Chapter Twenty-Two

As soon as Daphne heard there were nearly two hundred people at the event, she knew she couldn't tell them Zane was sick. She didn't have enough bookplates, but she also couldn't bring herself to disappoint that many people.

And if she lied, she'd need to hide behind the Zane curtain for much longer. How could she come forward later when hundreds of people knew she'd stood at a podium and told them the author wasn't there when the author had apparently been standing right in front of them?

She was furious with Chris for putting her in this position. Even if she'd decided to reveal herself tonight, she would have wanted him here to help her explain. At the very least, she'd have wanted him to help her work out a script and give her a chance to prepare and rehearse.

But the audience wasn't responsible for her decision to hire Chris, and they weren't responsible for his decision to abandon the role. They deserved the truth. Daphne just prayed she could give it.

She spent the pre-event time hiding in the bathroom. Sakura said she'd handle the staff and act as if Zane was running late. Daphne could plot her big reveal in peace… in the bathroom, hovering over a toilet and trying not to puke.

When it was time, Sakura came, and Daphne numbly followed her out. A staff member had been coached to make some vague introduction, after which Daphne would "say a few words."

Daphne wasn't sure how she made it to the podium. The next thing she knew, she was standing there, looking out at a sea of faces expectantly turned her way.

Expectantly awaiting Zane Remington and wondering why this woman was wasting their time.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

Her readers deserved the truth.

In the restroom, she'd quickly come up with a speech. Now she couldn't remember a word of it. She started a mumbled mess of apologies and explanations. It would have to do. Apologize for Zane not being here, pretend he was sick, and then tell them the truth.

"And I know that's a disappointment but, uh…" Deep breath. She could do this. "There's something I need to—"

Applause drowned her out, and for one wild second, she thought her brain was running behind her mouth, and she'd confessed and they were applauding her. Then she noticed everyone turning… as Chris waded through the crowd, waving a hand over his head.

"Here!" he called. "I'm here."

He strode up to the podium and grabbed the mic. Grabbed it right out from under her.

"Hello!" he called to the crowd. "I am so sorry for the delay. I was"—he held up a handful of books—"shopping. Can anyone walk through a bookstore without shopping? It's like walking past puppies without petting one."

A roar of whistles and cheers.

"Am I forgiven?" he said.

More cheers and claps, and Daphne stood there, her shock giving way to fury.

Chris had insisted she come out tonight, no matter what the publisher wanted. He'd walked away, forcing her to do it. She'd been about to tell the truth… and then he strolled in and stole the mic from under her nose.

He bowed her way. "Thank you, D. I am sorry to put you on the spot." His eyes met hers. "Sincerely sorry."

Her mouth opened, ready to tell him they needed to talk. Ready to grab that mic out of his hand if she had to. But he'd already turned away, and he was striding across the front, launching into his speech.

Daphne stood at the podium, desperately looking for a way to take this back, until a staff member sidled over and whispered, "You can step down now."

You can step down now.

Zane is here.

You are no longer required.

Daphne's cheeks burned, and she scrambled from the stage and fled into the stacks.

Daphne deserved an Oscar for her performance over the next hour. It helped that Sakura had found her, taken her outside, let her vent, and shared her fury at Chris's interference. But eventually, Daphne had to go back inside. Go inside and sit next to him and smile and play assistant, as if nothing had happened.

She was glad her act fooled the readers. Fooling Chris was another thing. On the one hand, she wanted him focused on the readers. On the other, though, she couldn't help hoping he at least noticed she was putting on a false face. Instead, when they were preparing the signing table, he squeezed her hand and said "I've got this" and smiled, and she wanted to scream.

He'd abandoned her during a crisis, insisting that she handle it herself, and just as she'd been doing exactly that, he swooped in and stopped her.

She remembered when he'd rescued her in the lake. She'd appreciated that because she'd actually been drowning. Tonight, she'd been floundering, but only because he damn well threw her in. She'd been keeping her head up, though. She hadn't needed rescuing. If he thought she did, he could have found some way to check in with her first.

All he had to do was arrive five minutes earlier and talk to her. If that wasn't possible, slip around the stacks, get to Sakura, and have the publicist pause the event while Chris and Daphne talked.

Daphne pushed that aside before her anger showed. Earlier, she'd been ready to come out because the readers deserved it. Now, they deserved her smiles and her kind words and the sense that absolutely nothing was wrong.

That was what she gave them: her undivided attention. If Chris noticed she wasn't glancing his way, wasn't refilling his water, wasn't replacing his worn-out Sharpies, he didn't give any indication. He just signed and chatted and occasionally squeezed her leg, as if to reassure her that he was there.

Nothing to worry about, little lady. The cavalry has arrived.

It was only when the line petered out that Chris finally seemed to realize something was amiss, leaning over to whisper, "Is everything okay?"

She could have laughed at that. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing, but he kept frowning at her, and the last few customers started frowning, too, realizing they didn't have his full attention.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "We'll talk later. Focus on the readers."

He did that, but when they wheeled in the stock cart, he turned to the manager and said, "I'm going to need a moment first." He made a show of flexing and stretching his hand. Then he jerked his chin, motioning for Daphne to follow.

She hesitated, her annoyance sparking at that casual gesture, presuming she'd follow, acting as if she actually was his assistant, pestering him when he was working.

"Is everything okay?" he whispered when they found a quiet corner.

She stared at him. Was he seriously asking her that? His gaze was slightly to the left. As if avoiding her gaze? Was that nervous sweat on his temple?

No, she was seeing what she wanted to see. It was warm in here, and he'd been working hard, hence the sweat. If he was looking away from her, it wasn't nerves—it was dismissal. Wanting to get on with this so he could get back to signing.

"D?" he said finally.

"No." She ground out the word. "Everything is not okay. I was trying to admit I was Zane, and you swooped in and took over."

"You were? It didn't look like that."

His brows knit in confusion, and her anger ignited.

"It didn't look like that?" she snapped. "Why? Because I was stumbling and stammering and making a fool of myself? Because I'm not as smooth as you?"

"No, you just seemed—"

"—like I'd been thrown to the sharks by someone I trusted?" She stepped toward him. "I seemed unprepared? Maybe because the guy who was supposed to have my back abandoned me? You left, Chris, and I didn't need you swooping in to save me, especially after you're the one who put me in that position. I was doing what you wanted—taking back what's mine—and I'm sorry if I was making a mess of it. Maybe that's just what I do. Make a mess of things."

"You—"

"But mess or not, I was doing it, and you stopped me without checking to see whether that was what I wanted."

At a throat clearing, they both spun to see a staff member hovering there, a copy of Edge clutched in his hands.

"I was working the line and didn't get a chance to ask you to sign this." The employee's gaze darted between them. "Is this a bad time?"

Daphne mustered everything in herself to find a gracious smile and said, "Not at all. Zane was just heading back to his table to sign stock. Come with me. I think I have a bookmark or two left."

She led the young man away and didn't look back.

All the books were signed. Finally he could talk to Daphne. She'd slipped off during the stock signing. Not that he blamed her. She'd been… kinda furious. And he didn't blame her for that, either.

Is everything okay?

Had he actually said that? Of course everything wasn't okay. He just hadn't known what else to say, and he'd been panicking. He'd planned how he'd explain and apologize after the signing, and he hadn't been ready.

He capped his marker, turned to Sakura, and found himself facing the publicist's retreating back. He said a quick thank-you to the remaining staff and strode after Sakura.

"So," he said. "Another signing done."

She turned and fixed him with a look that would freeze the sun.

"Er, um," he said, "about earlier…"

"Save it." She continued walking away and called back, "Save your taxi receipt, too. The publisher will comp it."

He hurried to catch up. "I took a rideshare, but it's fine. No need to reimburse me for my mistake."

"How noble. However, I meant the receipt for your taxi back to wherever you're staying tonight."

"Is Daphne around? We were talking and… I really need to speak to her."

"She left." Sakura veered into the staff area, which was thankfully empty.

Chris hurried after her. "She went back to the hotel?"

"No, she went to catch her train."

"Train?"

Sakura scooped up her purse. "A long string of metal cars, pulled by an engine. Otherwise known as a choo-choo."

"I mean why is Daphne…" The answer hit, and he sucked in breath. "Shit! We're not staying at the hotel tonight. We're catching the last train to Chicago."

And Daphne had gone on ahead, not wanting to share a car with him after his epic screwup. He took a quick breath to calm his rising panic. She hadn't abandoned him—apparently, that was his thing. She would be at the station, and they could talk on the train. He could explain everything.

He should have explained here, in the stacks, when she confronted him. She'd been right, with all of it, and while there were things he could explain—like that he'd planned to let her decide who'd take the stage—it would have sounded like excuses. She had a right to be furious with him and say her piece. Now he needed to explain and apologize. Mostly apologize.

He checked his watch. "What time does the train leave?"

"Ten thirty."

He blinked. It was already almost ten.

"I don't have my bag," he said.

"What a pity." Sakura looked up at him. "Maybe you'll actually go home and let Daphne handle this."

His jaw set. "I understand you're angry—"

"You abandoned her. Abandoned both of us, if I'm being blunt. If you'd seen how freaked out she was in the car—" Sakura headed for the door. "Never mind. You obviously don't care."

"Hey!" He ran in front of her. "I do care. That's why I came back."

"And saved the day?"

"I screwed up," he said.

"Royally."

"But I'm going to fix this."

She headed for a taxi. "Like you fixed it tonight?"

He pulled a face as she climbed into the cab. Then he started around to the other side… just as the taxi rolled forward.

"Hey!" he said. "I need a ride to the train station!"

"Then get it yourself," she called out the window. "Better hurry!"

The chance of getting a taxi in time was nil, but Chris lucked out and got a rideshare. He then promised the driver fifty bucks cash if she could get him to the train station in twenty minutes. She made it in twenty-four, but the train was still in the station, so he handed her the money and ran.

In the movies, running for a train was easy, especially if you were running to catch it before the love of your life left forever. The train was right there on the tracks, and you ran straight to it. In reality, especially in a big city, the process was somewhat more complicated. He had to race into the station and then out again, ignoring someone who shouted at him that he needed to show his ticket.

He made it to the platform just as the train jerked forward. He shouted "Wait!" aware even as the word left his mouth that it would do no good. The conductor wasn't conveniently leaning out an open window to overhear him.

Chris ran faster as he scanned for an open door he could swing through. Again, that was Hollywood, not modern trains that probably wouldn't budge until all the doors were secured.

He could still do this. The train was barely moving. He just had to get someone's attention.

No, he had to get Daphne's attention.

She'd be in first class, which was conveniently labeled on the side. It was the car right behind the engine.

Chris bore down and ran faster. Finally he spotted her dark head leaning against the window, as if exhausted. Because she would be exhausted. Because he'd screwed up.

No time for that now. He'd make it up to her, starting with this. Running to catch her train with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Lungs burning, he summoned one last burst of energy, ran full out, leapt at the side of the slow-moving train, and smacked Daphne's window.

She startled and turned… and he found himself looking into the face of a stranger, her eyes wide with surprise. Then she grinned and waved, as if a random guy had leapt at her window to say hi. Chris motioned frantically that he needed the train to stop. The woman kept smiling and waving… as the train picked up speed and pulled out of the station.

Chris reached the row of rental-car kiosks inside the station. All but one had shut down for the night, and that last one was closing.

"I need a car," Chris wheezed as he collapsed at the counter. "Rental. I need to rent a car."

"We're closed, son."

"Please. I have to catch that train."

That made the man pause, and Chris pushed on. "My girlfriend is on it. I was supposed to be—I have a ticket." He waved the electronic ticket on his phone. "But I didn't get here in time. We had a fight, and now she's leaving." Technically true. "It's all my fault." Definitely true.

The man eased back, eyeing Chris head to toe. "Caught you stepping out on her."

"What? No. I… She was having a problem—a big one—and I wanted to show her that I knew she could handle it on her own. So I left her to it. I meant it to be supportive."

"Yeah, that's not supportive, son." He met Chris's eyes. "Supportive is telling her she's got it, but that you're there in case she needs you."

Chris threw up his hands. "I know that now. Please. I need to catch that train. I ran after it, but that doesn't go the way it does in the movies."

The man's lips twitched. "No, I imagine it doesn't. Okay, let's get you set up. Outrunning a train isn't easy. I used to drive a truck around here, though. You pull up the route on your phone, and I'll see if I can show you a shorter one."

Chris's eyes prickled, and he had to resist the urge to hug the man. "Thank you."