added. Warren gave me a droll look.
"Oh," said Seth, still appearing like he wanted to bolt. "I just came by to see if maybe... you wanted lunch. I... e-mailed you about what happened."
"Yeah, I read it. Thanks."
I smiled at him, hoping to silently communicate that all was forgiven. The worried look on his face was so heart-wrenching that I felt certain his conscience had suffered more than my ego last night.
"Excellent idea," boo
med Warren. "Let's all go get some lunch, shall we? Georgina and I can meet again later."
"I can't."
I reminded him about how short-staffed we were and how I was needed for coverage. He scowled when I finished.
"Why haven't we hired anyone?"
"I'm working on it."
Warren ended up just taking Seth out—something the writer seemed highly uneasy about—and I was left alone, feeling abandoned. I would have half liked to hear what else Seth had to say about writing taking over his life. I might have even liked getting laid. Neither was to be. Ah, the injustices of the universe.
I apparently had one karmic favor left, however. Around four, Tammi —the red-haired girl from Krystal Starz — showed up to solve my staffing problem. As suggested, she brought a friend. After a quick interview, I felt satisfied by their competency. I hired them on the spot, pleased to have one task taken off my list.
When the store finally closed later, those few hours of sleep were catching up with me more fiercely. I felt in no mood to teach a dance lesson.
Realizing I needed to change, I closed the office door and shape-shifted my outfit for the second time that day. It felt like cheating, as always. For dancing I selected a sleeveless dress, clingy through the bodice and flowing through the skirt—just right for twirls. Colored in blending hues of peach and orange, I hoped the dress would warm my mood up. I also hoped no one had noticed I hadn't carried a change of clothes in with me this morning.
On the overhead speakers, I heard one of the cashiers make the announcement that the store had closed, just as another knock sounded on my door. I called an entry, wondering if it might be Seth again, but Cody appeared this time.
"Hey," I said, forcing a smile. "Are you ready for this?"
I had taught Cody to swing dance a year or so ago, and he had picked it up remarkably well, probably half due to vampire reflexes. As a result, I had—against his better judgment—recruited him to be my coteacher in these impromptu lessons for the staff. He kept claiming he was no good, but in both lessons so far, he'd proven remarkably efficient.
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