by Amy Lignor
A CAPTIVATING CONUNDRUM
Amy Lignor
Published by
Ring of Fire Publishing
A Captivating Conundrum
©2012 Amy Lignor. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity with real persons or events is purely coincidental. Persons, events, and locations are either the product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Source material for cover image from John Pesina / Shutterstock.com.
Cover design by Stephen Penner.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the ‘lover of the romance genre’ in our family - my sister, Kathy. I miss you, and thought that this particular ‘Conundrum’ would be fun!
Acknowledgements
Yes, I have a “Room of My Own,” as the great Virginia Woolf always spoke about. But when it comes to writing there is literally a community of friends who help, family who support (even though they get really sick of listening to the writer whine), and - for me - a dog named Reuben who acts as a best friend I can bounce ideas off of. So, with that said…
I want to thank J.P. because she had to listen to the Technicolor version of this story; M.H. because she had to listen to all my negativity when things went south; My Mom, without whom I would never have even found the magic in books; and Shelby Lignor - my pride and joy, without whom I never would have even continued trying for that ‘brass ring.’ I love you.
And to all the fans who fell in love with Emily and Matthew and who are about to fall in love with Leah and Gareth (hopefully) - here is another couple who will bring romance, wit and a spark of fun into your day. Your reviews, tweets, blogs, Facebook comments - everything you’ve said, written and done has just been an absolute pleasure and honor for me!
And to all those back East who are going through the after-effects of Hurricane Sandy, I send you my prayers, wishes and a whole lot of love!
Until Next Time, Everybody,
Amy
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
About the Author
One
The Conundrum…
~ Hers ~
"I need book two finished in a WEEK. Oh, and that piece you wrote for the charity event? STUNning!" Nicole flashed her small white teeth at me, as she flipped her straight black hair over her shoulder. "It was intense, powerful—and that song and dance number at the end? LOVED it!"
I tried not to laugh at her exaggerated speech. For a woman smaller than a Keebler elf, she certainly made sure to emphasize exactly what she wanted to get across so there was never any confusion; a talent that many dictators could claim.
I stared into the jet black gaze I was so used to. Right now it held a prideful 'Mom' look, yet I knew the serial killer persona lay just below the surface.
"NOW, you have to come with me to the theatre because all of the authors are in charge of picking who THEY want to star in their piece."
I took a long sip from the mug of coffee in my hand. Caffeine was my absolute favorite substance, and extremely necessary when Nicole was within a mile of me. "I think casting would be better left to the casting director, don't you think?"
She shrugged her shoulders, rolled her eyes, and offered a huge sigh of frustration; this was the Nicole trademark move that I referred to as, 'The Triple Threat.'
"NO! Beth, you've become a bestseller. HELLO? You haven't come along since 'Pottermania' struck the globe, and your work certainly has to be represented correctly. You don't want some moron to take the role and destroy it."
I could feel my eyes roll back inside my skull, which was absolutely pounding. "You're talking about this like it's an audition, Nicole. This is a charity event. These are major actors, singers and dancers who are giving up their time to help these kids. They are all stars, not morons."
She waved her hands in the air, as if casting my words aside…yet again. "YOU have to pick out the guy. END of subject."
Yup, that was the end.
"Now, when do you think I'll have book two?" She sat back in the kitchen chair and stared up at me as if I now wore the 'moron' sign on a sandwich board around my neck. "You've been working on 'The End' for weeks. I NEED that book."
Sighing, she stood up and began flitting around my living room, straightening pillows, wiping the dust off my television set—she was absolutely mesmerizing to watch, like the Mad Hatter on crack. A petite country gal, Nicole was beyond the definition of OCD, and loud? Every time she made a point I swear I could actually hear the silverware rattle in the kitchen drawer as Tornado Nikki raced by.
"I'm working on it."
Putting her hands on her hips, she suddenly looked like a Stephen King creation; lips pursed, eyes wide—all she was missing was the bucket of pig's blood dripping down her face. "You HAVE to be faster."
I tried not to crack a smile. "I thought you just said I HAVE to head to the theatre with you for all this other stuff?"
"Yes, you DO! But you can write at night, can't you?" she offered a sneer. "I mean, you must be awake at two a.m. considering the amount of coffee you drink. That's a beneficial time for a writer. USE it."
"No playtime?" I smiled.
Practically slamming her mug on the table—which was filled with tea, going against everything I stand for—Nicole marched on her four-inch heels to stand face-to-neck with me. "You? Playtime? Isn't that what Sundays are for? You know I NEVER bother you and Bobby when you're watching those ridiculous sports matches on T.V. and that's the only playtime you ever have, which is a mistake by the way," she mumbled. "Sports! Talk about a waste of freakin' time."
I had to laugh. I swear my agent's face could twist and turn into so many different masks of annoyance it was almost impossible to see the same one twice. She really should've been an actress. "You call me every Sunday, Nicole."
She shook her head. "I just check in to see what your plan is for the next week."
Moving back to the coffee pot to get 'one for the road,' I glanced out the window at the magnificent city. It still took my breath away. I knew I would be heading back to Connecticut soon, but the upside was I lived close enough to visit good, old New York anytime I wanted. Besides, it was kind of fun to finally be one of those city dwellers with a home in Connecticut; I was now among the group of idiot weekenders who I used to laugh at. Of course, my Connecticut home was not a mansion by any means. Mine was just a cottage—four small bedrooms, my beautiful library, and just enough room for two meg
a-couches and a big screen T.V in the living room so Bobby and I could have perfect front-row seats to every game. It was also small enough that if his sucky team was winning I could easily throw chips, pretzels—even beer bottles at his head, depending on the mood I was in.
But I did love coming back to the city. Here, 'life' continued, never slowing down for a second. I couldn't live here full-time and be a writer, though. I wouldn't be able to type a word; I would always be racing to the next show, or sitting in my very own paradise enjoying the espresso and reveling in the unmistakable scent of books.
"Are you LISTENING to me?"
My brain came back to me, ripped from the serene image of Patience and Fortitude by a woman who had a great deal of fortitude but no patience whatsoever. "What?"
Her sigh was now reaching the volume of hurricane winds. "As YOUR agent, I have to ask you to please pay attention."
I couldn't help my grin. The woman certainly had style, even if she did act more like a cooler at a honky-tonk than an actual literary agent. "Yes, O' Great One. I apologize."
Her eyes furrowed and she pointed to the chair. "Sit."
"Woof," I mumbled.
Slapping my hand, Nic sat across from me and the gruff look transformed into the friend and supporter I knew so well. "Do you think you should tell?"
I shrugged. "It's not really necessary."
"Beth, maybe it's time." She was truly worried about me. "I mean, you deserve playtime, you know? You've worked hard for this."
I sighed, thinking back on the one event that'd changed the course of my dream considerably. "You're the one who wanted me to stay anonymous, remember?"
She began biting her fingernails—a nasty habit. Taking over the role of 'Mom' in the room, I slapped her hand.
Nicole smiled. "You deserve more."
"Oh, my God." I laughed so loud the coffee mug quivered on the table. "You really are a loon, you know that?"
I pulled the chair closer so I could look her in those black eyes and try to make her understand. "Nicole, you're the one who took a chance on me and my book. You're the one who got it published, and it was your hard work that made this thing become a global phenomenon. I don't need book signings, magazine covers and Twitter parties. I am thrilled with how people feel about this book, and that's enough for me."
Nodding, I saw the tear appear in the corner of her eye. "I thought it was the right answer at the time, you know? To protect you."
"I know." I smiled. "Besides, it's fun being anonymous. No paparazzi to deal with, no gossip. I get to do what I love, I get to write all the time and now I even have a little cash to enjoy life." I winked.
Nicole snickered. "Honey, you could buy and sell Trump by now."
I laughed. "Well, I don't know about that, but I do have better hair."
The door suddenly flew open as Bobby practically jumped over the threshold into the room. The reason Bobby is a hero of mine is not only for his friendship, support and the fact that, as my assistant, he does absolutely everything for me so all I have to do is write; but he also has the incredible gift to know when to bring special coffee. He's psychic, I swear. He knows when Nicole is here and the horrific headache I'm already suffering from.
I practically jumped out of the chair to get the Starbucks out of his hand. "God bless, brother," I kissed his hand.
Getting a kiss on the cheek in return, I watched as Bobby's mask of aggravation appeared when he looked over at Nicole.
"Where's mine?" she asked. "You KNOW I like their Tazo Zen tea."
Putting his fists on his hips, Bobby leaned to one side. He reminded me of a gay Poitier—classy, elegant, with a wit and sass that can only be found in your openly proud best friend.
He waved a finger in Nicole's face. "You're not getting anything until you stop calling my cell phone at three a.m."
Nicole wore the clueless expression that she could fake very, very well. "I told you to stop doing that, Nicole."
"He's an assistant. He's SUPPOSED to help when a person needs assisting."
"When she does," Bobby said, pointing at me. "Not when you do."
Nicole waved his words away like they were nothing more than a tsetse fly that was bothering her. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that you were going to go to the auditions with us today."
He looked at her oddly. "They're not auditions. These people are stars, you loopy woman. They're doing this for charity."
"I already told her that," I said.
"So, the three of us are going to march into the theatre like a bad rendition of Charlie's Angels and Beth just orders one up like a piece of meat? What if they don't want to do her piece?"
Nicole rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Oh, please. They will beg to be the one to do Beth's piece. It's the finale, the GEM of the show, and the publicity for the one who reads the words of 'Ms. Famous Anonymous' will be monumental. Headlines all over the place."
Bobby stared at me; his frustrated gaze turned into one of sheer exhaustion. Nicole could get him, too. There was simply no way to stop the chick once she got on a roll.
He sighed. "And after she picks the one she wants? What then?"
Nicole looked up at him. "What do you mean?'
"These are stars, Nicole. They're going to want to speak with the writer, ask questions and bounce things off Beth—that kind of carte blanche comes with celebrity status." He turned his gaze back on me. "You'll have to introduce yourself."
I nodded, swallowing that last bit of fear leftover from my one and only 'fan' encounter. "We'll just get someone who's hopefully a good person who will keep my secret."
"If it gets out your doorstep may draw more of a mob than Lennon's," he said.
I stared down at the ground.
Bobby spoke quickly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He took me into a bear hug. "You know what I meant. Let's change it to, 'more mobbed than that movie vampire guy's house…wherever that is."
"Australia, I think," I replied.
Nicole mumbled, "It really is scary how little you people know about popular fiction. It's called Twilight and the guy's British."
"We were close," Bobby laughed.
"Do you ever watch any real T.V. up there in Yankee-ville, or is it really just sports?"
Bobby sighed. "Look, I'm always on the internet answering mail and I already have to read about Beth and all of the inane gossip about why she stays hidden and writes under a pseudonym." He turned to me and smiled. "There was one yesterday that actually said you were born with some kind of chimpanzee disease and you couldn't be seen in public because of all the hair."
He studied my mass of waves and then rubbed my cheek. "Hmmm…," he whispered. "Maybe they're right. Do you shave a lot?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. I also have someone on staff to pick the nits out and feed me bananas. I found her on the Nature Channel."
"Enough!" Nicole slammed her huge bag on the counter, taking one last look to be sure she was prepared for her next mission.
She was like an orchestra conductor, except instead of a baton to keep people in line she used a bag filled with electronic equipment that could—with one shot upside the head—give you a concussion and send you to the hospital if you didn't follow her instructions to the letter. It was always a wonder how that small body heaved it over her shoulder without even issuing a groan.
I looked up into my best friend's eyes. "I think we're leaving now."
"Yay," Bobby mumbled. Holding the screenplay in his hand, his face changed to one of pride. "I hope you find the right guy because this is some truly awesome work."
Nicole banged the front door against the wall so hard I thought the plaster would crack, and walked—head held high—out of the apartment.
Grabbing my coffee, Bobby ushered me out behind the 'Royal One.' "So…I know you went out with friends last night, any news on the guy front?"
Bobby laughed. "They don't make what I'm looking for, Beth, and you know it. I want the 'boy next door.'"
&nbs
p; "That's because you're a baby."
"I'm twenty-five!"
"Yeah, a baby," I said.
"You've only got ten years on me." He smiled.
Swallowing a gulp of the blessed liquid, I continued, "Yes, but I look like I have fifty."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "I hate to tell you this, again, but when we walk into a room and it goes silent, it ain't me their starin' at."
I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I looked at the floor. "That's because I pay them before we arrive so I can feel good about myself."
His face turned serious. "You're going to have to accept this someday, you know. One day you're not going to be able to hide in Connecticut."
The subtle ache began to throb deep in my stomach. "It had to be this way."
He nodded. "In the beginning. But now I think you're going to have step out of that closet just like I did."
"You think it's safe?"
Bobby laughed, looking me up and down. "Well, you could 'ugly' it up a bit if you really wanted to. Maybe blacken out a couple of teeth, shave the head—you know, destroy what God created."
I laughed. "Then Nicole would beat me."
He thought about that. "Yeah, that is more terrifying. I'd rather be mobbed by a horde of hungry men than deal with her."
As if the angels above were trying to save us from a fiery death, the bell resounded from the elevator telling us we were out of time. We sped up, rushing down the hall and making it into the small capsule just before the doors closed.
Nicole simply stood and glared at us with the look of a wife who was about to stab her husband for ever making her have sex just to end up with a couple of rebellious idiots like us. "MUST you make me wait?"
Looking at me, her frustration turned back into the gaze of a businesswoman. "I think you should try to write a romance novel the next time out—your readership is sixty percent female, you know, and they're already in love with your men. And if we put your picture on the book jacket your male readership will explode."
Bobby laughed. "Ain't the only thing that'll explode on them."