Finding Mr. Write, page 23
If he did, would she feel obliged to deny it?
He snuck a glance over as he pushed the button. Wait. She didn’t seem to be across the otherwise empty elevator to stay out of sniffing range. She was checking him out, which was much easier to do with a bit of distance.
Was he sure? He peeked at the reflection in the polished silver of the wall. Yep, she was checking him out. He bit his lip to keep from smiling and lifted his elbow to rest against the wall.
You are such a poseur.
Hey, if it worked, he was going for it. And it was working, just like the striptease in the changing room.
Oh, right, the striptease. Which you had to abort midshow when you realized you were about to pull down your trousers and show her just how much you were enjoying watching her watch the performance.
Er, right. Yeah. That’d been awkward.
Still, if she was enjoying this show, that boded well for his question, didn’t it?
He leaned into the wall, flexing as the elevator doors—
“Hold that!” a woman said.
Chris did not “hold that.” He did that really shitty thing where you pretend to be reaching for the button to hold the doors but, damn, you didn’t get to it in time.
Except the man with the woman did get to it in time, sticking his hand between the doors, which bounced back open.
As the man stepped in, he looked at Chris. Looked away fast. Mumbled something and ushered his wife to the far side, as Daphne stepped toward Chris. There was a moment of shuffling, where Daphne sidestepped right up against Chris and the guy sidestepped right into his wife’s view of Chris. Which would have been more amusing if the guy hadn’t checked out Daphne at the same time.
Chris let his hand slip behind Daphne. Not quite putting his arm around her, but if the guy interpreted it that way…
Daphne leaned into his arm.
He stifled a grin and slung his arm loosely around her waist.
As the elevator began a slow chug upward, the man said, “Is the hotel gym any good?”
Chris waggled his hand and looked at Daphne, who said, “It exists. That’s about the best you can say. Treadmill. A few free weights.”
The guy rolled his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll go.”
His wife made a noise that suggested this would not actually be happening.
Chris watched the numbers roll up. The elevator hit the couple’s floor first, and they stepped off. Once the doors closed, Daphne let out a choked laugh and leaned against him. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her into his side, and she laid her head against his shoulder.
Was it possible to mentally will the elevator to break down right now? What if his hand snuck out and hit the Stop button?
Huh, the elevator seems to be broken. Whatever can we do?
The signing tonight. Shit! Right!
The elevator stopped, and for a second, his heart did, too, as his brain flooded with images—not of sexy elevator time but of them frantically calling for rescue before the event.
Then the doors opened, and he realized they’d reached their floor.
Daphne stepped off, and his hand slipped from her waist. He reached to… to what? Pull her back onto the elevator? Awkwardly get his hand around her waist again while she strode off, luggage in tow?
She glanced back, frowning at him. “Are you on a different floor?”
“Just wiping off a sweat streak.”
Sweat streak? Mmm, sexy.
Still, having made the really bad excuse, he had to take a moment to look as if he was wiping the elevator wall. Then he followed her to their rooms. She stopped outside one and held up both cards.
“Randomized room choice. Pick a card. We’ll see whose works.”
His did.
“Meet you at the adjoining door?” she said, and then headed to her own room before he could reply. A moment later, they were both unlatching the adjoining door from their respective sides. He pulled it open first, making her laugh as he nearly yanked her off her feet. She stuck her luggage in front of the door, propping it open, and ducked her head into his room.
“Nice.”
“Identical to yours?”
“Yep.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “So I guess we should shower first.”
“Nah. I thought I’d go to the signing like this.” He plucked at his tank top. “Think anyone will mind?”
“Oddly, I doubt they would.”
“The smell might be a turnoff, though.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
He turned toward her, a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned in—then his phone buzzed with a text.
Seriously?
He took out his phone without looking at the screen and went to set it aside. It buzzed again. His jaw set.
Not looking at it.
“You’d better check that,” Daphne said. “In case it’s Sakura, and there’s a problem.”
He picked up the phone.
Gemma: Rough day.
Gemma: Can we talk?
His shoulders slumped. “It’s my sister. She had a rough day in the divorce proceedings.”
“Ouch.” Daphne backed up, straightening. “You should call her.”
When he hesitated, she reached out, hand touching his. “Call her.” Her gaze rose to his. “Then we’ll talk.”
DAPHNE
Daphne had pulled her luggage from the adjoining door to give Chris privacy. Bad timing on the call, but she’d forced herself to say those final words—“Then we’ll talk”—so she couldn’t squirm out of the conversation they needed to have.
She glanced toward the adjoining door. On the other side, she could hear Chris talking to his sister. She didn’t know the details, only that Gemma was going through a shitty divorce from a shitty husband, and Chris had grumbled that getting her to admit how shitty it made her feel was an exercise in frustration. Gemma wanted to pretend she was fine, that she didn’t need help much less pity. Daphne got that. She really got that. So if Gemma was opening up, then she’d get all the sibling time she needed.
Daphne sat on the end of the bed to check phone messages. She’d been doing that routinely all day. With Nia, Gemma, and Sakura all scouring the web for trouble, she couldn’t afford to ignore messages.
There was nothing new. Nia had found some online threads earlier where people were trying to track down “Zane,” but while it was intrusive and crept into stalker territory, it hadn’t crossed that border.
Hey, let’s see if we can find out who this guy really is. For shits and giggles and possibly offers of marriage.
Nia said they had time. Things weren’t escalating. The grizzly video had, as Daphne said, gone only mildly viral, and that fire was already reduced to smoldering embers.
Daphne’s next step would be calling Lawrence to tell him the truth and ask him to conference with her, Nia, and Chris to discuss a full reveal plan. Well, if Lawrence didn’t dump her on the spot. Which he might, but they were prepared for that. If he did, the next call would go to her editor, Alicia, with the same conference-call request.
They had plans and backup plans and contingency plans, and if the end result was that the publisher canceled her book and the reading public told her to go screw herself, then that was their choice. Daphne hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She was voluntarily stepping from the shadows, telling her story and apologizing sincerely. That must count for something.
Daphne was about to set her phone aside when she remembered it’d been a while since she checked her spam folder. She wouldn’t want to miss a message from Nia or Sakura because a word triggered a spam false-positive.
At a glance she saw nothing. Just the usual garbage. Oh, and a few messages from Robbie. Great.
She’d ask Chris for advice on dealing with Robbie. Maybe he could help…
Wait, he had helped. She’d forgotten their make-out session had ultimately been a ploy to make Robbie leave her alone. But what if he didn’t take the hint? What if he got competitive? Worse, what if he felt like she’d led him on, and he retaliated?
She looked down at her spam folder, with its three messages from Robbie, and her shoulders slumped.
She opened the first, sent yesterday.
Call me. Now.
It was a true mystery of the universe how guys like Robbie got laid. He certainly did. According to the neighborhood chatter, there was a regular stream of female visitors at his rented place, and they weren’t there to walk his dog.
She opened the next one.
I know you’re very busy with Chad, and I hate to interrupt your Chad-screw-fest, but this is important. Call me. NOW.
There was a brief second where she worried that there could be an actual issue. Her house caught on fire. Tika had run away from the neighbor. One problem with being a writer was she could see all the possibilities, most of them dire. But after rereading, no, he just sounded pissed off.
Pissed off enough to storm into the sunset, never to be heard from again? One could only hope.
Email three.
Fine. You don’t want to call. Let’s do it your way.
She kept reading, and as she did, her stomach clenched. It kept clenching until—
Her heart stopped. Everything stopped.
Oh no.
Please, please, please, no.
She read the email again and there was no doubt what Robbie was saying. No doubt at all.
CHRIS
Chris wasn’t going to hurry his sister off the phone after she’d finally broken down and admitted how bad things were and how “not okay” she was. Her ex was a leech who’d sucked Gemma emotionally dry, and he wasn’t done yet.
Chris was fuming by the time they got off the phone. He rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to set his anger aside. Gemma could handle it, and all she needed was support, which he’d given. She was going out with their parents tonight, and she’d be fine and didn’t need him seething on her behalf.
The adjoining door was cracked open. He rolled his shoulders, ran his hand through his hair, and found his equilibrium. Then he strolled through.
“Sibling-support call done,” he said. “Now about that shower…”
He trailed off as he saw Daphne. She was on the bed, huddled at the headboard, knees drawn up, gaze down, her expression…
He ran forward and sat on the edge beside her, laying a hand on her arm. “D?”
She looked up, her eyes empty, as if she hadn’t heard him come in.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“It’s… Robbie.”
Robbie? It took a moment for him to remember that was her asshole neighbor. The one they’d scared off with their make-out session.
“Did something happen to him?” he asked.
Daphne made a noise, almost like a derisive snort. Then she lifted her hand, her phone in it, thumbed to an email and passed it over.
The email was from Robbie. Chris read it.
Fine. You don’t want to call. Let’s do it your way. I have this niece who runs a blog thing online. She’s weird, always holed up with a book. I don’t talk to her much. Then out of the blue, she’s texting me about some author. She read this book, it was great, blah-blah, and she was posting about it on her blog thing, and she looked up the author, who lives in the Yukon and OMG, her uncle lives in the Yukon. Do I know the author? Like I know everyone in the Yukon. I ignored her. Then she sent a photo, and it turns out I do know him. Saw him just last week, practically banging you against a tree.
Seems your Chad is some kind of author. Whatever.
But the kid doesn’t let up. OMG, you’ve met Zane Remington? Where does he live? Here are some photos of his place. Do you recognize it?
Oh yeah, I recognize it. That’s why Chad was at your house. He was pretending it was his. I knew the bastard was up to something. So I did a little digging and found out there is no “Zane Remington.” It’s what they call a pseudonym. Not only is he a fake, living in a fake house, but he’s using a fake name.
That’s when I remembered the BBQ last year, when Pam was going on about some short story she’d written and how she wanted to get it published and shit. Talked my ear off for ten minutes, with Ren right there, pleased as punch because his woman could string together a few sentences. Then you overheard and got talking to Pam. Ren asked if you wrote, and you said you did.
So I start thinking, and wondering, and I go online to see this book, and I find a free copy of it on some website. I start skimming through. It’s about a girl, which has me wondering why a guy would write that, unless he’s some kind of perv. Then, right in the first chapter, there’s this part where the girl’s dog falls through the ice, and it happens just like that time Tika fell through chasing a hare, only in the book they were running from a zombie.
Chad didn’t write that book. You did. Maybe he hired you or whatever. Don’t know. Don’t care. I just know that you wrote it and now you’re lying to people, and I talked to my niece, and she says that’s a really bad thing. She says people who do that get cancelled. If this comes out, you’re done, and not just your book. You.
I’ve only told my niece that I think I know who wrote the book and that it’s a chick. She wants details. Begged me to give her names so she can be the one who outs you.
Little shit, huh? Goes from “OMG, this book is so good!” to “Let me be the one to ruin the writer!” in a heartbeat. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?
So here’s the deal. I’ll keep your secret… if you give me something in return. I want a one-year free rental of your house. That’s it. Reasonable, right? You have twenty-four hours to decide.
Now will you call me?
As Chris had read the email, his fingers had tightened around the phone. As he reached the end, the edges bit in, and it was everything he could do not to keep squeezing until it broke in his hand.
Daphne reached over and gently extricated her phone from his grip.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can give him the house for a year.” She audibly swallowed. “It’s temporary. I’ll find another place. I have enough money to do that.”
“No.”
She looked up at him, her jaw setting. “Yes. I got into this mess, and if this is the price I pay to get out of this, so be it. I won’t take chances.”
“This is your house, Daphne. Yours.”
She shook her head. “One year is nothing.”
“He’s not really asking for a year rent free. That’s like asking for ten grand when you know you could get a hundred. If you talked to whoever owns that place he’s currently renting, I suspect you might get a story.”
Daphne frowned.
Chris continued, “Remember the friend I took on as a partner? He knew tenancy law, and when things went south, he used it to full advantage. Once Robbie’s in your house, he’s not going anywhere. I can tell you what to demand in a rental agreement, but I have a feeling he won’t sign it with those clauses.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I have heard that his current landlord has been trying to evict him.”
“Right. You’d eventually get him out, but it’s going to be a fight, and I don’t think you need to go that far.” He tapped her phone. “He may know tenant rights, but he doesn’t understand blackmail. He literally wrote out his demand and sent it from his own address. Let’s see what Nia has to say about that.”
He expected that would get a smile. A sudden beam of sunshine in the gloom. Instead, Daphne stayed quiet, and then said, “Does it matter?”
“Hmm?”
She looked up at him. “That’s the thing about blackmail, isn’t it? If an ex threatens to post your nudes online, you can have them charged with blackmail… while they put those pictures up anyway. If I threaten Robbie, he can just pass on my name to his niece. Hell, in making a blackmail charge, I need to admit what I did, and then it’ll seem as if I only came forward because I was under threat of exposure.” She pulled her knees in, one arm going around them. “I lost my chance. I could have gotten ahead of this, and I screwed up, and now it’s going to come out and my career is over.”
“No,” he said firmly. “This isn’t the end. It’s a bump in the road. That’s all. Our timeline still works. We just need to slow Robbie’s roll. Make him think he’s going to get what he wants. Show you’re panicked. That’s all he needs right now.”
“To think I’m planning to agree.”
“Yep. You’re freaked out, partly because you aren’t sure you can give him what he wants. There’s Tika to consider, and with the lack of housing in Whitehorse, you don’t know where you’ll stay, and you can’t leave the area because it’s an off-grid house that needs some monitoring.” He feigned taking a deep breath. “It’s all so much, and you’re going to make it work but…”
“I need more time,” she said slowly, as if seeing that light through the gloom. “Act like I’m in a total panic, just got his message and oh my God, what am I going to do? Beg him to bear with me while I figure out the logistics. Buy myself time to get past the tour and tell the truth.”
“Yep.”
She glanced over. “Do I admit he’s uncovered the truth? I don’t want to—No, wait. I can say he’s misunderstanding the situation, blah blah, but if his niece goes public, even with the wrong story, it’ll ruin my career.”
“Perfect. Don’t admit anything in writing.”
“Should I call instead? I’d really rather not. I can pull this off better in writing.”
“Email him. Just don’t admit to anything. Don’t deny it, either. Stick to the ‘misunderstanding’ line, which is technically true, since he’s misunderstanding why I’m playing Zane.”
“So he can’t pull that out later and accuse me of lying.”
“Which he won’t anyway, because once you come clean, Nia can inform him that he’s threatened you with extortion, and if he goes public, he’ll be charged. Which lets you come out of your own volition.”
“What about his niece? She’s a book blogger. After I come out, she can still claim I only did it because her uncle knew who I was.”
