Chapter Six
Nick
I’m glad I planned to leave for the inn early because by the time I arrive at the godforsaken spot in the middle of nowhere, the weather is looking foreboding. The rain let up slightly, but the sky is still holding those heavy clouds, the kind that might burst at any moment.
I can’t help but wonder if Jess has already left the city, if she made it up here safely. If she hasn’t left yet, there’s a good chance she’s going to get caught in the storm and miss the awards altogether. I wonder if I should message her, let her know to be wary of the weather conditions, but I can’t imagine she would look too kindly on my interference.
It’s too early to check into my room, so I find a comfortable corner of the lobby, near the stone fireplace, and settle in with a good book. The lobby of the inn is dressed to the holiday nines, with a large Christmas tree glittering in the middle, garlands draped over seemingly every surface, and the smell of pine and cinnamon permeating the warm and cozy room.
It makes my skin crawl.
Jess is going to love it here.
Reading has always been one of my favorite hobbies, ever since I was a little kid. My relationship with publishing has now changed my reading life in a way I never expected. It’s hard for me to just sit and read and not think about my own books, or what I would have done differently if I’d written the book I’m trying to relax with. It’s even harder not to drown in the imposter syndrome.
I manage to sink so deep into my reading bubble that it takes a minute before I realize someone is standing right in front of me, repeating my name. For a second, I wonder if it’s her, but I would know if it were. Jess and I were so attuned to each other, I could feel the moment she walked into the room, even if I couldn’t see her.
“Nick.” My editor, Gina, is only a foot away from me, arms crossed and a stern look on her face. She is foreboding when she’s in the best of moods, a petite Japanese American woman who is the most competent person I’ve ever met.
I wonder just how long she’s been trying to get my attention. From the furrow on her brow, more than a minute. I hastily stick a bookmark into my novel and stand, wrapping her in a warm hug. I tower over her, but she never fails to lean into my hugs. I give good hugs. “Gina, so good to see you. Sorry, got a bit distracted.”
“Must be a good book.” She glances at the cover disinterestedly. “I was hoping to find you writing.”
“Well, the good news is I’m making great progress.” It’s not a complete lie, as I did manage to get down some good words. Of course, since Jess and I stopped messaging, those words have dried up, but Gina doesn’t need to know that.
“What’s the bad news?”
I grin, trying to instill it with some confidence. “There’s no bad news, Gina. You know me.”
“Your deadline is in just a few weeks.”
“And have I ever missed one before?”
She purses her bright-red lips and shakes her head. I notice then that Gina is already dressed for the big party, a shimmery black cocktail dress catching the light as she moves.
I check my watch. Shit. The whole holiday ball/awards ceremony/first in-person meeting with the former love of my life thing is supposed to start in an hour, and I still haven’t checked into my room. “Gina, I would love to continue this conversation.” I wouldn’t, and we both know it. “But I need to get to my room and get ready.” I drop a kiss on her cheek and drag my suitcase to the front desk.
An older man working behind the dark wood counter waves me over with something that could pass as a smile. “How can I help you, sir?”
“Checking in. Nick Matthews.” I pull out my wallet, ready to hand over my ID.
“Nick Matthews,” the man repeats.
My name is not usually misheard as it’s about as basic as can be, but I spell it for him anyway.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Matthews, but I’m not seeing your name here.” The man, Stanley according to his name tag, does appear to be genuinely sorry, not that that helps much in this moment.
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. Luckily, my afternoon of reading has left me in a tranquil state of mind. “Could you check again? I’m here for the SVP event, and my assistant, Hilary, extended my reservation for the entire week. Hilary Jacobs? Maybe it’s under her name?”
“Ah, here it is. There must have been a mix-up, but we have a Nick Jacobs, checking in today and checking out the day after Christmas?”
I let out a sigh of relief. “That must be me.”
“The good news is I have your reservation. The bad news is your room isn’t quite ready just yet.”
I check my watch again, though I know full well we are past the designated check-in time. I don’t really want to be that person, but I do have a formal event I need to be at in an hour. “Do you know when it might be ready? I was hoping to shower and change before the party tonight.”
“I’m not sure, as we’ve had some staffing challenges today, but I promise it will be ready by the time the party is over.”
Given that the holiday ball is scheduled to end at midnight, I would damn well hope so. But I know this man himself isn’t responsible for the situation, so I make sure my voice is calmer than the turmoil roiling my stomach. “Is there a place I could shower and change?”
“Yes, actually. We just put in a new spa. You can get ready there, sir. My apologies for the inconvenience.”
“Fantastic.” I grab my bags and follow the man out of the lobby.
He leads me out into the cold, to a smaller building set in the back of the inn. He points out where the holiday party will be held, in the converted barn, and gives me a cursory tour of the property. Apparently, when the weather is good, there are all kinds of outdoor activities on the grounds.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the weather is going to be good. The chill in the air is biting, and those heavy clouds seem to droop more and more each time that I look up.
I hurry into the spa building, making a mental note to see if Hilary made a reservation for a massage. My shoulders are perpetually tight from sitting in front of my computer all day, even with my fancy chair, and I could use one. The facilities here are small, but clean and warm. I don’t let myself linger in the shower. My grooming routine doesn’t extend much beyond combing my hair and brushing my teeth. I dress in my suit, begrudgingly tying the only tie Hilary snuck into my bag, a holiday print.
I wonder if Jess ever made it here. Somehow I don’t think she checked in while I was waiting in the lobby. I would have known if she’d been in the same room with me. I’m sure of it.
Maybe she’s going to bail, just not show up for this ridiculous, self-aggrandizing awards ceremony. I don’t know if I would be relieved or disappointed. The pang in my chest makes me think I’d lean toward the latter, loathe though I am to admit it.
I delay walking back into the freezing cold for as long as possible, but the party started a few minutes ago, so I can’t delay the inevitable any longer. I don’t know what to do with my bags, but I figure I should just bring them with me, find a corner to stash them in until I’ve accepted my award and can get the hell out of there.
To my room, I hope.
The air stings my cheeks as I stride quickly over to the barn. The snow has finally started falling, floating down in puffy white flakes. When I step through the doors of the party, I do my best not to let out an audible groan.
I’ve attended this holiday ball every year since signing my contract with SVP. I know my role with my publisher, and it doesn’t just include writing bestselling books. Part of my “brand” involves attending in-person events, schmoozing with my readers, and generally being a pretty face. There aren’t many of us straight men out here writing romance, and sometimes my job requires me to be more of a show pony.
I’d like to say that I hate it, and sometimes I do, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also love the thrill of validation. Think of me what you will.
This year, SVP has outdone themselves. It looks like Christmas has thrown up all over this huge old barn. The beams crossing the vaulted ceiling are wrapped in lights, as is every single post or pole or stationary object in the room. I spot three giant trees, each one decorated with enough ornaments to stock a Walmart. The tables, arranged in front of the small stage at the back of the room, are all covered in either red or green tablecloths, large floral centerpieces resting at the center of each one.
Jess is going to love it.
It’s the first thought that enters my mind. Again.
I’m so fucked.
I push it out of my head and head to the check-in table. The woman sitting there takes my bags, hands me two drink tickets, and lets me know that Jessica Carrington has not checked in yet.
Yeah, I asked about that last part. Purely because I want to see her before we’re standing up on that stage together. It’s a business decision, really.
I can’t help the niggling worry at the back of my mind that she hasn’t arrived because she’s stranded somewhere. What if she took a Lyft from the train station and got into some horrible accident? What if she had to abandon the vehicle and is now trudging along in the snow? What if she fell and broke her ankle and is stranded with no means of survival? Jess is not the kind of person who can last long without heating, plenty of food, and lots of cozy blankets.
My intrusive thoughts are interrupted by SVP’s publicity director, who comes over to slip her arm through mine and lead me into the fray. I’m halfway grateful for the distraction, as I was about to charge out of the barn and march off to find Jess.
The room slowly fills with people as I’m dragged around, reintroduced to higher-ups, shaking hands and kissing babies. Well, there aren’t any babies at this party, but the feeling stands. No one asks more than cursory questions about my writing, instead focusing on publicity hits and movie options. It’s a drag, but I know it’s part of the deal so I try not to let my growing ire show.
I enviously watch some of the other writers in attendance as they hug one another, squealing with excitement. The romance community is vibrant and supportive and strong, but I’ve never really been a part of it.
My first manuscript—the one that scored me the six-figure deal I’d never allowed myself to dream of—had a happy ending when I sent it out on submission. Of course it did; all romances must. At the time, I was in a loving, committed relationship with a woman I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. It was easy to see my characters riding off into the metaphorical sunset because it was nothing less than what I had planned for myself.
But then I blew up my life, the love portion of it anyway. In the months that followed, the months when I was revising and editing and revising and editing, all the while questioning how I could have possibly let her get away, wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life, I somehow convinced my editor that the original ending didn’t really work. It was unrealistic, really, for these two people to overcome the barriers separating them. It was an ending I no longer felt I could support, and so, despite an HEA being one of the defining tenets of the romance genre, I changed it.
And since that fateful moment, none of my books have ended with a happily ever after. I always find a way for things to not work out in the end, either because of a tragedy like cancer (that one scored me my first movie deal) or because my characters make simply tragic choices. While most of the romance readers love me and my books and have accepted my stories for what they are, the other authors, not so much.
Before too long, an assistant comes to get me, leading me to the wings of the stage while the rest of the partygoers find their seats. Servers circulate through the room, pouring champagne and refilling wine. With an hour of cocktails already under their belts, the guests are loud, the chatter competing with the jazzy holiday tunes playing in the background.
“Do you know if Jessica Carrington has arrived yet?” I ask the twentysomething woman who is guiding me up a small set of stairs and behind the curtain onstage. “She’s supposed to be introducing me.”
“I’m not sure. But we’ll make sure she’s here in time.” The woman points me to a small, dark corner of the stage. “You can just wait here until you hear your cue.”
No one has told me what my cue will be, or who will be delivering it, since it’s easy to see Jess is nowhere to be found. I see the vice president of SVP across the stage, in the opposite wings. He gives me a smile and a cheerful wave, which I half-heartedly return.
How is it going to look to all of these execs if Jess doesn’t bother to show up? She better have a good excuse for bailing.
Like being stranded in the snowy woods all by herself with no cell service.
I grimace, attempting to relax my facial muscles. I should have grabbed a drink before coming back here, but I wanted to make sure I was sharp for my big acceptance speech.
“Where the hell are you, Jess?” I mumble, checking my watch once again.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m so late, I’m sorry.” She arrives in a whirlwind, like she was trapped in a snow globe and only just managed to escape.
My whole body tenses, every inch of me on sudden high alert. The panicked fluster has made her voice go all breathy, and it licks up my spine.
She’s here.
Jess, accompanied by another assistant, crowds into the tiny space afforded to us in the wings.
Holy fuck, she is everywhere. I lock my eyes on the other side of the stage, sure that it will only take one glance at her to send me into a total tailspin. I try to breathe through my mouth so the familiar winter jasmine scent of her doesn’t overwhelm me.
She shimmies out of her coat, her elbows bumping me, the fabric skimming over my arm before she places it in the assistant’s outreached hand. “Thank you so much. I apologize again for my tardiness. I’m never late, but getting here was an absolute nightmare.”
My eyes are unable to stay away from her a moment longer.
She looks incredible. Beyond incredible. She’s wearing a short red dress, the fabric clinging to her curves, accentuating the dip of her waist and hugging the swell of her hips. I don’t allow myself to linger on the neckline, the way her breasts are practically spilling over the fabric, because I know it won’t be long before I have to walk out on that stage and the last thing I need is for every one of my bosses to see just how Jess affects me.
I start listing baseball statistics in my mind, but I was never a big fan of baseball and nothing short of Santa tap-dancing across the stage with the reindeers as backup is going to let me focus on anything other than the fact that she’s here, right by my side.
After a minute, she finally looks at me, hands at her side. “Nick.”
It’s the first thing she’s said to me in five years. Just my name, uttered without a lick of emotion. And yet it sends a shiver through me that I have to work to hide.
“Jess.”
The assistant steps before us, a smile on her face. “Ohmygod, Nick and Jess. How freaking cute is that? I love New Girl .”
I purse my lips so they don’t curl into a smile. We used to get that a lot. Something tells me Jess isn’t exactly in the mood to reminisce about the good old days and the comparison to one of the best couples in TV history.
“Show starts in about two minutes. You guys will be on right after the VP. He’ll introduce Jessica. Jessica, you’ll introduce Nick. Once you’re finished, you’ll exit back to the wings and someone will take you to your seats.”
“Thank you.” I nod to the assistant, who scampers off. I wonder if she picked up on the tension, if it’s as clear to everyone else as it is to me that Jess would rather be anywhere but here. I wait for her to say something, anything, but it’s clear she doesn’t have anything to say to me. Which is fair, I suppose. I don’t know why I thought a few snarky DMs might mean she was willing to give me a chance to at least explain, but clearly I read the situation wrong.
Jessica Carrington still feels nothing for me but utter disdain.