Chapter Seven
Jess
Leave it to Nick fucking Matthews to look like Mr. December at the exact moment I need my body to feel zero attraction toward him.
Nick doesn’t wear suits often—he’s a jeans and a T-shirt guy, even more casual at home. But damn if he doesn’t clean up well. The man looks like he should be gracing the covers of romance novels, not writing them.
Not that any of that matters. Looks are not that important, and so what if my nipples got hard as he scanned me from head to toe? I could hear the catch in his breath as he took in my outfit, and that alone was worth the exorbitant cost of this dress that I will inevitably need to return because I can’t actually afford it.
It’s my first time seeing him in five years, and after the sparring in our DMs, it should come as no surprise that my body has a reaction to his.
But I’m not going to let it affect me. I’m here to do one thing, and one thing only, and that’s make sure my publisher knows how dedicated I am. I’m here to secure my next book deal, and if Nick Matthews is the only way to do that, then I will suck it up.
Oof. Probably should not be thinking about sucking anything right at this moment.
Damn. Could the backstage wings of this stage be any smaller? Every time I so much as shift my weight, I brush up against him, the sleeves of his suit jacket on my bare arm causing goose bumps to explode over my skin.
If Nick notices, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything at all, actually. He’s probably just hoping to escape this whole situation without me completely losing my shit and blowing up at him.
I haven’t ruled it out yet, but so far, cooler heads are prevailing.
Luckily, we’re saved by the VP of SVP. He steps out onto the stage, leaning so close into the microphone that a screech of feedback echoes across the quieting room. He welcomes everyone to the holiday ball, expounding on the “family” that is SVP, smothering us all in the bullshit that is supposed to make up for seven-percent royalties.
He’s good, though. Very convincing. I wonder how many of SVP’s books he’s read this year. I can almost guarantee none of mine have crossed his desk.
He’s probably read all of Nick’s.
And speaking of Nick, his elbow nudges me, just slightly, right in the ribs.
I turn to face him for the first time, a Medusa-level glare in place.
But he doesn’t say anything, only gestures to the stage, where the VP has clearly already introduced me and is waiting for me to come take the mic.
Shit. Not exactly off to the best start, but I hurry across the stage as fast as the heels I wear maybe once a year will let me.
The VP shakes my hand before exiting the stage, and I turn to the mic and the audience. After some readings and author events over the years, I’ve gotten over a lot of the stage fright that used to plague me as an introvert. Tonight, it’s going to be easier than usual to get through my planned speech, because I don’t mean a single word of it. It’ll be like acting, playing a character.
A character who thinks Nick Matthews is the best thing to happen to romance since Nora Roberts.
And so I open my mouth and the words come pouring out. Nice words, all about Nick. I don’t mention how he broke my heart or ditched me as soon as he found something more important. I don’t talk about how I used to have to help him write his female characters because he was as clueless as most men are to the inner workings of the female mind. I don’t talk about how we used to act out his sex scenes so he could find those moments, the moments when it becomes something more than a physical joining of two bodies.
Instead, I list all his accomplishments. And there are many. I pretend like Nick Matthews has done great things for romance, when really all he’s done is come in and warp it with his lack of respect for the genre.
And when I conclude my speech by announcing him as the recipient of the Romance Author of the Year award, I stand there and smile and clap, as the room gives him an ovation he doesn’t deserve. Nick walks out onstage and I keep that smile frozen on my face as he takes my hand in his, pulling me close, so close that the pine and juniper scent of him fills my nose. For just a second, I allow myself to close my eyes and breathe him in, leaning into his warmth.
“Thank you.” Nick brushes the words over the shell of my ear, his hand still tightly clasping mine like he doesn’t want to let go.
I make myself step away, one last fake smile for the audience. I slink back into the darkened corner of the stage as Nick takes to the mic.
“I could not think of a lovelier introduction.” Nick glances my way, and I wish the lights of the stage didn’t wash out his hazel eyes, making them unreadable from this distance. “You might not know it, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Jess.”
My heart jumps into my throat, lodging itself there and making itself right at home. It’s the first time Nick has ever publicly noted my contributions to his career. He’s never once even mentioned me in the acknowledgments section of a book, not that I’ve scoured every one of them looking for my name. Looking for some kind of sign that I actually meant something to him at one point in time.
“Jessica and I were critique partners for many years, and she taught me so much about writing, and characters, and love.” His voice softens on that last word, and he looks my way again. “I am so thankful she was willing to be here tonight.”
The crowd delivers a light, half-hearted round of applause for me.
Nick turns his attention away from the wings and focuses on the audience. Before I truly have time to process my feelings about what he said, he’s walking back my way. Neither of us speaks as the same assistant leads us out to the crowd, to our table, where of course we’re seated right next to each other. The spot on my left is open, having been saved for Alyssa. The spot on his right is open as well. I wonder who he was supposed to bring tonight and why she didn’t show up.
I turn my attention to the glass of red wine waiting for me at my seat, downing half of it in one large gulp. Then I look around at the rest of the table and immediately realize my mistake. Nick is the guest of honor here, so of course we’re seated with people whom I only recognize from their pictures on the SVP website, people I have never had so much as a Zoom call with, let alone met in person.
A couple of them shoot us inquiring looks, but then dinner is served and everyone pays more attention to their food than the midlist writer who has infiltrated their lead-title midst.
“Thank you, again, Jess. For what you said. I really appreciate you being here.” Nick’s words are quiet, his eyes focused on his plate.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I don’t want him getting any ideas about why I’m really here. This is not a peace treaty or an olive branch. It’s a business decision, and nothing more.
“I know,” he says softly. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”
I respond with a mere hmm , needing this conversation to come to an end before either of us says anything bordering on emotional. I check my phone on the sly, wondering just how much face time I need to put in here before I can duck out and go check in. Since I arrived so late, I came straight to the party after a quick change in the bathroom, but if my room is anywhere near as adorable as this old barn, I’m going to enjoy holing up under the covers and snuggling with a good book. I’ll take that scenario over forced human interaction literally any day of the week.
Nick is wise enough to not try to make further conversation. At least not until the dinner plates are cleared and a gorgeous Black woman slides around the table into the empty seat next to him. The two of them exchange greetings, and I don’t want to eavesdrop, so I turn my attention to the other members of the table. The vacant seat next to me has created a nice barrier between me and the execs, saving me from having to fake-smile and laugh through the meal.
“Jess, I’m sure you know Lauren Reid, the executive director of publicity?” Nick leans back in his chair, allowing me to fully take in the woman next to him.
I plaster on one of those fake smiles. “No, Nick, I can’t say I’ve ever been introduced to the executive director of publicity before.” I stick out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She gives me a firm shake and a genuine smile. “Nice to meet you as well, Jessica. I know of you, of course, but it’s so nice to finally get to speak to you in person. I had no idea you and Nick had such a history.” Her eyes dart between the two of us, probably picking up on the fact that we refuse to make eye contact with each other.
“We used to attend the same writers’ workshop.” I chance a glance at him then. The lines around Nick’s mouth are tight, pulled down slightly, like he’s fighting a frown at my dismissal of our relationship.
“That’s so wonderful. Maybe we should have Nick be your conversation partner for your next book release. You know how much we love to see SVP authors promoting other SVP authors, and with Nick’s built-in audience, it would be sure to give you a boost in attendance.”
I grit my teeth. In all honesty, Lauren seems very nice, and I’m sure she’s fantastic at her job, but I can think of nothing I want less than for my next book launch to be all about Nick Matthews. Assuming I even have a next book launch, as I currently have no book to launch.
But I channel my inner Sonia, seizing this opportunity as it presents itself. “Well, assuming my option gets picked up, we could maybe look into that.” I smile sweetly, like I would be thrilled to have Nick deign to promote my book.
Lauren’s smile fades ever so slightly. “Given your relationship with your editor, I’m sure she’ll love whatever it is you’re working on now.”
“I hope so!” I push back my chair, reaching for the coat draped over the back. “I really hate to run, but I still need to check into my room for the night.” I attempt to stick my arm through my jacket, but the stupid sleeve gets caught. “It was really nice meeting you, Lauren.” I pretend like I’m not uselessly flapping the arm of the coat right in her face as I struggle to get it on.
Nick rises, calmly removing my arm from the sleeve and helping me slip easily into the coat. “I’ll come with you. I actually wasn’t able to check in earlier either.”
“Don’t leave the party on my account!” My fake laugh titters, and I hate myself a little in this moment. But what the hell is he thinking, offering to walk with me to the lobby, even if it will only take five minutes? That’s five minutes too many.
“No, really, it’s no trouble.” Nick graciously waves to everyone seated at our table, all the high-powered people who are watching us like we’re a couple of Christmas clowns. “Thank you, everyone, for the honor, and for hosting us tonight.”
“Yes, thank you so much.” I just manage to get the sentiment through my clenched teeth before I push through the sea of tables to the front entrance of the barn.
“Jess! Hi!” Hannah, my editor, catches me by the elbow as I’m flying by her, on a mission to get the fuck out of here.
If it were anyone else, I would keep on running, but I love Hannah, wouldn’t even have a career without her, so I skid to a stop and do my best to smile. “Hannah! I wasn’t sure you would be here.”
She shrugs, adjusting the strap of her emerald-green knee-length dress. Hannah could have been a supermodel if she hadn’t gone into publishing, tall and lithe with pale skin and waves of shiny dark hair cascading down her back. “I wasn’t planning on coming, but Gina had an extra bed in her room, so I figured why not.” Her dark brown eyes see right through me and my fake smile. “That was a great speech you made up there.”
I grit my teeth. “Thanks. It was an honor to be asked.”
She leans in close, though no one in the crowded room is paying any attention to us. The dance floor has opened, and if the “dancing” taking place there is any indication, the cocktails are really kicking in. “I know how hard that must have been for you, but I promise, it will be worth it. When I take your next book to the team, even the higher-ups will know who you are now, have a face to go with the name.”
I nod, not sure I can manage to make words form in my overwhelmed brain at the moment.
“Assuming you are going to have a new book to show me soon?”
I swallow the self-doubt. “Of course. I’m actually working on something right now that I think is going to be fantastic.” It’s only a half lie.
Her grin brightens her whole face. “Amazing! I can’t wait to read it!” She squeezes my arm. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, and you can tell me about it?”
“Sure thing.” I check behind me, relieved to see Nick still tied up with the hobnobbers. I spot several other authors I’ve met and established relationships with over the years, people I actually want to reconnect with, but most of them are at the bar or on the dance floor, the opposite direction from where I need to be. I offer Hannah the biggest smile I can manage. “I’ve got to go check into my room, but I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow!”
I know I will now be avoiding breakfast in the lobby, not because I don’t love Hannah, but because my manuscript is nowhere near ready for her. And given how hard the writing has been over the past couple of days, I’m no longer feeling so confident in my idea.
But that’s a problem for later.
After collecting my bag from the check-in table where I stashed it upon arrival, I stride through the front doors of the barn, only to be blasted in the face with freezing cold air and a flurry of white. Somewhere between me arriving at the inn and walking through these doors, the snow really started coming down. The entire acreage of the property is blanketed in white, the kind of snow that’s thick, the kind of snow that sticks. I’ve only been inside for a couple of hours. I don’t know how the skies managed to dump so much powder down in such a short period of time, but I don’t pause to think about it too much.
Even my winter coat isn’t enough to block out the chill, and I hunker down into it as best I can. The wind is biting, stinging my cheeks and sending snow fluttering into my eyeballs. I want to check my progress, see how much farther I have to walk before I reach the cozy warmth of the lobby, but that would require raising my head and it’s not worth the cost.
I hoist my weekend bag farther on my shoulder, the weight of it combined with the wind knocking me off balance.
Then the weight of it fully disappears, and I spin around.
Nick’s got my bag, resting it on top of his wheelie suitcase, though he’s not having much luck with the wheels on the snow-covered path.
“I can carry my own bag!” I shout at him, fighting to be heard over the wind.
“I got it!” he yells back, gesturing for me to keep walking.
I do keep walking, because I want to get out of this weather more than I want to be right, but I don’t let him know that. “It’s incredibly misogynistic to imply that I’m not strong enough to carry my own bag, you know.”
I don’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes. “I know you’re perfectly capable of carrying your own bag, I’m just trying to get both of us out of the snow as fast as possible.”
“I don’t need you to wait for me. I know how to walk.”
“Jesus Christ, Jess, I know you know how to walk. It’s too damn cold to fight with you right now, so just let me do this, please.”
I really hate it when Nick Matthews is right, but it really is too cold to fight. So I trudge along behind him, walking in the path made by his suitcase.
We finally make it to the lobby, and I shiver as the heat begins to seep into my bones. We pause for a minute in the entryway, and I shake the snow from my coat and my hair, letting it fall onto the black no-slip mat that’s been set up for just this purpose.
“I’ll take my bag back now.” I hold out my hand expectantly.
Nick hands me my bag, but when I reach for it, he doesn’t let go, using the movement to pull me closer. His hand reaches out, wiping a few errant snowflakes from my hair. His fingers drift down, swiping gently at my skin, clearing me of any stray bits of ice and snow.
And it has zero effect on me, the way he so carefully brushes his fingers against my cheek. And that’s definitely not any sort of zing rushing through me.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, shaking my bag free from his grip and pulling it protectively to my chest. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. Later.”
Later turns out to be a mere five seconds as we both turn for the check-in desk. Both of the clerks working behind the counter look a little frazzled, a little harried, but I guess that’s to be expected with the sudden onslaught of the storm during a big event.
One of them calls me over, the other gestures for Nick, so we split at the front of the line, each of us heading to opposite ends of the counter.
I offer the woman a warm smile along with my ID, letting her know right away that I don’t plan to be a problem. “Jessica Carrington, checking in.”
The clerk doesn’t offer me much in return, but she takes my ID and taps away on her computer.
“It’s really coming down out there,” I comment uselessly.
She turns to me for just a second, blinking a few times in disbelief before turning back to her screen. A frown deepens on her face and a feeling of foreboding washes over me. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Carrington, but I don’t seem to have a reservation under your name.”
I close my eyes for just a minute, taking in a calming breath so I don’t unload on this poor woman, letting her know all the reasons why I absolutely cannot handle one more problem today. “Can you check again, please? My publisher was supposed to make the reservation for me. Maybe I’m under some sort of SVP umbrella?”
The woman shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but all of the SVP-allotted rooms have been claimed.”
I sigh. Of course they have. I hand over my credit card. “Can you just give me one room for tonight then? I’ll check out first thing tomorrow.”
I’m going to have to beg SVP to reimburse me for the expense because this place has got to be pricy this close to the holidays, but there’s no way I can even think about going back out into the snow tonight. I need a hot bath and a glass of wine, stat.
This time the woman looks genuinely upset. “Unfortunately, all of our rooms are booked. We don’t have a room to sell you, I’m afraid.”
I’d like to tell you that this simple bit of information doesn’t bring a tear to my eye, but that would be a lie. This day has been a total disaster, from Alyssa’s flight cancellation, to running late for the party, to having to sit next to Nick at dinner, and now it looks like I have no choice but to go back into the ever-worsening storm.
“Fine. Could you call me a cab to the train station then?” I start buttoning up my coat, rooting around in my bag for my hat, scarf, and gloves.
“The trains aren’t running, and I don’t think you’ll be able to get a cab either.” She looks at me with so much pity it clears the tears from my eyes. “You’re welcome to stay here in the lobby. I know it isn’t much, but at least you’ll be out of the cold.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Nick bends down, once again taking my bag in his hands. “I have a room. You can stay with me.”