by A. J. Pine
“Yes,” Wes said with zero hesitation. “Whatever she needs. I’m in.”
Jeremy smiled and let out a breath. “Excellent. I’ll get it all set up. I just need to convince her—”
“Convince her?” Wes interrupted. “I thought you were trying to convince me.”
Jeremy let out a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, here’s the thing. I know you can take this because of all your hundreds of thousands of fans and movie options and shit…but Annie kind of hated your book.”
Beer. Wrong pipe.
Wes coughed for a good forty-five seconds until Jeremy finally slid the mug away.
It’s not like he hadn’t received bad reviews along with the good. He’d learned quickly enough that was the nature of the beast. But no one had ever told him to his face they’d hated the work. They saved that for social media and email. He could deal with nameless, faceless loathing. In person he preferred adoration. Free drinks. Keys to hotel rooms. “Hate’s a strong word,” he said when the coughing had subsided.
Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, Annie doesn’t hate anything.” He took a sip of his own mug. “Except that book.”
Wes raised a brow. Jeremy narrowed his eyes.
“Dude, I know what I said about fans and movie deals and shit, but what’s with the Mad Hatter smile?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just—just convince her, and I’m all in.” Because she hadn’t said she’d hated his book in person. This was third-party information from Jeremy. Wes was sure if he found himself and Annie Denning in the same room, things would be different.
Face-to-face they always were.
Chapter Four
First Ever Author Event at Two Stories bookstore
by HappyEverAfter admin | Leave a comment
Hey, local readers! Two Stories is holding its first signing event this Thursday, the 22nd of September, and I hope you can make it. We have a very special guest and former Chicago local—Wes Hartley, author of the bestselling Down This Road. The paperback just hit stores, and we’ve got plenty of stock for the author to sign. We hope to see you there!
COMMENTS:
HEAlove says: OMG I AM SO JEALOUS. I wish I was in the area, but I’m calling my friend who lives in the Chicago ’burbs and ORDERING her to get me a signed copy. Post pics of the event!
9:07 p.m.
RomReader says: I’m local and—truth circle—haven’t made it to your store yet, but I’m so making this my first visit. I’m sure it won’t be my last!
9:30 p.m.
Bookluvr says: I told my book club about this last night, and they are all DYING. We will be there. I hope you stocked enough books and that you don’t mind a ton of fangirling going on in your shop!
8:05 a.m.
36 more replies…
Annie blinked at her blog app on her phone then looked at the crowd.
“Brynn. You were right. Holy wow! Look at all these people!”
“Jeremy’s the genius!” Brynn said, kissing the man on the cheek. “I was like, What if we tried this? And then poof—Jeremy gives us a bestselling author. This place is packed!”
Jeremy bowed, accepting her praise, while Annie rolled her eyes before going back to staring nervously out the window.
“Seriously, Jer, if this guy doesn’t show…”
She’d gotten her hopes up about the extra business. The thought of losing all of these sales made her stomach roil.
Jeremy put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Annie—turn around and look at your store. Two Stories is packed—on both stories. There are people standing upstairs and looking over the railing because we’ve filled every seat. And might I add that we pulled this whole thing off in less than a week?”
It barely took any advertising. She’d put a flyer in the window and taken out an ad in a few of the online papers. And the blog. That was it. That was the kind of draw Wes Hartley had, and yet the man wasn’t even here.
“All I know,” Annie said, “is that I might have a full house, but I don’t have an author, and without the author, I’m not selling those books.” She nodded back toward the signing table where stacks of Down This Road paperbacks waited. Thank goodness for a rush order from the publisher.
“The guy was in my apartment showering when I left,” Jeremy said. “He said he’s done, like, a hundred of these. I don’t think he’s going to skip out on the one he’s doing as a favor for his buddy’s sister.”
Annie crossed her arms. “I don’t need any favors,” she mumbled, even though she was grateful for the crowd that sat patiently waiting for the event to begin.
That’s when she heard the rumble of an engine—a motorcycle engine—coming up the usually quiet, tree-lined city street. The rider slowed in front of the shop, looked up at the sign, and then promptly did a U-turn before expertly pulling into a spot along the opposite side of the street.
“Okay, that was hot,” Brynn said. “I didn’t think parking could be hot—but that was—”
“Hot?” Jeremy asked.
Brynn nodded. “Yeah.”
“I see what you mean,” he mused.
Annie gave her little brother a loving slap on the back of the head.
“Hey,” he said, rubbing his auburn waves—the hue a perfect match to his sister’s. “Don’t mess the do.” He grinned and raised his brows.
“You two are ridiculous,” Annie said, even as she did admire the rider’s adept parallel parking skills. There was something undoubtedly attractive when it happened with a motorcycle, but for some reason she didn’t want to give her brother or her friend the satisfaction of knowing she thought anything about the rider was hot.
But Annie took in the rugged leather boots under the worn ends of his jeans. His black leather jacket was zipped shut. She couldn’t explain why, but she couldn’t look away. Something in the way he moved kept her rooted in place. Staring.
The rider pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. One corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Who’s got a copy of the book?” Annie asked, and Jeremy was the first to oblige, slapping a paperback against her chest. She flipped it over to where the author bio was on the back, which included a cartoon likeness of the man but no actual photograph.
She glanced at the drawing, then up at the man striding toward them. Down at the book—up at him.
“Why don’t you just ask, ‘Hey, Jer? Is that him?’ Then I could tell you that’s the guy who’s been crashing in my second bedroom all week, and we could avoid the googly eyes.”
Annie glared at her brother. She knew it wasn’t him she was angry at. It was herself. Because she already knew she didn’t like Wes Hartley the writer. The fact that he was attractive—that he looked nothing like that pre-pubescent fourteen-year-old who used to sit on her couch playing video games—should have no bearing on that.
And it didn’t.
She glanced back down at the short bio next to the image, one that was either brilliant or pretentious, but Annie was already leaning toward the latter.
Wes Hartley is a man of little depth—just ask every woman who’s ever dated him. He lives in Manhattan, where he drinks more than enough coffee, just enough bourbon, and hasn’t yet run out of words. He hopes to be worthy of three dimensions soon.
She groaned just as Wes walked through the door of Two Stories bookstore.
“Hey,” he said, reaching to shake Jeremy’s hand. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. It’s been a few years, and this isn’t exactly my corner of the city.” He turned to Annie and grinned. “Guess it’s gonna take me a bit to learn my way around the neighborhood.”
He leaned forward and kissed Annie on the cheek, and her traitorous skin warmed at the touch of his lips.
“Nice to see you, Annie.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the right words wouldn’t come. And by the time she’d thought of something as simple as Hi, he’d already moved on to Brynn.
“I’m sure we probably met in high school,” he said, an
d planted a kiss square on her cheek as well. “But I was a few years behind you guys with Jer.”
Brynn blushed, and Annie rolled her eyes.
“I’m thinking you’ve probably grown up a bit since then,” Brynn said, and laughed.
“You gonna introduce him?” Jeremy asked.
Annie nodded. “Go sneak him through the stacks and wait for my cue—which will be, you know, me saying his name.”
Jeremy gave her a salute and led Wes discreetly through the shelves and around the seated fans.
Brynn crossed her arms and gave her friend a pointed look.
“How did we not know he looked like that?” she asked.
Annie shrugged. “The last time I remember seeing him was when he was a freshman and we were seniors. I’d say he has probably changed a bit. I tried looking him up on social media, and it seems like other than events like this, he’s pretty private. He doesn’t even have a Twitter account.”
Brynn gasped in mock horror. “But how will he Tweeter without it?”
“Tweet,” Annie said.
“Tw-what?” Brynn asked.
“Forget it. You’re just fucking with me, and I have a guest to introduce.”
Brynn tucked a brown curl behind her ear.
“How do I look?” Annie asked, smoothing out her T-shirt that read save a writer. buy a book, one of the many she sold at the store.
Brynn pinched her friend’s cheek. “Adorable as ever. Has the hero already swept you off your feet with his parking prowess and tousled hair?”
Annie groaned and brushed past Brynn, heading for the signing table, but Brynn was hot on her heels.
“Okay, I was teasing, but you’re all ruffled up. You’re attracted to him!”
Annie stopped so suddenly she and Brynn collided, the two of them nearly spilling face-first onto the ground. When she steadied herself, Annie pivoted toward her attacker.
“He’s good looking. So what? That doesn’t change how I feel about his story, and I cannot be attracted to someone who finds the idea of love so bleak. Did you read it?”
Brynn shook her head.
“Well, spoiler alert. His main character is a serial dater. He never connects with anyone even though each woman tries to forge a bond with him. It’s like—it’s like he doesn’t find anyone worthy of the effort. Because it takes effort, right? You and Jamie make it look easy, but you work at it. Don’t you?”
Brynn’s eyes softened. “Of course we do. But Annie—it’s a book. Not real life. Wes isn’t his main character.”
She didn’t get it. Because books were real life. Books made Annie feel, and feelings were as real as anything Brynn could come up with.
Wes Hartley’s book did not give her the feels it gave other readers, and if he was anything like his main character, Ethan, physical attraction was just a minor inconvenience.
“I’m going to introduce him and get this over with,” Annie said, and she strode toward the signing table that was lined with books. Extra boxes sat on the floor behind the chair, and off to the side, between the tall shelves, Jeremy waited with Wes.
She smiled as she saw Doug and Dan in the front row, her favorite baristas, soon-to-be husbands, and co-owners of Hot Latte. She loved the support the independent businesses gave each other and reminded herself to be sure to thank them for coming—with a discount on whatever they bought—just like they always offered to her.
The murmuring crowd quieted when they saw her, and Annie swallowed as she looked out among a sea of smiling women. Lots of women who undoubtedly got the Wes Hartley feels when they read Down This Road.
“Good evening, everyone,” she said, and the bitter taste in her mouth lessened as she realized what the large audience meant for her store—and that Wes had generously offered to do the signing on barely any notice. She sighed. “I’m Annie, and Two Stories is my shop. Thank you all for coming to this extremely special event. And thanks to my brother, Jeremy”—she strained to peek around the corner where she knew the two men were waiting—“for helping throw this little party together on such short notice.” She initiated a small round of applause for her brother.
“But I know you didn’t all come here to see me. You came for Wes Hartley.” A few whistles and shouts rang out, but she could tell they were all behaving so she could get through her spiel and bring out the guest of honor. “Those of you who pre-purchased a paperback should have a ticket to trade for a book when you get up to the table. Those of you who have not yet purchased a book, don’t worry.” She grinned. “We have more, so buy two if you want. I hear books are great gifts.” She pointed at the message on her shirt, and the audience laughed. But really she was thinking it should read, save an indie bookstore owner. buy a book.
“I’m not sure any of you know this, but I went to high school with our guest tonight. He was that squirrely freshman who sat on the couch and played video games with my brother when I was a senior and too caught up in my own life to know we had a burgeoning famous author in our midst. Thanks for coming back to visit, Wes.” He stepped out from his hiding spot, and there was a collective gasp from the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m thrilled to introduce you to Wes Hartley.”
Chapter Five
If there was ever a time Wes welcomed the ego boost, it was now. The applause, the whistles, the flirting looks from those whose eyes met his—this is what made it easier to breathe when the rest of the week had felt like holding his breath.
He’d been in town three days and had yet to churn out the fifty pages Max was expecting by Monday.
It was Thursday.
“Wow,” he said, leaning casually against the table and setting down the motorcycle helmet he still held. “Thanks. I—uh—haven’t been back to Chicago in a while, so this is quite the homecoming.”
He shrugged off the leather jacket, and someone in the crowd yelled, “How about the shirt, too?”
He laughed as he hung the jacket on the back of the chair and looked down at his plain black T-shirt and jeans. Then he shook his head. “Annie runs a respectable business, folks. Pretty sure there’s a sign somewhere that requires a shirt for service.” Laughter—they warmed up to him easily, but he still felt a chill in the air. Then he realized Annie was nearby, her back to him as she walked toward the rear of the crowd.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward as if about to tell the audience a secret. “This is just between us, but I had a mad crush on our bookshop owner in high school.”
There were gasps and awws, and he watched as Annie stopped in her tracks and hesitated before turning in his direction. He knew what she’d think, that he was just trying to get on her good side—and maybe that of the readers, too. So she hated his book. That was a strike against him. But he wasn’t lying about that high school crush. The truth was always in the words he wrote—and the ones he spoke as well.
“She was right, though. I was this obnoxious kid when she was already—well, look at her. She’s gorgeous, and she was a decade ago, too.”
Even from the distance he could see her cheeks go pink, and he smiled. She, however, glared at him and crossed her arms. Annie Denning was having none of it.
“But enough about me and my unrequited crush—or maybe I should write about it someday…” More laughter, but he decided to let Annie off the hook. “How about we start with a Q&A? Then I’ll do a couple of readings, and then sign?”
The crowd nodded in agreement.
Then the questions started rolling in.
“When will we hear about book two?” a woman asked.
“When my publisher lets me say more about it,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie. Joanna wouldn’t let him share what didn’t exist.
“What about movie rights?”
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Nothing is in stone yet, but I should have some news on that front soon.”
One of the men in the front raised a hand, and Wes nodded to him.
“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, bu
t I’ve scoured interviews to find the answer and have never seen you address it in print. Are all of Ethan’s lovers based on your own experience?”
Ah, yes. There it was again. The age-old question, and the one he never gave a straight answer to. He’d talked around the issue well enough in New York last week, but Annie was still watching him, and something in her stare made him want to come clean, even if he wasn’t entirely direct.
He scratched the back of his neck and held Annie’s gaze even though the question came from the front row.
“The story started as my senior thesis. I was young.” Quiet laughter rang out. “Younger than I am now.” He saw the ghost of a smile on Annie Denning’s lips. “So—yeah,” he added. “There was research involved. It was supposed to be an exploration of the male/female relationship, and it just sort of morphed into a book, I guess.”
Her smile faded, and he wondered what he’d said wrong. That was the most up-front he’d ever been about where the material for his story came from.
His eyes dropped back to the man in the front row who wore his own satisfied grin.
“And are you—researching book two?”
The whole crowd erupted, and he used it as his segue to move to the chair behind the table where he read a couple of excerpts before promising to sign and take photos no matter how long the line was. He’d stay until everyone was taken care of, and then he’d stay some more and get to know the store’s owner—if she’d let him.
It was the two men from the front—Doug and Dan, he learned—who were the last to get their books signed. Annie and Brynn were clearing away boxes from the books they’d sold when the blond—Doug—grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her next to him, right in front of the signing table.