Well, he assumed she’d been close to his thirty-eight. No, she was probably younger. He squinted as he tried to remember her in more detail. Though, truth be told, he’d been so furious, not as many particulars had registered as normally would. He recalled large wide eyes—no clue about color. No clue about the color of her hair, either. Or the length. It was obviously long enough to pin up. The only thing he could really remember with any kind of clarity was her voice—it had been sweetly husky—the kind that made him think lazy morning sex. And he thought she might be a bit plain. Other than that, the only thing he was relatively sure of was that she was younger. And if that was the case, the lack of internet presence made even less sense.
He supposed she could have accounts under a nickname or some catchy username—like BookLover397 or Books&Coffee. No, she looked more like a tea drinker. BooksAndTea. That was it. He rolled his eyes.
Her feed was probably full of antique books and soft-focus photos of flowers in vases in front of gently blowing lace curtains. There were also probably the requisite number of selfies, taken on desolate, windswept beaches, waves churning in the background. Oh, and jumpers. He was betting there were lots of pictures of her in oversized hand-knit jumpers.
He dragged his hands through his hair and sighed. It didn’t really matter what sort of photos were or weren’t in her Instagram feed. He needed to deal with her in the here and now. They needed to discuss what this whole author assistant relationship entailed. Especially, what kind of access she expected to have to his work. There were exactly two people he was comfortable sharing raw, unedited work with, and her name wasn’t on that list.
Insistent pounding woke him, and for a minute, he laid in bed trying to get his bearings. Gray morning light crept in around the blinds, and he squinted as he turned toward the clock. 7:23. Christ. He was never up this early. Not if he could help it. The knocking sounded again. This time, on the door between the two rooms.
Pushing himself up on his elbows, he tried to clear his head. He’d only gone to sleep three and half hours ago, and now it felt like there was a vise wrapped around his skull and someone was cranking the handle. He’d like to be able to say it was because he’d been in the flow and had lost track of the time because he’d been making such great progress. The reality was more like he’d been quietly banging his head against the desk, trying to figure how to salvage this fucking book and what was left of his career. Maybe he should just bag the whole writing gig and take up competitive drinking, instead.
He crawled out of bed and felt around for his pajama pants. Where the fuck had he put them? The clunk of a lock tumbling over sounded far too loud in the quiet room, and suddenly, the penny dropped. The con. His minder.
“Mr. Domhnull?”
He grabbed the sheet from the bed and quickly wound it around his waist.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but you weren’t answering the hallway door.”
He noticed that the sound of her voice hadn’t moved. She was staying right in the doorway between their rooms.
Taking a few steps and dragging the sheet with him, he rounded the corner and headed for the bathroom. He lifted a hand in greeting as he passed. It was still fairly dark in the room, so he wasn’t sure what she’d seen. He couldn’t make out any of her features because she was backlit by a single lamp burning in her room.
“I’ll be ready just as soon as I’m able.”
He thought she might have sighed. “I’ll head down and see if I can convince the driver to wait.”
He splashed his face with cold water then quickly brushed his teeth, sniffing his armpits while he brushed. Thank fuck he’d taken a shower yesterday. The last thing he needed to bring to his panels was a bad case of the funk.
Dressing as quickly as humanly possible, he grabbed his rucksack and shoved a notebook and his laptop inside, along with his phone. He darted out the door, realizing as it latched behind him that he’d left his key card laying on the desk.
Fuck me.
Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to be able to convince his editor that Ms. Burrows’ presence was unnecessary.
Chapter Three
Eliza spotted her charge in one of the glass elevators, descending from the twenty-seventh floor, looking for all the world like he was still half asleep. Though, when the doors opened and he stalked into the lobby, he seemed less sleepy and more...surly.
Oh, good. The diva behavior continues. This is shaping up to be a banner fucking day.
Now that he was closer, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. She might have even felt bad for him, but...he made that difficult.
“The driver’s out front.”
Angus grunted in response as he walked past her toward the revolving door. At least, she assumed it was in response. For all she knew, that could be his way of saying “good morning”. Or “fuck off”. She knew which was more likely.
Following him outside into the already too-warm Phoenix morning air, she pointed out the black SUV, in the line of other cars and shuttles, that the publishing house had hired. He got in and immediately shut the door, leaving her to go around the other side of the vehicle. And of course, it had to be the kind she was too short to climb into comfortably. Or gracefully.
Once she was seated, the driver pulled through the half circle drive and onto the street past hordes of convention-goers, many, if not most, cosplaying their favorite characters and waiting in line for the doors to open.
Angus blinked blearily at the lines of people then sat up and turned toward her, frowning. His brow was furrowed, and his expression was equal parts confused and accusatory. “Where are we going? I thought the whole point of staying at this particular hotel was because it’s right next door to the convention center.”
Eliza took a deep, slow breath, held it for a couple seconds, then slowly let it go, trying to release the sudden stress spike with it. “That is why we’re staying there. But, with all the other con guests, the hotel couldn’t accommodate a private room for your reader breakfast, so we had to book the—”
“My what, now?”
She stared at him, a growing sense of dread curdling her stomach. “Your reader breakfast.”
His dark brows drew together, and his annoyance gave way to confusion. He was still ridiculously gorgeous. But every time he opened his mouth, that fact was getting easier to ignore by the second.
She crossed her arms over her chest. It was either that or strangle him. “Just out of morbid curiosity, when’s the last time you actually read a message from your editor? Or your publisher?” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “The breakfast was also listed on the schedule I gave you last night...which obviously, you couldn’t be bothered to read.”
“It’s still laying on my desk.” He paused seeming a bit embarrassed. “With my room key.”
She forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Fine. I’ll recap. Eight a.m.—breakfast with the winners of the reader lottery. Eleven a.m.—panel on Near Future Sci-Fi—Genre of the Future or Too Close to Reality?”
“Wait... I'm on that panel? I don't even write Near Future Sci-Fi.”
Eliza smiled overly sweetly. “Huh. Guess maybe you should read your email more often.”
Angus muttered under his breath, but she didn’t catch it. Whatever. If it was important, he could repeat himself at an audible level.
“There’s an awards luncheon, but since you didn’t respond, Barbara assumed you weren’t interested, so she declined on your behalf.”
“Thoughtful, that,” he murmured, looking more than a little chagrinned.
Eliza took pity on him. “If you don’t end up making plans for lunch, let me know what you want, and I’ll make sure it’s waiting in your room after the eleven o’clock session.”
“What about you?”
She blinked at him. “What about me, what?”
“If you’re fetching my lunch, will you still have time to get to the luncheon?”
She waved away his concern.
“I’ll grab something somewhere. I’m not a big fan of crowds, and honestly, banquet dining at a hotel is a little...”
“Dodgy?”
He surprised a laugh from her. “Dodgy, yes. Perfect description.”
Half the time, the food was cold and rubbery from sitting out for so long and the rest of the time, it was either undercooked or overcooked leftovers from the previous banquet meal that had been repurposed into something else. A nasty bout of food poisoning had convinced her that buffet dining was not for her.
“Okay, after the lunch break, you’ll be on the Heroes: Born or Made panel at three, and from there, you’ll go to the Creating Universes panel at four. Then, it’s on to another dodgy meal in the grand ballroom at six-thirty.”
He grimaced, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something when the driver pulled into the restaurant. Angus glanced at the venue then back at her. “Remind me what we’re doing here, again?”
The vaguely panicked look in his eyes dulled her lingering annoyance. They were going to have to have a talk tonight about expectations.
“A ton of your readers bought lottery tickets at twenty dollars apiece for the chance to meet you, have a meal together and sign books—if there’s time. Twenty-five people were chosen. Any money raised over and above the cost of the meal, driver, and servers’ tips will go to the literacy project of your choice.”
Surprise softened his ever-present scowl. “No. That’s not right.”
“What do you mean?” She slipped her messenger bag across her body and opened the door when the driver stopped.
“Let’s just donate all the money to the charity. I’ll cover everything else.”
She stared at him a moment, trying not to let her shock show. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a complete asshole.
She grabbed the cardboard box she’d stashed earlier behind the seat.
He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Why don’t you park this thing and come have breakfast with us?”
The driver grinned, meeting their eyes in the rearview mirror. “I wish. I’ve got another fare scheduled, but I wouldn’t say no to a waffle sausage sandwich to go when I come back to pick you up.”
Eliza wrote the man’s order in her planner. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Cream and sugar would be great.”
She smiled. “You got it.”
Angus took a deep breath then hopped out of the vehicle and stared at the door, looking for all the world like he was psyching himself up to go inside.
“You okay?” she asked.
He grunted in lieu of an answer and pulled open the door, gesturing for her to enter. Before she had time to at least partially reassess her opinion of Angus, a hostess met them and led them toward the private dining room where the breakfast would be held.
He tilted his head and murmured in Eliza’s ear, “Do you have an escape plan plotted just in case this turns into a pitchfork and angry mob situation because the book isn’t finished yet?”
She snorted as the hostess opened the door. From the looks of it, most of the readers were already waiting, chatting excitedly, their faces brightening as they caught sight of Angus.
He straightened and flashed them all a huge smile. Gone was the rude, brooding author of last night. And the over-tired, churlish man who’d stumbled downstairs this morning was also nowhere in sight. Instead, he’d been replaced by this warm, gregarious person whose smile was so beautiful it would make angels weep. Weep and drop their panties.
She watched as he made his way around the room, introducing himself to each person present. It was hard to continue to be irritated with him when he was so utterly charming. And it didn’t seem like that fake kind of smarm she’d seen plenty of other authors dole out at these things.
Checking her watch, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
Most of the people continued talking, but Angus turned toward her and said, “I’d like you all to meet my intrepid assistant, Eliza. She’s the only reason I’ll get anywhere even remotely close to on time at this con.” He grinned at her, and she was again struck by the thought of panty-dropping angels.
She looked away from him and focused on the other people in the room. “Thank you all so much for entering the lottery and helping Angus, and all of us at Terra Ink, promote literacy. In just a moment, the servers will be coming in to deliver the food. We’ve only got about an hour and a half to eat and for you to ply Angus with all your questions.”
Almost on cue, four servers, each pushing heavily laden carts entered the room and began setting up large metal warmers full of food on the tables that bordered the room.
“While we’re waiting to eat,” Angus said, “I’ll just go ahead and take care of that elephant that’s been wanderin’ about.”
A few people laughed, but most stared at him expectantly.
“I’m planning to have the finished draft of Escape Velocity turned into my editor before the end of the year.”
The room erupted with cheers. Eliza knew her eyes had widened at his news, but she tried to keep her surprise hidden. Angus had seen it, though. She could tell by the way he held her gaze, lips quirking and one dark eyebrow raised in challenge.
Chapter Four
Angus watched color steal across Eliza’s cheeks. She broke eye contact and turned away to speak with a server. He couldn’t get over the difference in her appearance between last night and this morning. Last night, she’d appeared every inch the publishing professional—and now, she looked as if he could lose her in the con crowd if he wasn’t careful. Jeans, purple hi-top trainers and a Firefly t-shirt under a black hoodie. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, a shimmering mix of cinnamon and chocolate.
He still wasn’t happy to be assigned a minder, but she’d saved his arse today.
“Mr. Domhnull?”
He turned to find an older woman with long gray braids piled on her head. Smiling, he offered his hand. “Please, call me, Angus.”
She shook his hand. “I’m so sorry, I’m late. I was just wondering if you could sign my daughter’s books. She actually won the lottery, but she had to start chemo today.” Her voice broke on the last word.
Angus’ throat thickened, and suddenly, he was thousands of miles away in a treatment center in Glasgow. Shaking off the memory as well as he could, he put an arm around her and guided her toward an empty seat at the tables that had been pushed together. “Of course, I’ll sign her books.”
“I wanted to stay with her, but she made me promise to get them to you.”
He took the worn books from the women’s trembling hands. “What’s her name?”
“Sarah. With an ‘H’.” She took a breath and nodded toward the books. “She’s worried that she won’t make it to the end of the series.”
Swallowing hard, he opened the first book. He should have been done with the last one already. He should have been done years ago. Not that finishing the series meant shit in terms of a cancer diagnosis, but if he wasn’t such a fuckup, at least she wouldn’t be worrying that she wouldn’t ever get to see how it ends. Disgust filling him, he quickly personalized the books, writing a little note of encouragement in each one. As he opened the cover of the last one, he caught Eliza’s attention and motioned her over.
“This is my assistant, Eliza. Would you mind giving her your and Sarah’s contact information? If you think she’d be okay with it, I’d like to send her something since she couldn’t be here today.”
The woman’s face brightened. “That’s not necessary, but...she’d really love that.”
Eliza already had what looked like one of those over-sized planners out, ready to take notes. Of course, she was one of those hyper-organized, control freak planner-types. Probably never went a day over deadline on anything. As she wrote down the information, he signed Sarah’s last book. Hang in there—I’ll write faster. Closing it, he handed it back to her mother.
“Please, have something to eat,” Eliza said.
T
he woman smiled. “Thank you, but I need to get back to the treatment center.” She turned to Angus and hugged him. “This will mean the world to her. Thank you.”
“Wait,” Eliza said. “Why don’t I take your picture together and you can share it with your daughter when you get back?”
“Would you mind?” She appeared to be blinking back tears.
Eliza smiled, but it seemed a little sad around the edges. “Not at all.”
They posed, and she took a couple shots on the woman’s phone and hers, then Eliza dropped to her knees and dragged the cardboard box she’d had earlier from under the table and pulled out a tote bag that had been printed with his book covers and Terra Ink’s logo and website. She tossed him a black Sharpie and a bag. He signed it and gave it back to her, and she helped the woman slide the books into it then walked her to the door.
When Eliza turned around, he was already signing another pile of books, so she detoured to the food table. “If you’re not already getting your books signed, please come get something to eat while you’re waiting. And be sure to get one of the signed bags.”
His gut churned. Normally, at reader events like this, publishing houses would give out the latest book—or even advanced reading copies. But since his last novel had come out over five years ago, it was assumed that anyone interested in an event like this, already had the book. And since he was just a giant fuck-up and had nothing to show for the fifth book, marketing had resorted to fucking tote bags.
He glanced at Eliza, wondering again how she’d been saddled with this shit detail. Wondering if she thought he was as pathetic as he felt. She loaded up a plate then carried it back to him, reaching around to set the plate next to him on the table. “Be sure you eat something,” she admonished.
“Yes, mum.”
She rolled her eyes then set about pulling more bags from the box for him to sign while he took the occasional bite of scrambled eggs or bacon in between reader selfies.
He’d managed to get all the books and bags signed before it was time to leave and paid for everyone’s meal, as well as the one for their driver.
Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7) Page 2
