Chapter 5 #2
“Do you moan when you do it?”
“Not funny and none of your business.”
“So, yes then?” Shameless, Fisher grins, arrogant charm dialed to the max. He enjoys poking the bear to see how loud it roars.
I glare at him. He winks.
Over this conversation, I stab a crouton, then shove it into my mouth.
“You’re still chewing aggressively,” Fisher states.
“Why are you judging my chewing so harshly tonight? And what does that even mean?”
“Repressed sexual tension always shows up somewhere. For some people, it’s the gym. For you? It’s how violently you murder carbs. Like people who eat ice. Aggressively.”
A flash snatches my attention. Across the room, someone snaps a selfie with a best-selling romantic suspense author.
The whole place whirs with the low-grade buzz of industry mingling over cocktails, influencers recording content, publicists schmoozing, ShelfSpacers scouting angles.
Then there’s me, sitting at the corner table, pouting, while my very judgmental PA cleans his plate and sips his drink.
“You’re crashing,” Fisher says. “It’s not a good look.”
See? Judgy.
“I’m not crashing.”
“You’re doing the thing where your brain over-stirs and your inner monologue gets mean.”
I scowl. “My inner monologue is always mean.”
“Yeah, except now it’s directing all the anger inward.” Both hands gesture toward his chest.
“You’re right. I’m angry. At Soren. At our publicists. At myself. I’m part of this whole manipulative charade, and we’re supposed to act as though it’s all okay. It’s not okay.”
Fisher’s expression folds, the snark stripped back to bare concern. “Ava—”
“We’re using fake affection for clicks and comments and virality, and painting it as a perfectly acceptable marketing strategy.
It’s crooked, Fisher. It’s deceitful. I mean, how did I get here?
Why is this stupid stunt necessary? Worse, why am I doing it with someone who clearly has no shame playing into it? ”
Fisher lets the silence sit heavy for a beat, then says it plainly.“He brings the numbers. Whether you like it or not, Bell and the Blade is the type of story people eat alive.”
He right. And I hate that.
“Admit it, deep down, part of you wants the world to see him looking at you like you’re a riddle he intends to solve.”
“Fisher, that’s not—” I start, but stop. The protest tastes bitter on my tongue. I shake my head, forcing steel into my voice. “So the only way my career survives is through him?”
Fisher plops backward against his chair. “No, Luv, of course not. But think about the what if’s?”
What if?
Those two words throw an even bigger coup in my brain. Because…
What if it works? What if it doesn’t?
What if I sell more books, gain more followers, boost my brand, but what if I lose the part of myself I actually like in the process?
What if all this pretend affection and flirty manipulation starts to affect me?
What if the Dagger Daddy Fan Club comes for me?
What if I become someone I don’t recognize? Or someone I wouldn’t respect—someone who sells intimacy as merch. Flirts for metrics. Trades integrity for trends, all in the name of the almighty algorithm.
Someone like Soren “Whoren” Pembry.
I’ve officially stooped to his level. I want to scream into a throw pillow and then immediately light it on fire. I can’t be like him.
That ballroom was Soren’s personal colosseum. He didn’t casually stroll in—he owned the room. Worked the crowd. The women. They loved it.
How much of that was real? How much of it was a calculated performance? He can’t be that fake. Right?
Those questions, unfortunately, bring me to a more unbalanced one.
“Uh oh,” Fisher’s voice cuts in. “What storm is swirling inside that beautiful, overthinking brain of yours?”
I hesitate before asking, “How much pussy do you think Soren Pembry actually pulls?”
Fisher looks genuinely surprised by the question.
“Because statistically, it’s gotta be disturbing.” I wave my hands fast, like I can physically swat it away. “No, I don’t want to know.”
Fisher grins sardonically. “And that's the worst part, isn’t it, Ava?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not wanting to know feels a little too close to being jealous. Which is a whole new emotion you’re not ready to unpack.” He leans on the table with his elbows. “What are you actually afraid of?”
My reply is instant. “Failing. I’m cautious, Fisher. And honest. This whole lying thing is hard for me.”
“Is this about a certain someone we shall not name?” His tone carries a dash of faux innocence and more than enough shade to make my stomach tighten. “Mr. I Hate Your Face?”
“No,” I lie. “It’s not about him.”
He hums, skeptical. “Well, good. Keep that sore excuse for a man in the past where he belongs. With his pretty words and practiced hands.”
“The ones that took everything from,” I mutter.
Fisher’s face softens. “Luv–”
“Look, I can’t do what Soren does. He’s so good at being…well, him. He treats every woman like she’s the answer to his prayers, laughs with them, signs books with personalized notes that are probably very intimate. And now I’m stuck in this fake dating stunt with a man who uses charm as a weapon.”
“Which is very close to Mr. I Hate Your Face.”
“True,” I agree. “But I’m not worried about that. I’m worried associating myself with a walking man-whore, like Soren, will screw over my credibility?”
“So, you’re worried about the Whoren Pembry persona?”
“Yeah, I’ve worked hard for my reputation. It’s spotless. And he’s out there passing out orgasms with every autograph.”
“Let’s unpack that jealousy now.”
“I’m not jealous,” I insist, although part of me hated how my body responded to him today, blushing and buzzing, thighs clenching.
Fisher gives me a look so dry it could sand furniture. “You sound as though you’re trying to convince TSA you’re not smuggling a vibrator in your carry-on.”
“Cute, coming from the man who did smuggle, not one, but two, actually.”
He shoves his empty plate aside with flair. “Ah, memories. Romanticom last year. Security pulled me aside, thinking I was harboring state secrets. All I could say was, ‘It’s rechargeable and body-safe, officer.’”
“You’re the worst human I’ve ever loved.”
“Correct.” He grins briefly, then hits me with a pointed glare. “But seriously, Ava. You need to remember that Soren plays a character. Emotional connection is merely another arrow in his hot-boy quiver. It’s an illusion. Theatrics. The man doesn’t bare his soul when he bares his chest.”
I open my mouth to object, but Fisher steamrolls ahead.
“What you’re actually saying with this long, self-righteous monologue of denial is your loins lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree when you saw him in person today. And that panel?” He fans himself with a cocktail napkin. “Hot. I went to my hotel room and jacked off to it.”
I choke on my martini, then gag. “Why, Fisher? Why must I know what?”
“Because we tell each other everything. And hey, if I got that worked up, I can’t imagine what was happening in your panties.
Miss Dry Spell. I’d bet money that you’ve officially tumbled into Soren’s horny abyss.
And all it took was one wink from that deliciously handsome, arrogant son of a bitch. A wink!”
I’m staring at him like he pulled a secret out of my pants and waved it around like a party flag.
The alcohol is finally doing its job. I point a finger at him. “Let’s make one thing clear. I don’t ‘tumble’ anywhere. If I wanted Soren Pembry, I’d stride into his lair in full control, heels clicking as though they were a countdown to his inevitable destruction.”
“With the way Blade Boy was staring at you today, if you’re striding, he’s kneeling.” Fisher lazily circles the rim of his glass with a finger.
“Whatever,” I say, blinking away the blur in my eyes. “He hates me as much as I hate him.”
“Nah, Luv. He wants to fuck you. And I think you want that too.”
I shake my head. “Um, no.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, I’d argue it’s the most natural response your body’s had in years.”
My lips part—then snap shut again. Great! My mouth has become a faulty garage door.
Fisher clocks it instantly. “You’re cautious. I heard you. Thou-Whom-We-Shall-Not-Name torched your heart, your trust, and your career. We won’t mention the other failures since him. I get it. You’re afraid of stepping back into the fire with anyone, let alone an industry peer.”
I don’t have to say anything. It’s all true.
Fisher’s voice dips to a teasing whisper. “But don’t go pretending your clit didn’t salute The Blade today… probably still is.”
My shoulders tense. I cross my arms in a too-tight hug, willing the heat in my cheeks to cool down. “No.”
Fisher nods. “Yes.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You like him,” he sings.
“I do not,” my voice cracks.
“He likes you.”
“He does not.”
Fisher’s eyes glint. “Your voice cracked. That was your shame talking. Your horny shame.”
I go silent. Which, of course, is all the proof Fisher needs.
Fiddling with the button on my sleeve, I yank a stray thread. The button pops off. Shit.
“Let’s consider for one moment the what-ifs.” Fisher crosses his arms.
I exhale. “I already have been.”
“Mhm, I’m sure you have. Except what if the opposite of what you’re worried about happens?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if all this boosts your approval rating and cleans up his image in the process? Makes him less the fantasy fuckboy of ShelfSpace and more... a genuinely good guy who’s with a genuinely good girl.
” His tone drops a few decibels to his deep, silky, dark romance narrator voice.
“Come on, Ava Bell a good girl for Dagger Daddy.”
Despite myself, I laugh at the same time a shadow falls across the table.
“Am I interrupting?” Soren drawls, setting a hand on the back of my chair. “Or did I just hear my government-assigned nickname?”
Well, speak of the smolder. Soren Pembry stands beside me in a forest green cardigan layered over a white V-neck that shows his golden, muscled skin.