Chapter Sixteen

Chris had spent the previous day dreading the 3:45 wake-up call, but when it came, he bounced out of bed, and he swore he could still taste that kiss.

He'd kissed Daphne, and she hadn't objected.

Low bar there, buddy.

He only smiled more as he yanked on his clothing. He knew what he was doing. Everything was under control. The next step, since she hadn't rejected his kiss—

Really low bar…

—was to let her know how he felt before things went further. Confirm that they were heading in the same direction. Yes, the long-distance aspect was a problem, but was she willing to acknowledge that it was something they'd need to eventually work out, and she still wanted to try?

Kind of rushing things, aren't you?

Rushing would be setting a date for the wedding. What he was doing was establishing a clear course of intention, as he always did. Whether he reached the destination depended on many factors, but it was where he was heading. A serious relationship. That was all. She had to know his intentions before they went any further.

He was still zipping his suitcase when Daphne texted.

Daphne: Checking us out. Meet you at the door.

He smiled. Ready before he was, as always. He still hurried, in hopes of sharing an elevator down… and maybe a good-morning kiss, but she must have texted as she was leaving. He reached the lobby just as she finished up at the desk.

As she walked over, he took a moment to admire her. She was dressed casually today, in slim-fitting jeans and a light jersey with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair fell in loose waves and her lips were bright coral. Ankle boots added an extra inch or two, and two businessmen waiting to check out turned as she passed. They continued to watch, brows furrowed slightly as if trying to figure out who she was. Because she seemed like someone. A model or an actor dressing down for a flight.

She looked amazing, and she was walking straight to him. When she leaned in to kiss him, he almost jumped in surprise. It was a quick graze of the lips, no more than a peck, but he didn't fail to notice the two businessmen exchange an eye roll, as if to say, Of course, she's with him.

Yes, gentlemen, she is.

He took her suitcase and rolled it outside, where it was still night. The car wasn't there yet, so he tucked them into a corner. Then he pulled her to him in a kiss, letting it stretch as long as he dared before he'd forget they were supposed to be waiting for a car.

He pulled back, just enough to speak, their lips almost touching.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning indeed." She sounded a little breathless, and he tried not to grin at that.

He started to ask how she slept, maybe flirt a little about that, when she reached up to lay a hand on his chest.

"We're going to have another long day," she said, "and before that takes over, I wanted to say something."

He struggled to focus on her words. That wasn't easy when all he could see right now were her lips moving, tempting him to kiss her again.

"I don't expect anything to come of this," she said.

That woke him up. "What?"

She ran her hand up his chest, her gaze slightly lowered. "Whatever we're starting. I know what it is, and I'm fine with that. Good with it, actually."

"What it is?" he said slowly.

"A fling. A bit of fun. Nothing serious." She moved closer to him. "That's fine. Good actually. I'm not…" She made a face, her gaze still slightly averted. "I'm not in a place for anything more." She looked at him then and smiled. "This is good. Whatever this is."

As his stomach plummeted, he wanted to ignore it. He just needed to change her mind.

Ignore her wishes and steer her in the direction he wanted to go.

That was not the way to start something. Not the way to start anything.

Before this went any further, he needed to speak up. No misunderstandings that would start digging a hole they might never get out of. She'd been clear, and he owed it to her to be the same.

"And if that's not what I want?"

He said the words in hope, a hope that her face would light up. That she'd only said she wanted a fling, because she thought it was what he wanted, and now he'd set her straight and—

"Oh."

That's all she said. Oh.

Then she stepped back.

"Well, that's…" she said, her voice shaky. "That's…"

"A problem?"

"I don't… I don't know."

Okay, at least she didn't say yes, it was definitely a problem.

"I'm not looking for a fling, Daphne. Not with you. That way lies disappointment. For both of us, but mostly for me." He tried to smile, but it felt painful and twisted.

Her eyes met his. "I…" she began. "That's not what I expected and—"

"Hey, lovebirds." Sakura's voice cut through the darkness, and Chris turned to see her in a town car, the window rolled down. "Time to go. We're running late already."

Daphne looked at him, panic lighting those gorgeous golden-brown eyes.

He leaned in with a quick kiss. "Let's put a pin in this. Either way, it doesn't change the rest." He squeezed her hand. "I'm still your Zane. Still right here beside you."

Her eyes glistened as if with tears.

"Guys?" Sakura said.

Chris took Daphne's bag and wheeled it to the trunk as the driver opened it.

Daphne had been in a daze since climbing into that town car. She kept replaying what Chris had said, certain she'd misunderstood. She'd been sure he wouldn't want more than a fling, which made everything easy. But now he said he did… and that a mere fling wasn't an option.

Did she want more? Her inner girl screamed, Yes! Yes! Yes! But the mature part, the experienced part, the damaged part, they all folded up at the thought and whispered, No.

The last time she'd been on this route, she'd been hurt. Hurt worse than she liked to admit. Yes, she could share a drink with friends and throw Anthony on the table as they congratulated themselves on the losers they'd lost, the bullets they'd dodged. But that didn't keep it from hurting. She'd given her heart to someone who'd tossed it aside at the first sign of trouble.

If she said yes to Chris and it didn't work out, she'd never be tossing his name on that table as a bullet dodged. No, with Chris it'd be something worse. A chance-of-a-lifetime lost. He'd given her a shot, and she'd blown it.

At the core, that was what she was afraid of. Not of winning and losing him, but of winning him and being so afraid of losing him that she'd give up the things she'd worked so hard for.

If they eventually had to choose where to live, Vancouver would be the obvious choice. It was his home, and she'd grown up in the area. She'd convince herself that she didn't love the Yukon that much. She'd lie to herself to keep him. She'd surrender her own dream to be with him.

Then there was her writing career. What if it faltered—or crashed—when she came out as the author? She'd heard so many stories about seemingly supportive partners who didn't get what writing meant to their loved one, no more than someone might get what living off the grid in the north meant. Writing was just a job, right? If it got difficult or stressful, go back to her old one.

After Anthony left and her mother died, Daphne's world collapsed, but she'd built it back, better than ever. Did she dare risk that on a new love? How did she make sure she wouldn't gain him and lose herself along the way?

Chris had said they'd put this aside and give her time to think, and Daphne needed exactly that. On the car ride, he talked to Sakura, but he rested his hand next to hers, his pinkie hooking hers, reminding her that he was still there, whatever she decided.

At the airport, they grabbed coffee and settled in for the flight, both of them talking with Sakura. Then it was on to the short flight, where they sat side by side, but the noise made it impossible to talk about anything. Which was good. She needed time, and he was giving it.

They made it to the interview with five minutes to spare. Now Daphne was in the green room with Sakura, where they'd be able to watch the interview.

"How would you feel about skipping this?" Sakura said.

The publicist had been quiet since the flight landed. Tired, Daphne presumed, but when she looked over, Sakura was watching the viewing screen, her expression unreadable.

"Skip the…?" Daphne began.

"Live interview. I have it cued to record. We can watch it later."

"Shouldn't we stay? In case Zane needs anything?"

"He'll be fine. Even if he let loose an F-bomb on air, there's nothing we can do. How about we grab a coffee?" She lifted her paper cup of brown sludge. "Something better than this."

"I… really should stay."

Sakura nodded. "Okay, it's just that I was thinking about what Zane said yesterday. About wages and New York. I realized I need an accountant." She looked Daphne in the eye. "Would you know where I could find one?"

Daphne's stomach dropped, her mouth going dry. She told herself it was just coincidence, but Sakura's cool silence said it wasn't.

"Can we take that walk now, Daphne?"

Daphne nodded mutely and followed Sakura to the door.

She kept calm during the seemingly endless ride down in the elevator. She breathed and ignored the twisting in her gut that screamed to find a bathroom. She was going to hold it together. For Chris's sake. Yes, her career was in more danger than Chris's was, but Sakura's comment targeted him, and that was all Daphne could think about.

They'd barely stepped outside into the cool Seattle morning when Sakura murmured, as if to herself, "Chris Stanton."

When Daphne said nothing, Sakura looked over. "That's his name, isn't it?"

Daphne stifled panic and mentally scrolled to her conversations with Nia, who'd led her through every imaginable exposure scenario, coming up with solutions until Daphne's nerves had settled.

"Zane Remington is a pen name," Daphne said. "That has been clear from the start, and he is entitled to his privacy."

Sakura held up her phone. On it was a digital-archive page for an accounting firm, with a photo of Chris that looked a few years old. Underneath, it read "Chris Stanton, BSC, CA."

Daphne pressed her lips together in annoyance she didn't need to feign and repeated, "He is entitled to his privacy."

"Well, he's not going to get it."

Daphne looked over sharply, bristling. She liked Sakura, who'd been nothing but helpful, but if she was threatening—

Sakura continued, "I've known lots of authors with pen names, and usually, the only time it's a problem is if they pick up a stalker or get a huge following. The huge following probably won't happen after one book. But stalkers?"

She glanced at Daphne as they walked. "You have seen Chris, right? You two are obviously more than author and assistant, so you know exactly what I mean. He's not my type—at all—but I can still objectively see that he is a very good-looking guy. If he were an actor, he'd be a dime a dozen, but as an author, he stands out. A lot. I was going to discuss it with you guys because, hot single author under forty? He's going to have problems."

"Okay," Daphne said carefully.

"But he's not just young and hot. He's not just an instant bestseller. He's also gone viral for facing down a grizzly bear."

"Minor-league viral," Daphne said, and at Sakura's look, added, "I know. Not the point."

"This is the point, Daphne." Sakura held up her phone again.

"Is that—is that a website?" Daphne said.

"Yep. Someone put this up yesterday."

Daphne read the URL again.

WhoIsZaneRemington.com

She asked if she could see Sakura's phone and took it with trembling hands. The website was just one page, done through free web design software. It was a horrible design, covered in photos of Zane overlaid with hard-to-read text.

Who is Zane Remington?

Calling all Zane fans. And if you're not a Zane fan, have you seen this guy??? Get out your fire extinguishers, ladies… and gents, if that's your thing :)

Check out that face. Those arms. Those abs (anyone with a shot of his ass please send it in because I'm sure it's just as hot!!!) And he's smart, too. He wrote a book! I haven't read it—books are for English class, amirite?—but it's supposed to be good.

So who is Zane Remington?

That isn't his real name. I know because I've looked everywhere, and my friend—who does read books—says it's called a pseudonym. A fake author name so we can't track him down and offer to have his babies. Is that fair? No, it is not.

You know what to do.

Find Zane Remington.

"That's…" Daphne began.

"Concerning?"

"I was going to say creepy. Really creepy. But yes, also…" Daphne took a deep breath. "So people are trying to find out who Zane is, and that's a concern for the publisher. They've added managing it to the million tasks stacked on your plate."

"Oh no. The publisher won't care. It's added publicity. Doesn't matter if this person is a reader or not—it gets Zane's name and his book out there. If they find out about this website, they might weigh the ethics of leveraging it. Discreetly, of course. Ultimately, for them, it comes down to whatever sells books."

"So this is you… preparing us? Warning us?"

It wasn't. Daphne could tell by Sakura's tone. She was pissed off, and so far had shown no signs of being the sort of person who gets angry at her boss and takes it out on everyone around her.

"These people will find Chris Stanton," Sakura said. "It wasn't easy. I did an image search, and it took hours to track down that photo. That's buying you a bit of time. Even after I had that, I couldn't dig up much on Chris, and believe me, I am an expert. There's nothing worse than being assigned to a new author and discovering blackface costume photos on Facebook. I don't just search. I scour. With Zane, there was nothing, obviously. Chris is nearly as invisible. If he has a social media presence, it's locked down under a username, and ‘Chris Stanton' is common enough that it took me two hours just to dig up a smattering of information."

"Okay."

"But that was enough to find out a bit about Chris's hobbies and such. You know what I didn't find listed there? Writing. Even when I dug back as far as his high-school yearbook. Not a single mention of him taking any interest in writing."

Now Daphne had to force out the word. "Okay."

"Then there's you. Daphne McFadden."

Daphne twitched.

Sakura continued, "You're an architect."

"Yes, I never said this was my career—"

"And you're nearly as elusive online. For millennials, you two either spend very little time online or you're very private people, with usernames and whatnot. But I did find you. Including this."

Sakura passed over her phone. Daphne was holding herself so tight she could barely stretch out a hand to take it. She braced herself, looked at the screen, and softly exhaled.

It was something she'd written under her own name. A published piece of writing.

So why the surge of relief? Because it wasn't even remotely connected to her fiction. It was an article in a regional architectural magazine edited by a friend who'd asked her to contribute.

"Yes, I wrote this article," Daphne said. "I'm surprised you found it, but I'm not sure why it's—"

Sakura reached over and scrolled up to the brief bio line at the bottom.

Daphne McFadden lives in the Yukon wilderness, where she spends her days dreaming up new ways to build ecofriendly northern homes… and her nights dreaming up new scenes for her northern zombie novel.

Her heart stopped.

When Daphne "became" Zane Remington, she and Nia had combed the internet for anything linking Daphne to Edge or even linking Daphne to writing. There was nothing.

Oh, Daphne was online. More than Chris, who'd admitted he didn't have any social media profiles. It just wasn't his thing. He kept in touch with his friends on group chats and such, and if he needed a profile, he had a username.

Chris was an accountant. He didn't want potential clients googling his name and finding him playing beer pong with college buddies. He had to be the kind of guy they could entrust with their money. Serious, even staid.

Daphne did the same—her social media presence was mostly restricted to friend groups. Yet there was one exception. Writing.

Daphne was a member of at least a dozen online writing communities. And every one of those profiles was completely locked down, with usernames that linked back to email accounts that used those same names.

If she had to put in a "real" name, she used a fake one. The online smokescreen gave her the freedom to speak openly about writing, but she'd always planned to use a pen name, so she'd left nothing connecting her writing life to Daphne McFadden.

Except this.

One line below an article in a very small, very specialized journal.

Daphne hadn't written that line. Her editor friend had. This friend had known Daphne was writing a zombie novel and added it to the bio line. Daphne had been annoyed. Her friend had teased her about being so secretive and saying it added human interest. So Daphne had let it go and forgotten about it.

Until now.

"Chris Stanton didn't write Edge, did he?" Sakura said.

Her tone said that wasn't a question, so Daphne didn't answer.

"Please tell me you wrote it, and your boyfriend agreed to play the role of your pseudonym."

Daphne glanced over.

Sakura shrugged. "If that's the case, I hope you had an iron-clad contract drawn up, one that confirms you wrote it and all rights remain yours, but if that's the situation, it's better than the alternative."

"Which is?"

"That you guys ‘wrote' it together." Sakura air-quoted "wrote." "Meaning you actually wrote it and he helped brainstorm ideas, and for that he wanted author credit, and you didn't say no, either because you're blinded by love or you honestly think he's entitled to call himself an author for doing what a lot of writers' partners just naturally do."

"That's—"

"Then there's scenario three, where he's a guy you met at a writing conference, and he convinced you to ‘cowrite' this book with him, meaning you did all the writing and he plays the role of author."

"No," Daphne said. "It's not that. One person wrote this book."

"That person being you."

Daphne said nothing.

"You do realize the position you're putting me in?" Sakura said as they walked past their third coffee shop without pausing.

"Yes, which is why I'm not confirming anything that might get you into trouble with your employer. Unless you're asking for confirmation to take to your employer, in which case, I'm also not giving it. If there is an arrangement, and if Chris didn't actually write the book, then everything has been handled legally. However, we are aware it could be an ethical issue and are already making plans to fix it."

"When?"

"After the tour."

"Good. That would be my suggestion," Sakura said. "It'd be a shit-show if it came out now. There are only three stops left. Once you're done, I would strongly suggest you fix this immediately."

"We plan to."

Sakura exhaled. "Okay."

"I'm honestly sorry this puts you in a bad position," Daphne said. "Can you dump Zane as a client? Say he did something and you no longer want to work with him?"

"Only if that ‘something' is an unwanted sexual advance or an overtly racist comment."

"Oh."

"Yep. I'm sure there's a morality clause in your contract. They all have them these days. I wouldn't make a false accusation even to save my own career. I can't refuse to work with him midtour for a minor annoyance, and everything except harassment would be considered a minor annoyance. I could say he expects me to deliver his food and feed it to him, and as long as he wasn't being kinky about it, they'd tell me to just get through this tour and then they'll handle it."

"What can we do to make this better?"

"Well, what you could have done is warned me. I know why you couldn't, but I reserve the right to be pissy. I started suspecting something was up yesterday. In person, there's no trace of the guy I was dreading having to work with. He's a little too prepped with his writing answers, which made me nervous. And he checks in with you a lot. Talking to readers, booksellers, sales reps… He checks to be sure you're okay with his answers. It's discreet enough that they don't notice. But I did."

"Okay," Daphne said. "So be more careful about that."

"A little, yes. Mostly, though, I just need to know so I can be prepared in case the shit hits the fan."

"Okay."

Daphne must have sounded nervous, because Sakura's expression now held the first hints of sympathy.

"It won't," she said. "We just have a few days to go, and this website is the only concern I've found. Even then, if they realize Zane is actually Chris Stanton, they'll presume Chris Stanton is the guy behind the pen name. You have time."

"Okay."

"But we need to be vigilant. I have Google alerts set up."

"So does a friend of mine."

"Good. Can I give her more parameters? So there are two of us monitoring?"

"Please."

"Then let's get that coffee. And let's get through these interviews before you talk to Chris. You have a few hours off today. I'll make sure you get that."

"Thank you."