Chapter 3 – dorian
three
dorian
The line is never-ending.
Is this my fault? When my publicist, Bradley, pushed for book signings, I agreed so long as I got to choose the stores and we held no more than four events, so Piper’s Books was a given. The location is easy to reach, and the size is middling, so I figured that meant smaller crowds.
And I mean, come on…it’s Piper’s store.
But apparently Tennessee really shows up for thriller writers. The lines for my last three signings in New York, LA, and Dallas have been long, but this is monstrous.
I can’t even be mad that Piper didn’t take measures to stop the line sooner because these people traveled here just to see me. The honor in that alone means I can handle sitting around for an extra hour with a hand cramp.
When my gaze tracks across the store for her, I find Piper still talking with my sister at the register. Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped in with the offer to pay for Paisley’s book, but it’s the least I could do after she dragged her boyfriend through my line for almost two hours.
“What’s your name?” I ask the man sliding the book across the table.
“Henry Jacobsen, with an E-N.”
“Great to meet you. How would you like your book addressed?”
“Henry Jacobsen, with an E-N.”
Full name. Okay. I start the inscription, but my eyes dart to the register, where Piper and Paisley are both now looking at me.
The pen glides along the page, and I hurry to pretend it was intentional, sliding into “Jacobsen” with a fancy flourish.
My cheeks warm while I finish writing on the title page.
When I pass the book back, I sneak a glance at the women and find my sister and Hudson gone, but Piper is still watching me.
Her brows are knit together, and she’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle she can’t solve.
What did Paisley say to paint that look on her face?
“Are you planning to finish the Vanishing series?”
Why does everyone ask the one question I can’t bear to answer? My entire body responds with a tight coiling. My hand clamps around the pen. “I’m not sure.”
Henry Jacobsen plants both hands on the desk and leans closer. “I have the perfect premise.”
Of course he does. If I had a dollar for everyone who wanted to supply my next mystery or suggest a way I could kill off my next victim, I’d be able to buy the entire table’s worth of books.
“You can kill Kiley.”
“His wife,” I clarify, just in case Henry Jacobsen, with an E-N, doesn’t remember that minor detail. The romance between Paul and Kiley is what brought in my massive readership to begin with. My agent was certain it was the twist in the book. I know it’s the romance.
They’re kind of linked, so maybe we’re both right.
“Exactly,” he continues. “Kill her, and he’ll go all Braveheart on the townspeople.”
Which would be a genre shift.
The elderly woman behind him clears her throat. “I think you mean The Patriot. Paul would Patriot the townspeople until he found her murderer.”
Henry gives her a look. “They both apply.”
“It would make a lot of readers upset,” I tell him.
“But they would want that revenge as badly as Paul does.”
He makes a fair point. I don’t write romance, so killing Kiley is totally on the table. But…also feels wrong.
A waft of familiar perfume hits my nose, and I clock Piper’s proximity before she speaks. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but due to the long line, we need to keep things moving. If you’ve already had your book signed, I’m going to have to ask you to make room for the next person.”
“Right, yes.” Henry Jacobsen points at me. “Think about it.”
Yeah, not happening.
Piper leans close, making my breath stall. “Do you mind if I make an announcement that, due to the time, we’re going to limit the rest of the line to one book?”
I can’t speak with her this close. Every inhale brings a fresh wave of her scent that makes me press my fingers into the table for stability. She blinks at me, her green eyes peering into my soul.
“Dor—Mr. James?” she presses.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I croak.
“Great.” She takes the mic while I accept the next book and begin signing. Her announcement is brief, and a murmur of disappointment rolls through the crowd.
“Guess I should have been here earlier,” the woman says.
“Thank you for your stories, young man. They keep me company. My husband has been gone for fifteen years, and my kids don’t visit anymore, but I don’t wallow in disappointment about those things when I have one of your riveting stories to distract me. ”
My heart pangs. It’s a familiar sentiment.
My family had six kids growing up, so I was seldom without a playmate, but only one of them really understood my love of books—Paisley.
While my brother and sisters would be out playing football with the neighborhood kids, or building a fort in our backyard, or dividing into teams for capture the flag, I was holed up with a book, losing myself in the worlds of an evil ring or talking dragons.
When I ran out of books in our school library, my dad found a box of Hardy Boys novels at the thrift store that ignited a love of mystery.
Any time I ran into difficult things growing up, I would push aside the tough feelings and lose myself in a book. Is it any wonder I now develop stories of my own?
“Thank you for reading my books,” I say to the woman. “I’m glad they’ve been able to provide an escape.”
Her smile is warm, her eyes misty. The overwhelming urge to give her a hug compels me to stand. But all I do is put out a hand, which she shakes.
I stretch my legs and chat with the next few people while standing, signing title pages, and shaking out my hand between books.
“Mr. James,” Piper asks, approaching my table again. “Can I get you another water? New pen? Anything?”
“I’m okay for now.”
She nods. “Just flag one of us down if you need something.”
This isn’t going anything like I’d imagined when I had Bradley schedule this thing. Call me na?ve, but I thought Piper would be a little more impressed to discover I’m D.M. James, evidently her favorite author.
Maybe that’s why she wasn’t stoked. She didn’t want much to do with me in college. Not that I blame her. I had spent a fair amount of time pushing her away. I guess I’d hoped the last few years would have made those interactions matter less—time dulling the pain and all that.
But seeing her tonight hit me with the same jolt I’d felt all those years ago. Maybe she’s grown more beautiful, her features sharper and her style a smidge older, but she still holds the same essence. It’s the same thing I fell for in college.
Too bad she never has been, and never will be, into someone like me.
Ravi stacks the rest of the signs with enlarged pictures of my book and the event information and tucks them under his arm. “This was a major success, man. Thanks for coming out.”
Piper is locking the door after the last group leaves. It’s difficult not to watch her. I want to ask her to grab a drink with me or something, just to catch up, but her energy tonight has not felt open to that suggestion.
I shake Ravi’s hand. “I should be thanking you for working overtime.”
He clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry about that. If you want to thank us, step in as the guest teach—”
“Okay,” Piper says loudly, swooping in and nudging Ravi with her shoulder. Her smile is overly wide. “That’s not—he doesn’t have to worry about that. Anyway, thanks for coming, Mr. James.”
Should I be offended that she’s trying to brush me off? “You don’t have to ‘Mr. James’ me.”
Her brows knit in the most adorable way. “I thought we were going for total secrecy.”
“The readers are gone.”
“And you think you can trust my employees?”
“Hey!” Natalie calls from behind a bookshelf. “I resent that.”
She has a good point. “They seem loyal to you.”
“They are,” Piper says. “You can trust them both, but you didn’t know that.”
“I have a good sense for people.”
“Dude, you must. It’s probably a writer thing, isn’t it?” Ravi asks. “I bet you study people. You probably can tell a lot about a person’s character.”
“When I have time to observe them, yes,” I admit. “But I’m not always correct.”
“You’re right this time,” Piper admits. “Ravi and Nat are reliable.”
“Hold up,” Natalie says, appearing from between two rows with a stack of paper, one eyebrow raised. “You two know each other?”
Piper looks at me quickly. “A little. We went to college together.”
“University of Tennessee,” I confirm, sliding my hands into my pockets.
“Wow.” Natalie looks between us, tucking blonde hair behind her ear. “You really need to ask him now, Piper.”
She shoots a death glare at Natalie. “He has much better things to do with his time. We need to let him leave and stop trying to hold him hostage. Where’s your publicist, anyway? Brad?”
“Bradley couldn’t make it tonight, but I—it’s fine. I knew this was your store, so I wasn’t worried about needing an advocate.”
Piper leans away from me slightly, appraising me. “Gutsy of you, McConkie. I thought the whole college-rivalry thing would have made you feel like you needed an advocate even more.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She cracks the first real smile I’ve seen from her all night. “Yes, you do.”
“Well, thanks for having me. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for your store.” My cheeks warm as she stares at me. No, not just my cheeks. I’m heating all over. “Sign copies of my books or whatever.”
Ravi nods. “Well, actually—”
“We’ll let you know,” Piper jumps in.
I look between them. Ravi’s trying to communicate something to her, but she’s stubbornly holding her ground.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Piper swivels to face me. “Nothing. It’s late. Do you need a ride anywhere? Your hotel or anything?”
Hotel? Doesn’t she remember that I grew up here? “No, thanks. I drove.”
“Oh, great.” Piper waits, completely ignoring both of her employees.
I guess I should leave. “Well, thanks for a lovely—”
“We need a resident writer to teach part of our creative writing class for a course we’ve already sold out.”
“Natalie,” Piper hisses. “This is not okay.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, though my stomach is already starting to feel queasy. “What’s going on?”
Natalie looks smug. “The person Piper lined up to teach bailed on us this morning, and it’s been hard to find anyone capable or available to step in.”
“Why don’t you teach it, Piper?”
“We’ve promised a published author,” she says, practically through her teeth. Steam practically rises off her as she shoots daggers at Natalie. “That’s what people have paid for. But I’ve already put out feelers, so someone might respond soon. Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
Piper takes my arm and pulls me toward the door.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to insist I can step in and cover the class, but I don’t know the first thing about teaching creative writing, and I certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable in front of a group of prospective writers right now. Not while I’m so incapable.
“Thanks again for coming. We’d love to host you anytime, Dorian.” She unbolts the door and swings it open. “Have a good night.”
The air is heavy between us. I want to close the door, sit her down, and find out exactly what this thing entails so I can figure out whether it’s something I can handle.
But just like in college, the thing I want to do and the thing my body chooses to do are exact opposites.
Instead of tugging her into a quiet corner, I step outside.
Instead of telling her I want to help, I give a weird smile, dip my head, and say, “Good night, Piper.”
Then, like a freaking idiot, I walk away.