Chapter Fourteen

She was at the LA Times Book Fest. With her book. Oh, sure, she could pout and say it didn't count when Chris wore the "author" badge, but screw that. She was here, and her book put her here. Better yet, she wasn't the one who had to get up onstage in front of…

She looked around and shivered. It was a gorgeous June day, and maybe that added to the crowd, but people weren't just milling about—they were packing the seats.

Or, at least, they were packing the seats for the main panels and the huge names. Presumably Zane would be on a smaller one. Which reminded Daphne that she'd forgotten to see who else was on the panel. Her cheeks flushed. Her first event, and she'd already committed a major faux pas.

She turned to ask Sakura, but the publicist was checking something on her phone.

Daphne looked around and wondered, not for the first time, whether she could make some excuse and go off exploring on her own. Sakura was lovely company, but Daphne felt like a kid at an amusement park with an elderly relative. They were sedately strolling, not taking in panels or checking out signings. Chris had to be Zane, who would be content to stroll while awaiting his own moment in the spotlight. But maybe his assistant could slip off.

"Sorry, guys," Sakura said. "I need to make a call."

The moment Sakura stepped out of earshot, Chris spun on Daphne. "I think I just saw Stephen King."

"Oh, so you actually do know who that is?"

"Sure, he wrote the It movie, right?" Chris grinned, and it was a blaze of a grin that set her pulse racing. "Yes, I know who Stephen King is, and I'm fifty percent sure I just saw him. Would it be wrong to sneak off? Stalk him, just to be sure? Maybe get a stealth selfie?"

She waggled her finger. "Stealth selfies are always wrong, sir."

"Is it also wrong that I kinda like it when you call me sir?"

He waggled his brows, and she had to stifle a laugh.

He stepped closer. "It is very crowded. Maybe we can accidentally get separated from Sakura and stalk possible Stephen King?"

"And then have Sakura panicking thinking you're lost and won't make it to your panel?"

He sighed. "Killjoy."

"It's my job, sir."

He grinned again and seemed about to speak when Sakura hurried back, looking flustered.

"Everything okay?" Daphne asked.

"A bunch of our authors are here today, and it's just me and another publicist. I'm assigned fully to you, because of the tour and because it's your first-ever event. But there's another author, a really big name—" She stopped short, flushing. "Not that you aren't a big name."

"I'm a debut author," Chris said. "However well Edge is selling, I'm still new. I presume this other author has been around longer."

"Yes. She's… a bit… That is to say, she's understandably aware of her standing and…"

"She has certain expectations," Daphne supplied.

Sakura exhaled. "Exactly. She was supposed to come with two assistants, so she didn't need a publicist, only they apparently both demanded a raise this morning, and she fired them."

"Ah," Chris said. "Strategic negotiation timing, which failed because it neglected to take into account the fact that their boss is an ass."

Sakura coughed to cover a laugh. "Something like that. But now she doesn't have anyone, and she's demanding a publicist, and my colleague is there now, but the author doesn't know him and she knows me."

"And she's insisting on you," Chris said. "Go on. We've got this."

Panic sparked in Sakura's eyes. "I can't. It's your first time. If anything goes wrong…"

"Tell me where to go and what to do," Daphne said. "We have this. Really."

Sakura still hesitated.

Chris lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Between us, I'm not quite as helpless as I seem. I've even been known to find a restroom and return to Daphne all on my own."

"Mmm, there was that one time, sir."

He mock-glared at her. "And you will never stop bringing that up."

Daphne said to Sakura, "He's right. He doesn't need my help half as much as he pretends to."

"I'm just lazy," Chris drawled. "And Daphne is very good at taking care of me. Seems rude not to let her."

"We have this," Daphne said when Sakura hesitated again. "Give us the rundown and go."

They still weren't sure whether they'd spotted Stephen King. Daphne had even grabbed a program, and he wasn't on it, but when you were that big of a name, maybe you stayed incognito until your event.

Speaking of events… They found where Zane's would be held before they went hunting for Mr. King, and they both set alarms to get him there fifteen minutes early. The whole time Daphne kept Sakura in the loop via text:

Found the panel tent!

Heading to the tent now!

Dropped off Zane and confirmed he's in the right place!

Made sure he's wearing his name tag right-side-up and carrying a copy of his book!

Chris was now waiting backstage, after being directed there by staff. It was just him and a young woman clutching a book. He considered introducing himself, but she seemed to be studiously avoiding his gaze, so he decided approaching her would be unwelcome and possibly creepy. He settled for a friendly Chris nod and smile.

He was reading the program when an older woman walked in, headed straight over, and pointedly looked at his book.

"Mr. Remington, I presume," she said.

While her tone seemed sharp, she smiled when he looked over. He tried to read her name tag, but it was facing backward, intentionally or otherwise. Daphne had meant to find out who else he was on the panel with, but they'd both forgotten. Now he realized that was an inexcusable oversight.

"I started your book on the flight," the woman said.

Yep, definitely inexcusable. He should not only have checked out his co-panelists but at least tried their books.

He opened his mouth and then shut it.

She smiled. "Not going to ask me how I like it?"

"I was, and then realized that's awkward. If someone likes it, they'll say so. Otherwise, I should just smile and say thank you." He smiled. "Thank you."

"Good call. Never ask someone how they liked your book. Yours is good so far. I like the dog. And the girl, obviously. I'm reserving judgment on the boys. I'm not sure if they deserve her, and I'm quite sure she doesn't need them." She paused. "That is to say, she doesn't need their help. Their companionship is another thing. Everyone needs that."

"They do."

"Be prepared to hear all about the boys from readers, though."

"I am."

He glanced at her name tag again, as if it might have miraculously flipped over.

She noticed it and flapped a hand. "Damn thing."

He saw the name. Blinked. Read it again. "You're… you're Tara Palmer?"

"Let me guess. You have a sister who read my books when she was young?"

"No, I mean, yes, she did. But I did, too. Well, one of your series. When I was sick and ran out of books." He made a face. "That sounds bad. I mean I started the series when I raided her room for books, and then I swiped the rest, until she caught me and accused me of bending the spines. So Mom had to buy me my own set. It was the one about the girl who wanted to be a blacksmith and could sing to animals and had a wolf…" He stopped, inhaling sharply. "I'll stop gushing now. Sorry about that."

"Ah, right. You're the Canadian. Always apologizing about things that don't require apologies."

"Which definitely includes gushing to an author about their books," said a voice. Another man walked in. A little older than Chris. Bald. Black.

As the newcomer embraced Tara, Chris snuck a glance at his name tag. Dwayne Foster. He recognized the name from Christmas gifts he'd bought a preteen cousin. Dwayne wrote middle grade, mostly sports themed.

Okay, two fellow authors down. Two to go.

He was glancing around for the young woman, hoping to entice her over now that it wasn't just one creepy dude paying too much attention to her. Then the curtains parted, and a man walked in. White. Maybe late fifties. Dwayne murmured, "And that is my cue to go. Have fun."

As the older man looked around, the staff member appeared and told them all to head onto the stage and take a chair. They filed out. The young woman whose name Chris hadn't gotten zeroed in on the farthest chair. Dwayne took the next one. Chris realized that put him in the middle, and he stepped back, motioning for Tara to take it.

"No," she said, "that one's clearly reserved for the guy sitting on top of the New York Times list."

Chris still hesitated, but Dwayne gestured for him to sit there, so he awkwardly lowered himself into the seat. Then he turned for his first look at the audience, which was…

Full. Every seat was full, and people stood along the back.

Yeah, that's what you get when you're on a panel with Tara Palmer and Dwayne Foster.

He was so not prepared for this.

"I believe you are in my seat," a voice said.

Chris almost scrambled up. Then he saw who it was—the older author who'd come in last.

Tara tapped Chris's leg as if to keep him from rising. "No, Bruce. He's in his seat."

Chris checked the man's name tag. Bruce Buck. He didn't recognize the name.

"That is my seat," Bruce said. "As the—"

"—oldest guy here?" Dwayne said.

Bruce scowled at him. "Author with the longest career."

Tara cleared her throat.

"The most prestigious career," Bruce added.

Dwayne choked on a laugh, and Chris decided he really liked Dwayne. And he did not like Bruce Buck.

The woman on the end spoke up, her voice almost too soft to be heard. "Mr. Remington's book is number one on the Times list right now. He should sit there."

When Chris looked over, she smiled shyly and fluttered her fingers in a wave.

"Did he tell you that?" Bruce snapped. "He's lying. I read the lists every week. Jeff Kinney is camped out on middle grade, and on the Young Adult it's some girl whose name I can't pronounce."

Tara pronounced it perfectly, but Bruce ignored her.

Someone from the staff whispered, "Five minutes. Take your seats please," but the authors ignored him.

"Mr. Remington's book is on the adult list," said the young woman on the end.

Bruce scowled. "This is a panel for children's books."

Tara took the book from Chris's hand and passed it over. Bruce examined the cover. Frowned.

"The protagonist is a teenager," Chris said. "It's definitely YA. I'm not sure why the publisher insisted on marketing it as an adult book."

"Because the adult market is bigger and more prestigious," Tara said. "And as a man, you can get away with it."

"As a white man," Dwayne added.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't start that nonsense."

"Dwayne's right," Chris said. "It makes a difference." He glanced at Dwayne. "Sorry."

"Because your publisher gave your book a better shot at success?" Dwayne said. "Not your fault. I'd take it, too."

"He's Canadian," Tara said. "Ignore the unnecessary apologies."

Bruce looked up from reading Edge's front flap. He snapped the book shut and sniffed. "Zombies? Of course. Anyone could hit the list with that nonsense."

"Then why don't you write it?" Tara said. "Been a while since you hit a list, hasn't it, Bruce?"

"My books win awards." He looked at Chris. "A word of advice, young man. If you want to be taken seriously, you need to write seriously. Take my latest novel." He held up a book. "The subject matter is both serious and timely. It's the story of a young woman from the projects, who becomes pregnant after a rape."

"The projects?" Dwayne said. "Please tell me you don't actually call it that."

Chris looked at the book, which showed a teenage Black girl on the cover. Bruce's hand partly obscured the author's name.

"Oh," Chris said. "You have a cowriter? I've always thought that seemed interesting. How did you do it?"

Bruce only stared at him.

"Ask it louder," Dwayne said. "He's hard of hearing." He raised his voice. "Zane wants to know who cowrote this with you. Or is it written from personal experience?"

Tara laughed. The young woman at the end had her fist in her mouth stifling her own laughter.

It was then that Chris realized there was no cowriter.

Before he could think of anything to say, Bruce glared at them all. "If you are referencing that nonsense about writing outside your own experience, I am a novelist. Writing outside my experience is what I do, and you cannot censor my right to express myself creatively." He jabbed a finger at Edge. "He also wrote about a teenage girl."

"Not the same thing, though maybe it should be." Dwayne cast an apologetic look at Chris. "No offense."

"None taken." Since I didn't write it. "It's a valid point. Maybe we can discuss that on the—"

"You will not discuss that on the panel." Bruce jabbed a finger perilously close to Chris's face.

"You okay if we bring it up?" Dwayne murmured to Zane. "Not to put you on the spot."

"No, go ahead. Like I said, it's a valid point, and I'm happy to hear opinions on it. I am new at this, after all."

"All right," the staff member said from the mic at the end of the row. "If Mr. Buck will please take his seat, I think we're about to start."

"Let's get ready to rumble." Dwayne grinned, and every author—except Bruce—grinned back.