Chapter 10

TEN

"Just how long are you going to be signing your fingers off, mate?"

Larson leaned against the bookshelf, his suit jacket still gone and his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. I decided not to mention the massive smear of what I hoped was dust on the side of his dress pants.

My best friend was a fashionista, and he'd probably bitch the rest of the day about it if he noticed.

"I'm on the last case of books. I went through all the ones I sent ahead. I can't believe so many people came. I don't think we even had these numbers at the signing at Saratoga Comic Con."

"We definitely did not. Then again, the Dr. Who people took over all the things at that one."

New York had its own small conventions all around the state, and I tried to get to a few per year, but this year had been insane, so I'd only managed a few.

It had been a good turnout, but nothing like this.

"However, I think our fair Rita has outmatched you."

"She's not our fair anything."

"She can be my fair all the things, to be honest," Larsen said with a grin.

I shot him a look.

He held his hands up. "Or not. Figured you bricked your shot by insulting her."

The basketball metaphor was accurate. I'd fucked up, but Larsen didn't know just how badly. I was lucky she was still semi-civil to me.

And now we had to do a workshop together. One that we'd competitively built out of damn near nothing. And there were now five-hundred raffle tickets in the bowl.

We'd even tried to get Ryan to jump in on the action, but she noped out. Said she was better with the one-on-one. As if I was good with the teacher status?

Hell no.

"Earth to Penn."

I sat back, giving Colette the high sign that I needed a break. "Sneak out the back for a second?"

"Sure."

Larsen hopped off the dais and swiftly moved through the crowd. Most of the line was for Rita at this point. I passed her by and saw she was definitely flagging. She still put on a sweet smile and listened patiently to everyone who came to her table.

She was far better at this than I was.

Crankiness was crawling up my spine like a spider monkey on crack, and I didn't want to take it out on my fans.

"You got it bad."

"Shut up," I muttered as Rita looked up. She met my gaze, the Rita from the storeroom and the café there for a split second before she buried her once more. And that smooth, perfect beauty remained, but it was the kind in a magazine.

Not the flashing hot green gaze that dared me to step out of civility and into our shared madness. Not the one who gripped my cock like she knew every inch of me and exactly what I needed.

"Penn."

Angry that I'd lost time to thinking about her again, I stalked through the crowd and down the hallway toward the break room. Instead, I hung a right and punched in the code to the storage room and to the back door.

"Penn, wait."

I pushed it open, hoping it wasn't a fire door. Considering how I got into the building earlier, it probably wasn't.

Larsen followed me, propping the door open with a box when he stuck his head out and found me pacing in the alleyway.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"You have a cig?"

"What? No. You know I quit."

"Yeah, as much as I have."

He rolled his eyes. "They're in the car where I left them last time I saw you."

"Oh, that was your pack? My old man has been stealing from it."

"JoJo is gonna kick your ass."

I stopped pacing. "Why? They're yours."

"Your car. Default to your problem."

I flexed my finger then shook them out. That was the last thing I needed to worry about, anyway. Not that the cigarette would probably help me right now.

I wasn't stressed per se.

I was… itchy .

I rolled my head slowly and blew out a long, slow breath. Which was not where I should have gone. That just reminded me how I started with Rita.

With her heart hammering between us as she came out of a panic attack. Those I knew about. It had been years since I had one, but I remembered them well.

Being an artist wasn't for the weak.

And signings were stress-inducing when you weren't used to them. However, she handled it like a pro. There was no way this was her first one.

Was it?

The urge to Google her was strong, but I didn't have time to do that. I had to get back in there and finish the signing.

"Is this because we're out of product?"

I was tempted to lie. It would be easier to lie, but Larsen knew me far too well. "No. That doesn't help, but no."

"I mean, I know you said something shitty about our resident romance author, but it wasn't like you said it to her face. She was eavesdropping."

"It doesn't matter."

"Obviously, it does." Larsen was leaning against the building, his foot propped against the building. So freaking still. Nerves never showed on his face. Hell, I don't know that I'd ever seen him actually crack under any of the pressure we'd dealt with since I'd brought him on to Duality Press.

The fact that he'd left a hugely high-powered job in Manhattan and trusted me not to crash and burn this ride was still astonishing to me.

"We were talking before this. I didn't know who she was."

That was safe to say. Kinda.

"Talking how? With or without clothes on?"

How did he always freaking know?

"Both."

"Jesus, Penn. You were here, what a week? How the hell did you do that?"

"How does anyone meet a girl?"

"Bar?"

"No. That's how you meet your hookups."

"So, you knew it was a hookup?"

"No!" I buried my face in my hands. "Never mind. I need to get back in there. I don't have time to explain it all." I opened the door and crossed the storage room.

When I stood in front of the nicked door with the last of the books stacked, a flash of sinking into her all too perfect body sideswiped me. I stuffed my hand into my pocket and found the scrap of cotton and lace.

I curled my fingers around it, conscious of how damp they still were even hours later. Damp from her.

My mouth watered at the memory of her taste on my tongue. That sweet, wide mouth of hers and the richer flavor of her under the dark dress. That gossamer soft skin split with enough heat to make me wish for more time with her.

I'd willingly be her supplicant.

For days.

The image of Moksha doing the same made my brain hum as much as the rest of me. Just who would my character bow down to? Who would bring him to his knees in every way? I pushed it out of my head, hoping the idea would come back later.

I hefted the case of books, stopped at the breakroom for chocolate chip cookies and water, then went back out into the dwindling crowd. I set the cookies and water at Rita's elbow, then the case of books beside her table. I had to lift the tablecloth to shove it under and found Rita shoeless under the table.

Her toes were polished the same dark raisin color of her nails. The stilts were kicked away as if they annoyed her. She scrunched her toes up, as if she knew I was looking.

Annoyed that I noticed, I flipped the cloth down without a word and met her gaze. She frowned at me, though the little wrinkle between her brows made me want to smooth it away.

Since I was the one who'd put it there, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

She lifted her chin and looked down that cute slash of nose at me. "Thanks."

"Welcome." I gave her a quick grin before I took off to my own table.

We managed to move along the rest of the fans within two hours, but the sun was setting by the time Colette closed the doors.

She slumped back against them with a brilliant smile. "You guys rocked. My cash register is so damn happy I can't stop smiling though my face hurts."

A woman came out from the registers. She had cherry-Koolaid-colored hair and tattoos peeking from the neckline and sleeves of her unicorn farting a rainbow T-shirt. "We ran out of Every Line bags before the halfway mark. I had to start using plain brown bags from storage."

"Whatever works. Thanks so much for helping out, AJ."

"I don't think I could have gotten through it without Larsen." She gave my best friend a shy smile. "He kept the line moving and people happy."

Larsen snagged his suit jacket from behind the counter. "Pleasure." He gave her a charming grin. "I'm going to figure out your name, Autumn Jasper."

She laughed. "Nope. That's not it."

"Dammit. I'm going to get it." He passed her, stroking the skin of her arm where a colorful tattoo climbed along the underside of her forearm. "Thanks for a fun afternoon."

She gave him a shy smile with a nod.

Larsen crossed to me and started stacking what was left of my graphic novels. We only had a handful of some of the older ones. All the new ones were long gone. It had gotten so bad that we allowed people to have me sign the editions they already owned for a donation to Saving Hearts—a local autism charity.

"How'd we do?" Larsen asked as he gathered silver Sharpies.

"Making friends?"

Larsen glanced over to AJ, who was busy with Colette. "She's charming. Reminds me of an actress I can't put my finger on."

"Anna Kendrick," Ryan said genially.

"That's it." Larsen said with a fingersnap.

"She's got that cute cat-like face. I've been drawing her all day."

"Really?" Larsen left me in the dust to check out her sketches.

I shook my head as my best friend ooh ed and ahh ed over Ryan. He'd lost interest in my drawings long ago. Moksha had a few iterations from all the way back to my college days.

Larsen was actually the one who convinced me to change my major from screenwriting to a fine arts and visual arts degree. He'd been happy with engineering. We'd met in a mythology class in our freshman year, and that had been it.

We'd even finagled an apartment as soon as we could scrape the money together. It had been a hole in the wall in the city, but we'd lived for the freedom of it.

While we'd gone our separate ways for jobs, and after a few years, he'd gone home with his ‘fancy American education' as his father called it. But New York was in his blood, and he'd come back to the city when he'd found a good job with a firm based in the city.

Somehow, I'd gotten lucky to bring him on, after he'd grown tired of the red tape and endless policy for the management and manufacturing companies. Strangely enough, he was perfect for his role with Duality Press. He technically worked for me, but I swore I wouldn't have a company without him.

Dragging myself out of the past, I broke down my table and helped Colette put the store back together, all the while very aware that Rita Savage was a couple dozen feet away.

Even thought it might as well have been miles.

She didn't even glance my way. Instead, she methodically organized her books and quietly spoke with Colette about the raffle tickets.

I had no idea how I'd ended up with a co-workshop with a romance author. I had no clue how that was going to work.

How we'd even manage to be civil enough to create something people would want to attend.

Moreover, I couldn't believe how many people signed up. I knew there were plenty of fans who dreamed of doing what I did. That I inspired them to create their own stories and characters—which still blew my mind. But the real star of the show had been all the people who wanted to be authors.

And now we had to figure out a workshop in a little over a month.

Oh, and not snipe at each other because I couldn't keep my asshole gene in check.

Easy.

Right.

I crossed to Rita, who was crouched behind her table, those toes still bare as she rearranged a shelf of books—her books. Well, the books with her co-writer.

How did that work?

I couldn't imagine someone in my head all the time when I was creating. I had absolute control of the Knights of Chaos series—for both the bad and the good.

"What was the final count for the raffle?"

Rita craned her neck to look at me before she stood and dusted her fingers on her dress. On that cashmere dress, no less. The memory of the softness of that material sliding over my shoulders had me shifting my feet.

"Over seven hundred."

My jaw dropped. "Truly?"

"Free workshop with us was a big draw. I figured we'd be lucky to have twenty people want to take it when I called it out."

"I am pretty famous."

Her eyebrow arched. "Is that so?"

I huffed out a half laugh. "You know that I am. We're both at the top of our particular genres."

"How would you know?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought I was just a romance author."

"If I hadn't known before, that crush of people would have made the case, now wouldn't it?"

"How nice for you. Glad my readers have eased your mind."

"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Pretty sure we didn't. I just missed the signs when we first met." She gave me a fake smile and turned her back on me.

I tipped my head back and turned on my heel to go back to Larsen and what was left of my merchandise.

"Crashed and burned again, hey?"

"Shut up," I snapped.

He snickered and hefted the box with my cardboard cutout, taken apart and tucked inside. "Maybe a plate of loaded fries will turn your mood around."

"Maybe."

"Good, let's drop this off and head to the Rusty Spoon."

I nodded and grabbed the rest of my stuff. We said our goodbyes to Colette. Ryan had already headed out with her significant other with some mention of Moons Over My Hammy.

The sun was long gone, but there were a few people congregated outside of Ashes and Wine across the street and down near the park. From the flights of glasses I spotted on the tables, I assumed it was a tasting.

I didn't have wine on my mind. Hell, the only things living in my head at the moment were regret and annoyance.

How had it all gone so fucking sideways?

It was a quiet walk back to my car. Larsen knew when I was in a mood and let me stew. By the time we got to the local diner, I'd shaken off some of my mood.

Polly, one of the regular waitresses, spotted us and waved us in. "Hey, Penn. Long time, no see." She gave Larsen a once over, which he returned. "Who's your friend?"

Larsen, ever the flirt, answered for me. "Larsen. And may I know yours?"

I rolled my eyes at the literal swoon. Heavy on the Scottish always did the trick.

"Polly."

"Pleasure. Can we have a booth?"

"Sure. I mean, of course. Sit wherever you like. And please talk to me for the rest of my shift."

"I'll endeavor to be a chatterbox."

Polly giggled. Polly didn't giggle—as far as I knew…ever. I pushed Larsen forward down the aisle. "All right, don't put the girl into a state."

Larsen grinned over his shoulder. "She looks a little spicy."

"You would be correct." I stopped at a booth by the window and slid across. I didn't need to look at the menu, I was pretty sure it had been the same for forty years or so.

Polly came out of the back holding two glasses of water and a carafe of coffee. "Freshly made about ten minutes ago." She flipped the cups already on the table and poured out one for both of us. "You guys need a minute?"

"Thanks, love. That'd be great."

I slouched in the booth and gave Larsen a bland look.

"I'll be back in a few." Polly gave me a shrug then moved onto another customer.

Elvis's "The Wonder of You" hummed out of the ancient juke and the scent of bacon and fresh bread relaxed me. The jukebox also hadn't been changed in the same time as the menus. I was pretty sure no songs after the sixties were allowed according to the owner, Mitch.

Larsen glanced through the window, then around the diner. "If I read about a diner in a book by Stephen King, this would be it."

"Think we're getting poisoned?"

He snickered. "No, but this is so typical small town. I love it." He cupped his hands around the mug of coffee. "I won't even complain about the lack of tea."

"Pretty sure you'd only get a bag of Lipton, pal."

"Pass." He lifted the mug and took a tentative sip. "If I didn't have hair on my chest, I would after this." He took another larger sip. "Good."

"There's no diet plate, and the coffee is strong here, that's for sure." I pulled the mug in front of me and spun it idly before dumping a packet of raw sugar in it. I had enough chest hair, as well. While Macy's coffee was superior, there was a bit of nostalgia to Mitch's straight dark roast he probably got from the same place he purchased his pots and pans.

"I'll work off the full breakfast on your old man's rowing machine." Larsen patted his flat middle before he rubbed his hands. "Give me all the bacon. It's all I can smell in here. And something with lemons."

"Cleanser."

"Well, I definitely appreciate that." He laughed.

When Polly came back, we both ordered one of the breakfast specials, and I tuned out his charm attack on the poor unsuspecting waitress.

I had bigger issues to worry about. Like building a workshop for new artists out of the blue. Teaching was not my forte. Oh, and I couldn't forget the part about screwing up with Rita at every turn.

How I'd gone from absolute mind-bending bliss to having the same girl hate my guts in the same day was a feat even for me. Not to mention my business, which was teetering on the verge of being absolutely fucked if I couldn't figure out this printing mess.

"Hey."

I looked up from my cup. "Yeah?"

"We got this, man. We just have to do some reconfiguring, that's all."

"Maybe. I have a Hail Mary idea, but I don't know if it's going to pan out. I just have to make a few phone calls to get a meeting."

"Can I help?"

"I'll probably need your manufacturing knowhow but let me make sure I can actually get the meeting first." I tapped my finger on the mug. Things didn't move as fast as the city in a small town. It took a different approach on a few levels. "How long can you stick around here in the Cove?"

"I rented a place for a month with the option for more. It's a bit out of the way on the lake, but what a view."

"Does it have a nice big table to spread out on?"

"It does."

I noticed Polly come out of the swinging doors of the kitchen with two large platters of food. "Then looks like we better fuel up, and I'll tell you just what I want to do."

At least this part of my life I could hopefully fix.

Rita would just have to wait.