Chapter 14

Fourteen

As soon as I pull into the lot at Upper Crust, I see the red Mercedes. The same one in which he'd driven me to the airport four months earlier.

Ash .

I close my eyes and breathe, trying to extinguish that spark of fear that has risen inside me.

It could be him. Ashton Stone really could be my blackmailer.

I don't want to believe it, but I have to at least consider it. I can't trust my own judgment. I know that. Wasn't Rory proof enough that I'm a fool where men are concerned? And Ash sent a text this morning saying he wants to talk to me after the interview. Why? To harangue me for bailing on him back at the airport? To suss out whether I've figured out that he's my tormentor? To apologize for freaking me out at the coffee shop? For some other reason I can't even imagine yet?

I don't know. All I know is that I'm dreading being alone with him. Dreading asking him for money. And at the same time, I'm secretly, ridiculously happy that he's going to be beside me when Maggie Bridge starts in on my life.

Am I a mess or what?

"I know you don't like Maggie," Kari says when I pause at the walk-up counter to order a latte and a cinnamon roll. "But I can't wait for her article to come out. Your book sales are going to skyrocket."

I grimace. "You really think so?" Skyrocketing sales sounds great. A debt owed to Maggie does not.

"Hell, yes. Her column is syndicated. It's going to be printed all over the country. Maybe in Europe, too."

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I decide to treat Maggie like the Bad Thing you take with the Good Stuff. You may have a broken ankle, but that means you can justify sluffing off and bingeing Real Housewives of Outer Space . Or whatever.

"Anyway, thanks for being excited for me."

Kari scoffs. "Are you kidding. Actors come to Upper Crust every freaking day. You're my first author. And, bonus, " she adds with a perky air punch, "you're already my friend."

"I can't possibly be the first author to grab a muffin and a latte here."

She shrugs. "First I know of."

I nod sagely. "That makes sense. We authors hide under a cloak of anonymity."

"Huh?"

"No one recognizes us because we're not slathered all over screens and billboards," I say. "It's not like people pay attention to the tiny headshot on the book flap.

"You're right. I wonder why?"

I roll my eyes. Sometimes Kari can be a little clueless. "Wish me luck," I say, but before I can walk away from the counter, she grabs my hand.

When I turn back to look at her, she meets my eyes, her expression serious as she intones, "May the waters be calm and the skies always clear."

I press my free hand over my heart, genuinely moved. That's the motto of Bethany's family, and the last words she said before Ace headed off into battle and the book ended in a cliffhanger.

Even though my goal is Maggie Bridge, I'm smiling as I head toward the back of the cafe. Kari and I became friends simply because I'd spent so much time at the cafe. But when I gave her an early draft of the book to read, our friendship kicked up a notch on both sides. The bonus is that not only does she love my work, but she also gives great story feedback, and the fact that she memorized the quote makes my morning. I love those words, and my publisher even printed them on the back of the book, right under my author photo.

And how weird is that? Having my picture on a book is?—

I stumble as the prattle in my brain slams up against the reality I'm trying to forget. My image. My picture. My secrets.

Caught on tape in the most horrible way.

Oh god oh god oh god.

Suddenly my heart pounds in my chest. Sweat trickles from under my arms down my sides. I stand frozen in place, trying to remember how to Just. Breathe. Normally.

It's harder than it sounds, especially since this came out of nowhere, and I am about to have a full-blown panic attack right here on the Upper Crust patio surrounded by the morning coffee crowd. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Once again, I tell myself to just breathe, but it's hard to hear with the fuck mantra slamming through my head. Then I jump when reality breaks through in the form of a hand at my elbow.

"Hey, hey." The voice is calm. Soothing. "It's me."

I close my eyes as Ash makes a second attempt to take my elbow. This time, I don't freak out. "Are you okay?"

I take one breath, then another. Then I look around. No one is staring at me. As far as I can tell, no one other than Ash even notices me.

I tilt my head and see the furrow in his brow. The worry behind his eyes. "Bree?"

I swallow. "I'm fine. I just—I was thinking about a character. I got lost. In the plot. You know."

"Sure. Happens to me all the time. Only I'm thinking about a car or an engine. And there is no plot. Otherwise, totally the same."

I hear the humor in his voice and meet his smile, grateful he hadn't called me out. Maybe he has no idea that I'd frozen, but I doubt it. There's not much that man misses.

I'm standing there grappling for something to say when another voice that is far too perky blasts into the moment. "You-hoo!"

I glance over to see Maggie Bridge wiggling her fingers at us from across the patio. A familiar looking blond guy in an Upper Crust tee is standing behind her, leaning over to point to something on the menu.

I want to melt on the spot, and I look up at Ash. "She saw my freak out, too, didn't she?"

"Just tell her you didn't eat breakfast and got light-headed." His eyes are hard on mine. "Don't try the character story on her. She won't buy it. And you can tell me what really spooked you when we talk later."

I nod. He's right about Maggie. And as for that last bit… I'm not sure if he's talking about what spooked me just now… or four months ago when I ghosted him at the airport hotel.

I shove the question aside for later. Right now, I have to deal with Maggie. And that's more than enough to take on.

Once again, I'm overwhelmed with regret that I didn't call and cancel. But my publisher had been so thrilled when Evelyn set this up, that I couldn't bring myself to do it.

And the truth is that an interview with Maggie really will be good for the book. As much as I hate to toss her kudos, Maggie's influence really has helped kick some books higher on bestseller lists and even get picked for celebrity book clubs and other cool things.

And as awkward as it is to be around Ash after totally ghosting him four months ago, his presence gives me a shot of courage. Besides, as much as it pains me to admit it, I need him. Somehow, someway, I'm going to muster up the courage to ask him for a boatload of money.

Bottom line? I can do this thing. Hell, I can do all the things.

"Darlings!" Maggie calls, as the blond guy passes us with a bus tub filled with dishes.

Martin , I think, then congratulate myself on remembering his name. I'll have to ask Kari if they're still—wink, wink, nudge, nudge—working hard together.

"Look at you both," Maggie squeaks. "I'm so excited that I'm getting two for the price of one!"

She stands up, arms out and ready to take me in. I parry, then take the chair across from her. The table is square, but Ash doesn't take a side for himself. Instead, he scoots his chair around and settles in beside me. I tell myself I should be annoyed that he's invading my personal space. In truth, I appreciate the solidarity and wish he'd take my hand under the table, too.

Maggie flashes an overly white smile. Everything about her is just a bit too much. Her hair is one shade too dark for her complexion. Her eyebrows too thin for her face. Her lips too plumped. And the overall effect is that she looks just as fake as she is.

I suppose that's appropriate.

"Look at you two." She releases a dreamy sigh. "Do I hear the tweet of lovebirds."

"No," I say scooting my chair away from Ash. He does the opposite and twines his fingers through mine. I scowl, trying to ignore the fact that two seconds ago I'd wanted him to do that very thing.

But then he sets our joined hands on the table as if he's presenting a prize to Maggie. I grimace, fighting the urge to stomp on his foot or elbow him in the ribs.

"Come on, Maggie," he says. "You know better than to ask that. Some things should stay off the record."

I pin him with The Gaze of Fire, but the bastard just chuckles.

"I've gotten used to the spotlight," he says, his knee nudging mine under the table. "Bree hasn't."

Maggie's already squinty eyes narrow even more, as if she's not sure if she should be buying any of this. I know exactly how she feels.

Finally, she grants us a slow smile. "Well, she'll have to get used to being the center of attention." She turns those beady eyes to me. "Sorry, dear. But I don't think your man here could stay out of the spotlight if he tried. It's in his blood."

"We're not an item," I say, because what the hell does Ash think he's doing, other than yanking Maggie's string? Which, now that I think about it, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.

Ash shakes his head. "That's her way of making sure you're not going to print anything earlier than we're ready to announce it."

I stomp on his foot. He barely winces, and I wish that I'd worn heels.

"I'm a professional, Ashton. You know that. And I'm honored you both trust me to not only share your stories with the public, but to act as guardian over what you don't yet want to be public."

She aims that obnoxious smile at both of us in turn. I conjure all my willpower and manage not to vomit.

"We'll just make this more of a conversation than a formal interview. In the end that's always more fun for readers anyway don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Ash says.

I smile, but I think it may come across more like the baring of teeth.

She makes a show of starting the recoding app on her phone, then leans back with a pen in her hand. A yellow pad is already on the table. Even upside down I can see the little flowers she's drawn in the margin.

"Usually, I'd say ladies first, but Ash, I'm dying to hear about the INX-20. What can you tell me?"

Ash sits up straighter, and this time it's true passion driving his words. "As most people in the industry know, I've been working on a motor that runs on atmospheric energy. It's revolutionary technology, but my team has made amazing progress. The INX-20 is the first incarnation of the motor that we'll actually be installing in test vehicles."

He goes on to describe a motor that sounds like something from a Sci-Fi novel, and each word is infused with pride in himself and his team. Honestly, I'm pretty damn impressed, too.

"We've surprised a lot of people," he continues, turning slightly sideways to look at me. "It'll be several more years before we can actually go to market, but once we get it dialed in, this engine will have a serious kick. You'll look at it and think there's nothing there. Too small. Too mundane. Whatever. Then you realize that it's got punch. That there's so much more under the surface."

He squeezes my hand as he speaks, then meets my eyes. "It'll take you wherever you want to go."

"What lovely words," Maggie says, and I sag a little when he breaks eye contact to look at her. She turns her attention to me. "And what do you think of this new engine, Bree? Are you proud of your man?"

"Last I checked, I didn't own him."

Maggie laughs. "Atta girl."

I seriously want to punch her. Even more so when she asks, "So you're unimpressed?"

"Are you kidding? How could I be unimpressed with an achievement like that? Ash is a lot of things, and I'd say impressive tops the list."

I meet Ash's gaze. Nothing in the interview so far is bad. But I know Maggie better than to think the article will be good. He lifts a shoulder, which I interpret as wait and see.

Maggie leans forward. "Runs a bit in the family, don't you think?" Her voice is low, as if we're two girls out for drinks and gossip. "Impressive men, I mean."

"I suppose so," I say, though I'm sure she'll twist my words.

"There's been a lot of scandal in Damien Stark's past," she says, starting right in on that twisting. "Not long before Nikki Fairchild rolled into town, there were rumors that he killed an ex-girlfriend."

I stiffen with anger on Damien's behalf. "Wasn't he totally exonerated for that?" I'd read the story when it came out, long before I worked for him. A horrible hit piece and none of it turned out to be true. I frown, wondering if Maggie wrote that article.

"I'm not suggesting we adjudicate the case." She practically tut tuts her words. "I'm simply pointing out the father/son similarities."

She looks at me while she speaks. I'm sure I look as clueless as I feel.

"Oh, I see. I just assumed you were aware." She bends toward me and lowers her voice to a dramatic whisper. "His former girlfriend. Delia Cornwell." Then she straightens before turning to Ashton, her tone turning blasè. "What were you dear? A grad student? And such a reputation for being a rebel. He had bit of a temper then, too," she adds, her attention turning back to me. "And a girlfriend who ended up dead. A fall, wasn't it? Did they ever determine if it was suicide or murder?"

When she finally shuts up, she's staring right at Ash, who's staring right back. I have no idea what happened with his girlfriend, but based on what I know about Maggie, I'm positive Ash didn't harm her.

"I'm here to talk about the INX-20," Ash says. "Not about my past or my family."

"I understand." She looks between the two of us. "I'll keep all of that as secret as your relationship."

Ash clutches my arm, and I know it's not to keep me silent, but as a crutch to tamp his own rising temper. "We're here to talk about the motor and Bree's book. Get back on target, Maggie, or we're done."

"I find interviews go better if we let the conversation flow," she says.

I can tell Ash wants to say something else, but she turns her attention to me. "It must be very exciting to have your first book receiving so much critical acclaim."

"It is," I say, grateful that we've moved to the safer realm of fiction. "Writing is so solitary, and most people don't realize how much that old saying is true."

"What saying is that?" she asks.

"That writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed."

She nods, as if I've just said something brilliant when in fact, I've only ripped off someone else's wit.

"What I mean is that it's hard and it's personal. So, the praise and accolades feel especially good. They're validating."

"You're saying a good story has to come from the heart? You have to be able to empathize with the characters? To share their blood, as it were?"

I think about her question, searching for little hidden Maggie bombs. Since it seems innocuous enough, I nod. "Right. It's a lot like acting, I think."

She leans forward in that way she has, and I feel a tug of dread in the instant before she asks," So how much of your experience as a kidnap victim did you draw on in Reveries at Dusk ? And the love interests? Ace and Dirk? I'm sure I'm not the only reader wondering if one or both of them weren't based on real people."

As she asks, her gaze shifts to Ash. I freeze, but my cheeks heat, and I very much want to crawl under the table.

"Maggie," Ash says, his voice as sharp as a blade.

I put my hand on his. "It's okay," I say, though I'm kicking myself for accidentally opening this door. But since I did, I have no choice but to walk through it. "Obviously, I was kidnapped. That experience helped me to write the scenes in which Bethany was taken by the Dragon Riders. But that doesn't make the book about me. Every writer draws on the real world. That doesn't make it non-fiction, much less an autobiography."

"Hmm," she says, and I have a feeling she's disappointed that she didn't get more of a rise out of me. I glance sideways at Ash, barely managing to fight a very smug smile.

"Those Dragon Riders you created are an interesting cabal. I applaud you for including a few women, but the men…" She trails off, fanning herself with the menu. "So virile. So domineering. Was that something that appealed to you before the kidnapping, or did being held —"

"Goddammit, Maggie." The fire in his voice could melt stone. As for me, I've gone completely cold.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she says as I remain frozen. "I'm not trying to dredge things up. I just find those characters fascinating and you wrote Bethany with such beautiful longing and intensity, that?—"

Tension seems to flow off Ash in waves. "Just move on… or we will."

Her mouth screws up with frustration. Right then, I could have kissed Ash.

"Let's talk about Ace," she continues. "He was the most powerful of the riders. A risk taker. And my goodness, those love scenes were hot. Were they modeled after anyone in particular?" Her voice is so sugary sweet I expect her to bat her eyes.

I keep my own eyes firmly on hers, but I can practically feel the heat of Ash's body beside mine. "No," I say flatly. "No one in particular."

"I've written a little fiction. It must have been difficult to dredge up those emotions."

Beside me, Ash tenses. I put my hand on his knee to still him. I can handle this.

"It's fiction. And as I tried to explain earlier, to the extent I draw on my own experiences, it's cathartic."

"Does that mean you're past the trauma of your kidnapping? That you've worked it out of your system?"

My heart pounds. Sweat pools under my arms. But I walked into this, and no way am I showing Maggie-the-Bitch that she's pushing my buttons. "What happened to me was very traumatic. I don't think I'll ever fully get past it. But I've learned to cope, and it gets easier every day." I lift my chin, hoping she won't call me out on that monstrous lie when she tosses the next hardball.

To my surprise, she turns her focus off me entirely, aiming that thin smile at Ash. "And what about your history of recklessness in racing? And the chance you're taking with this new kind of motor?"

His eyes narrow. "What about it?"

"Just that you have a history of taking risks. I'm wondering if that serves the same purpose for you as writing does for Ms. Bernstein. That it's cathartic, I mean."

"Yes," Ash says. One simple word that holds a lifetime of pain.

"Really? And what is it that you're so desperate to work out?"

My stomach twists with guilt, because while I hate that she's got her claws in Ash, I can't deny that I'm curious about that very thing.

He pushes back his chair. "We're done."

"I was promised a full thirty?—"

"We're done," he repeats. He holds out his hand to me. Come on, Bree.

I take it gratefully.

Right now, he really is Ace. And I'm Bethany. And he's sweeping me out of harm's way.