Chapter 2 – piper #2
Maybe I should have accepted my mom’s offer to come help with crowd control, but I didn’t think I’d need it. No—I still don’t. This is manageable. As sweet as my parents are, and despite the solid emotional support they give me, I am a business owner, and this is something I can handle on my own.
“Sorry,” I tell Nat, turning off my computer. “I’m not sure I’ll find anyone to replace Mr. Simmons in the writers’ class, but I tried a few people.”
“Don’t you know Hannah Brandt?” Natalie asks.
She knows I do. She’s fully aware I went to school with Hannah and used to beta read her earlier books. But ever since Hannah’s books took off, she’s been harder to get in touch with. I don’t think she has time for something like this.
“We’ll find someone,” I promise. “Now we probably need to lock this down.”
“We can post Ravi at the door to stop letting in new people. I’ll take the register since he hates it.”
“Good plan.”
There’s a small line at the register where Ravi is helping customers, and the signing line doesn’t look to be any shorter than it was when I dipped out earlier.
Dorian isn’t just going to walk out when his time comes to an end—he’s going to refuse to return after such a poorly managed event. Which maybe is what I want?
No, I can’t think like that.
“I’ll talk to the author,” I say, drawing in a breath and arming myself with Natalie’s pep talk from earlier. I’m a boss lady with an excellent store, an incredible second career—even if no one knows about it—and fantastic success for a woman who hasn’t even hit thirty yet. Not for two more months.
I’m hardcore. I’ve worked my tail off, and these are the fruits of my labors.
I’m practically hyperventilating when I reach the table and plant myself just to the right of Dorian’s shoulder. His signature is practiced; the flourish on James is large and sweeping. Even the way he holds the pen is commanding and masculine.
Someone get me an ice bath.
“Thank you for coming,” Dorian says, closing the book and handing it back to the woman waiting. She’s in her late-forties with graying hair and hearts in her eyes. She looks as smitten as I am.
Is it pheromones? I’d feel better knowing this is something Dorian is emitting and all people are susceptible to it.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she gushes. “Your books are my favorites.”
His eyes soften. “Thank you.”
How can he sound so humble? And so nice? I know he isn’t. Deep down, his heart is marbled with black.
When she walks away, Dorian leans back in his seat, stretching his arms. I can’t help but look at his left hand and find the ring finger totally vacant. Hm. Interesting.
“Do you need anything?” I ask. “Water? A break?”
His brow hitches. Did he catch me checking his hand? “No, I’m good.”
“Listen, the event ends in”—I check my watch—“fifteen minutes, but the line is longer than that. We’ve posted someone at the door to stop more people from joining, but we weren’t anticipating this crowd.
Are you intending to leave right at nine?
We can offer the rest of the people in line a discount, maybe, or—”
“No, I’ll stay.”
I blink at him.
“Until the line ends or we run out of books, at least. They came out here for a book. I’m not going to make them wait in line and leave before they get it.”
They came for him, but okay.
“Especially with such a long line. That was ridiculous,” the next woman says, checking the time on her phone.
I straighten, schooling my face to hide my surprise.
“I mean, I knew your murder mysteries were good,” she continues, “but I didn’t realize all these people thought so too.”
My gaze shifts to Dorian. Murder mysteries?
He sighs. “Do you have a book, Paise?”
“Oh yes, I do.” She flashes him a grin and produces one, then pushes her unruly curly hair behind her shoulder. The man standing beside her shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “I waited in that line. I’m getting a signature.”
“Where’s your receipt?”
“I’ll pay for it after.”
“That’s not the policy,” Dorian argues.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. He obviously knows her. “But just this once.”
“Thanks.” She flashes me a wide smile, then her gaze lingers. “So, are you the owner—”
“That’s enough, Paisley,” Dorian says. “Who do you want me to sign it to?”
She rolls her eyes. “Just sign it to your number one fan.”
He laughs. “You’d have to read them to earn that.”
“I do!”
“Murder mysteries,” he mutters, opening the book and starting to write on the title page.
I have the oddest sense of satisfaction that the genre distinction matters to him, like it does to me.
“Are they not?” Paisley asks. “There’s murder and mystery.”
“They’re technically classified as thrillers,” I tell her, “but you’re not wrong.”
“Okay, cool.” She puts out her hand. “I’m Paisley, and this is my boyfriend, Hudson.”
“Friends of the author?” I ask, shaking her hand.
“You could say that.”
Hudson clears his throat. “Mr. James appreciates his privacy, so we don’t like to say much more than that.”
I have the sense I’m not the one he’s reminding.
Given the identical shades of brown in their eyes, their similar noses, and something about their smiles, I’d put money on Paisley and Dorian being related.
He closes the book and hands it back. “Thanks for coming.”
“Anyone else been here?” she asks.
“Luke and Avery stopped by at the beginning.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s a busy night, and I told all of you not to come.”
“Well, Carrie’s working.” Paisley frowns, ignoring the last thing he said. “Anyway, good job, D.M. James. I’m proud of you.”
His face softens. “Thanks, P.” He reaches to shake Hudson’s hand. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“Of course. See you at game night?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
The whole interaction is so familiar and homey, I’m hungry to know more, but I tamp that curiosity down and smother it. “I’m going to do crowd control, but let me know—”
“Wait.”
I stop.
Dorian takes the next book and the Post-it note bearing the woman’s unique spelling she wants on the inside and begins to write. “That was my sister. Can you send her away? I’ll cover the book later. I don’t want her money. She paid enough in time.”
It’s touching. “Sure.”
He shoots me a half smile before directing his full attention to the next person, and I’m knocked off-kilter. The entire walk to the register to stop the transaction before it happens, I have to steady my breathing. But I don’t know why.
“Don’t ring her up,” I say as Natalie is scanning the book. “The author is covering this one.”
Paisley blows a raspberry. “I’m buying the book. I want to support him.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
She gives me a once-over. “Why not?”
“My job this evening is to support the author, and it’s what he wants.” Knowing they’re siblings just makes this make sense, but I’m sure Natalie thinks I’ve lost my mind. “Let him do this for you.”
Paisley considers this, then slides her card back into her wallet. “Okay.” She leans back a little, her shoulder pressing into her boyfriend’s arm as she takes me in. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You’re Piper, right?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name, you know?” She shrugs. “When he used to talk about you, I always pictured you blonde.”