I always thought biting your tongue was just a figure of speech, until now.
Cringing, I type:
Come and get me, ladies.
Already, Josh's interpretation of Landon is creeping into mine. This isn't good.
Or maybe it is. Maybe it's very good. I haven't quite decided yet. Or to be more accurate, certain parts of me haven't decided yet. There's definitely a part of me that's responding to the new Mr. Steele on a completely primal level, which is probably a good sign, no matter how many times I have to literally bite my tongue to make this happen.
A few minutes pass, and no one bites. I fold my arms across my chest, starting to regret the choice of high heels. Once again, I tried to dress so I wouldn't look like a total schlub next to Landon. Instead, I just felt buttoned-up and uncomfortable, and the man himself doesn't even seem to notice.
There's someone lurking nearby, and I'm starting to wonder if it's Landon's first stalker. Her eyes are very bright, and they keep running over Landon in a way that makes my throat tighten a little.
Finally, she draws closer.
"Um..."
Josh looks up.
"Excuse me," she says, softly, almost tittering a little. "Are you Landon Steele?"
***
And that's how it starts.
I've made it very clear Landon is not here for autographs, because we're not prepared for that, and he ends up signing next to some housewife's tramp stamp, I won't be responsible for my actions. I might personally believe that my ass looks amazing in this skirt, but as far as Landon's concerned, I might as well be invisible.
Well. It wouldn't do for Landon Steele to be eyeballing his assistant while he's supposed to be schmoozing with fans. Still, even when we were in the town car together, when he was just Josh, I didn't even get the feeling that he noticed. Usually, even guys who aren't into thick girls will at least check out my cleavage in this blouse. It's not over-the-top, but hey, I think I look all right.
Josh, though, no way. Not a single glance towards the slit in the side seam that shows just a hint of thigh. And Landon, even less so. He's turned every single watt of his smile onto all the women who are now crowding around him.
I'm trying to manage things, to keep the crowd to a reasonable size and keep them from blocking traffic. If the convention organizers actually catch on to what's happening, we'll probably get thrown out. Well - asked very nicely to leave. Either way, that's not the kind of publicity I want.
The throng of admirers is still a hum of activity when I start to sense something...off. A presence. I feel watched, and whoever's doing the watching is obviously not pleased with what he sees.
I turn around, slowly, trying to get a glimpse without staring at whoever-it-is. I finally get a sidelong glance at an unnervingly tall man in an ill-fitting suit and...
...is that a cape?
There's a small, thin-lipped lackey following him with a clipboard. My eyes narrow. I have a suspicion, but I really, really hope I'm wrong.
I try to intercept him, but he manages to cut a swathe through the crowd, mostly by shouting "excuse me, excuse me" while his assistant sort of grimaces and tries to make room for himself with an elbow.
"Landon Steele?" the man in the cape - yes, it's a cape, though at least it's just a half-cape - says. Thank heaven for small mercies.
Josh looks up, smiling that dazzling smile. "Yes?"
"Pleasure to meet you," says the cape. "I'm D.B. Blackwood."
Oh, God.
I try to worm my way as close to them as I possibly can, because I have a feeling whatever's about to happen is beyond what we rehearsed. Immediately, I feel a sinking sense of dread. And disappointment in myself. I should have known, I should have prepared him for this.
"Like D.B. Cooper?" Josh says immediately.
"No," Blackwood sneers. "Not like D.B. Cooper. Like D.B. Blackwood."
The crowd is growing quiet, and starting to back away slightly. Blackwood's bad vibes are spreading like a poison. I have to get this guy out of here.
"I have to admit, I was very curious to meet you," Blackwood says, shaking Josh's hand a little too firmly. "We can present such an idealized image of ourselves on the internet, can't we?"
"We sure can." Josh's smile is starting to thin. "Hey, so, can I autograph something for you?"
"Autograph something." Blackwood blinks a few times. "Mr. Steele, do you have any idea who I am?"
"I'm sorry, I don't," he says. "Have we talked before? I get a lot of messages."
Blackwood lets out a disgusted sigh. "I'm an author. Like you. Well..." He smiles humorlessly. "Not like you. But we're in the same genre, and all that. I'm sure you've heard of me, if you really search your memory."
"You know, man, I'm sorry." Josh claps him on the shoulder, and I can see the air chill even further. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. So what can I do for you?"
"Nothing," says Blackwood. His assistant makes a little face, scribbling something on his clipboard. "Like I said, I just wanted to see you. In the flesh." This is punctuated with an extremely creepy grin.
"Well, it's great to meet you," says Josh, sidling away from him. "But I've got to move on to the other fans, right ladies? Not fair to let anyone dominate my time." He glances at Blackwood. "Even if he is a dominant."
The crowd laughs uncertainly, but I'm sensing a conflict of interest. I think most of these women are fans of both authors, and they're not quite sure how to feel about this.
Thankfully, the cheerful mood returns as Blackwood retreats into the shadows. I glance at my phone for the first time in ages, and I'm shocked to see how much time has passed since we got here.
"Landon!" That bright-eyed girl is waving her hand at Josh, and I feel a stab of jealousy that I've got absolutely no right to feel. Well, I guess I'm tired of him getting all the accolades that are really meant for me. Yeah. That must be it.
He turns to her, and she practically comes skipping over. "Hey, the hotel bar's too damn crowded, so a bunch of us are going to the club down the street. You want to come with?"
Josh glances at me. "What do you think, Kimberly?"
I shrug, getting a touch of heartburn at the thought of him partying with all these eager women. "I'm not the boss of you, Mr. Steele. In fact, I think it's exactly the opposite."
He smiles patiently. "Well, obviously, I'm not going alone. I'd be lost without my girl Friday."
Oh, boy. A couple other fans have gathered around, watching expectantly. People are practically frothing at the idea of spending the night with Landon, and I can't really blame them. Josh has done a fantastic job. He's added a whole new dimension to Mr. Steele, one that I never imagined could exist.
"I guess." I let out what I hope is a tolerant, but long-suffering sigh. Everyone is staring at me, and I can feel a touch of suspicion in everyone's gaze except for Landon's. Er - Josh's. They're wondering if there's something more to our relationship than just author and assistant, and they're right to. I mean, he's practically asking my permission, for God's sake. The only thing that would make a man like Landon Steele act like that...
Well, it looks incredibly fishy. Especially if you've got a vested interest in Landon being single, which most of these fans do - for some reason. The vast majority claim to be happily married, and I see all of their status updates about their loving husbands and the struggles and triumphs they have raising their kids. The idea of Landon Steele is just a fantasy, an escape.
All the same, if they find out he's dating someone - and his chubby assistant, no less - at least half of them will be ready to cut a bitch.
I wonder if Josh is picking up on all this. But he just smiles. "Great. We heading over now?"
The bright-eyed girl's smile has faded a few watts. "Sure. Let's go. Maybe we can stake out a good spot by the bar before it gets too crowded."
I'm not exactly dressed for clubbing. Half of the group is already decked out in corsets or costumes of various kinds, but I'm still business-casual, and no matter ho
w good my ass looks in this skirt, I'm woefully out of place.
We fall back from the group a little bit as we're walking, and I take the opportunity to murmur to Josh, even though I know that looks even more suspicious. "They hate me. They think we're an item."
He just shrugs, grinning. "They don't hate you. Let 'em think whatever they want to think."
I want to tell him that he's underestimating their ability for irrational jealousy, because I've practically become an expert in that field lately. But I don't dare put our heads close together again. People will start noticing.
"You're paranoid," he says, quietly, and I just glare at him.
***
The bar's a lot more low-key than what I was expecting. There's loud music, and some dancing, but also a fairly quiet corner where the group installs themselves. While everyone's interested in talking to Landon-Josh at first, they soon realize he doesn't have all that much to say when they talk shop. He plays it off well by claiming that I do all of the publishing and administrative work. Soon, all the conversations are going on over our heads. Which is honestly fine with me.
While we nurse our drinks, I fill Josh in on the whole D.B. Blackwood situation. He can't stop laughing about TRUTH SEEKERS, even though I try to tell him that it could be very bad for us.
But, not us, really. Just me. He always has the option to bail. I've already paid him for everything up until this point, and if the drama bomb gets too big, he can just cut and run.
But what will I do? Can I really just walk away from everything I've built?
If Blackwood gets a bee in his bonnet, I may not have a choice.
"Wait, is that Blackwood's assistant here without him?" Josh jerks his head towards the mousy little guy, and sure enough, that's him. He does seem capable of speech when D.B.'s not there, dominating every moment, and I kind of feel bad for him at first.
"He must be in the bathroom," I reason. "There's no way he'd let him off the leash, right?"
Josh shrugs. "I didn't see him walk in. The door's right in front of me, I've been watching it all night without even meaning to." He grins. "They must be fighting."
"Oh, I'm sure." I laugh a little. "I'd say we should ply him with drinks to learn D.B.'s real secrets, but then I realized I don't actually give a shit, and we've all got better things to do."
"Amen to that." Josh raises his glass. "But still, we should invite him over, right?"
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, okay, I was thinking the same thing. I just hope he's not here as a mole taking notes for that damn TRUTH SEEKERS blog."
Somebody ends up waving the poor guy over, and we learn that his name is Caleb and he's only been working as Blackwood's PA for a few months. I'm desperate to ask him if he really buys into the whole scene, but he seems uncomfortable enough already.
"They must be having a fight," Josh murmurs to me when Blackwood remains conspicuously absent.
The music's getting louder, and some of our group is getting up to join in the dancing. I'm mortified at the idea of being seen anywhere near that floor, but I pretty quickly realize I need a refill.
Caleb is standing up. "Anyone else need another drink?"
There's a chorus of assent from the table, and he scribbles the orders down on his clipboard before heading to the bar.
"See, told you," says Josh. "I bet he's not a bad guy. Just got caught up with a rough, cape-wearing crowd."
I snicker.
Caleb returns empty-handed. "Sorry, guys, the bartender's saying he needs to see I.D.s."
Everyone groans.
"I'll take 'em over," he says. "He didn't say he needed to actually see you, just your licenses. Promise I won't steal 'em."
Everyone giggles a little, and I hand over my license without thinking twice. He comes back with a tray of drinks a minute later, but when it comes time to hand me my I.D. back, he pauses.
"Kimberly Tuggey?" he says, handing it to me hesitantly.
"Yeah." My head's swimming a little. "Go ahead, I've heard all the jokes."
"I wasn't going to make a joke," he says, before slinking to the other end of the table and reclaiming his seat.
Josh frowns at me. "What was that all about?"
"No idea," I tell him.
"Hey," says Josh, suddenly, jumping to his feet. "Come on. Come over here."
After having just narrowly avoided getting up, I'm loath to follow him, but there's just something about Landon Steele. You can't say no.
He grabs my hand as we head towards the dance floor, and I want to will my feet to freeze, but I can't. Not until he stops and looks at me.
"Dance with me, Kim."
I stare at him, horrified.
"I can't."
"Yeah, you can." He's smiling, still holding my hand. The lines are blurred, to the point where I'm not even sure if he's being himself, or Landon Steele. I remind myself that's a good thing. That's what I'm paying him for.
"I don't want to," I clarify, begging with my eyes. Please don't make me do this. As if he has the power to make me do anything - but that's how seamlessly he's stepped into this role.
He shakes his head, grabbing my hand tighter and jerking me close. I gasp at the sudden movement, but he wouldn't have been able to do it without my permission. He didn't pull hard. Not enough to compel me without my will, and certainly not enough to hurt. As soon as I felt the tug, my body went to him, without my brain's permission.
"Of course you want to," he murmurs, and it's amazing I can even understand words anymore, now that I can feel the hard planes of his body pressing against my soft curves. "I saw the way your eyes shine when you dance. You want to. You want to dance for everybody here, and you want them to be impressed. You want them to see what I see. But you're scared they won't."
He's gutted me so thoroughly that I can't even speak. I just stand there, feeling the way his arm wraps so tightly around my waist, and I can't help but think that a smaller woman - a more appropriate woman, shall we say, for a man like him - would practically fit in the crook of his elbow. Instead, I take up his whole arm. As deliberately as I've bolstered my confidence over the years, something in the recesses of my mind still tells me that I'm taking up entirely too much space in the world.
For a moment, I give in.
For a moment, I dance with him.
But then there's a pair of eyes watching me, and another pair, and suddenly everyone in the room is staring at me, even though I know they're really not. My chest starts to tighten and I don't know what happened to all the oxygen in the room.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I can't."
He wants to say something, I can tell, but he bites it back. Gently, he lets me go.
"Okay," he says.
But it's not really okay. It's not okay at all.
CHAPTER SIX
Josh and I don't talk about anything that happened that night.
I don't really expect to. We haven't really had a serious conversation about anything, ever, unless you count the occasional argument. We're still working on developing Landon Steele, but it's mostly an excuse to be around him. I have no doubts about his ability to play the part. I've seen it with my own eyes, seen the way women react to him.
And I'm selfish. I still want to keep something of him to myself, just a little bit. Even though I know it won't last.
We're going over the schedule leading up to his appearance on Morning Brew. The time is flying by, but I feel strangely calm. There are just a few more things to get in order. We've invented some suitably amusing anecdotes to discuss on the show, and Josh knows them all by heart. I've even warned him about the structural support beam that all talk show couches have hidden under their cushions, to keep people from sinking in too deep.
"Is that why celebrities are so squirmy on Leno?" was his only response. "I always figured it was all the cocaine."
I'm going over the last few items on the to-do list now, while Josh practically naps on my couch. He's spending more and more time here lately, and I'm not sure
he realizes how much. But I'm not about to point it out. Not when being around him is the only time I really feel happy anymore.
Well. That's a disturbing thought. I turn back to my list.
"When are you free to see a photographer?"
He blinks, sitting up a little. "A...why?"
"Headshots," I tell him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "To sign, for people who don't bring a book. We're not selling books there, it's a logistical nightmare. Most of them care more about your face anyway."
Josh shakes his head. "It's your books they care about," he says. "I dunno why you can't get that."
"Maybe because nobody actually did care about my books until I attached a handsome, albeit imaginary, face to them." I tapped my pen on a pad of paper. "So, when can you get some shots done?"
"Whenever. You know my schedule better than I do." He smiles. "I actually kinda like having an assistant, too bad this'll never really be in the cards for me."
Sighing, I pencil in whenever next to the photographer's phone number. "Trust me, you'll be glad you got these done. It'll save you from signing a lot of boobs."
"Oh yeah, that sounds terrible." He leans back on the sofa, hands interlaced behind his head. "Actually, it does kinda seem like they'd be hard to sign. Squishy."
"You'll get a cramp after about four or five," I tell him. "Just ask any member of Air Supply."
He's just kidding - I know that, but something tells me that Old Josh wouldn't have made that joke. Pre-Steele Josh. After we crashed that conference, there's no way he doesn't know I'm attracted to him. What's the point of pretending he'd actually like signing boobs, unless he wants to intimidate me a little? Make me jealous?
That's something Landon Steele would do.
Ugh, Josh is right. Landon Steele is an asshole.
***
Flying first class is the tits.
I don't know when I started talking like that. I must be spending too much time with Josh. But there's really no other way to describe it. We've got the whole aisle to ourselves, with nice roomy seats, individual movie screens, and a little cup of warm mixed nuts.
Meeting Mr. Steele Page 6
