Chapter Fourteen
Emery was in the middle of shelving a new delivery of biographies when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Seeing Domi's name flash across the screen, she glanced around to make sure Eveline was nowhere in sight before slipping into the stockroom to answer.
“Domi, hi,” she whispered, crouching behind a tall stack of boxes. “I can't really talk right now.”
“Well, you'll need to find time,” Domi replied, her voice brisk and business-like. “The Literati Blog wants to interview Emerald Pearl tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. I've already confirmed.”
Emery nearly dropped her phone. “Tomorrow morning? But I'm working! You can't just schedule things without asking me first.”
“I'm your agent. That's literally my job.” Domi sighed dramatically. “Besides, it's The Literati Blog, Emery. They have over five million monthly readers. This is exactly the kind of publicity we need with your new book coming out.”
Emery pressed her forehead against a nearby shelf. “I know, I know. It's just… complicated.”
“Only because you've made it complicated,” Domi reminded her. “Anyway, figure it out. Ten o'clock, my office. Don't be late. And try to wear something that doesn't look like you slept in it.”
Emery was about to protest when another thought struck her. “Wait, Domi. Did you send something to me at the bookshop? Addressed to Emerald Pearl?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit is right. Eveline could have seen it.”
“My new assistant must have messed up,” Domi said. “I told her to send those cover mockups to you, she must have sent them to the shop by mistake. The address has been added to your file. You know, just in case you decide to actually move in.”
“Your new assistant needs to be fired,” Emery hissed.
“Consider it handled. I'll have a very stern conversation with her about confidentiality.” Domi paused. “You did intercept it, right?”
“Luckily, yes.” Emery thought back to the envelope still hidden in her apartment, stuffed in a drawer under a pile of socks. “But this is getting too risky, Domi. One mistake and everything falls apart.”
“Then maybe it's time to—”
“I have to go,” Emery said, hearing footsteps coming. “I'll figure something out for tomorrow.”
She ended the call just as the stockroom door opened.
“Emery?” Eveline stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Are you hiding back here?”
“Not hiding,” Emery said quickly, scrambling to her feet and nearly sending a stack of books crashing to the floor. She managed to steady them at the last second. “Just, um, checking inventory. And definitely not making personal calls during work hours.”
The corner of Eveline's mouth twitched upward. “Of course not.”
Emery followed her back into the shop, mind racing. She needed an excuse to be away tomorrow, something convincing that wouldn't raise suspicion.
“Actually,” she began, as casually as she could manage, “I might need to come in late tomorrow. Family emergency. My aunt is having… surgery. On her… elbow. Tennis elbow. Very serious. Could take hours.”
“I wasn't aware tennis elbow required surgery,” Eveline said, her expression neutral.
“Only in extreme cases,” Emery said, wondering why she couldn't just have said her aunt had a dentist appointment or literally anything more believable. “She's been suffering for years. Terrible backhand.”
“I see.” Eveline studied her for a moment. “Well, I hope it goes smoothly. Take whatever time you need.”
Emery felt a twinge of guilt at how readily Eveline accepted her lie. But what choice did she have? She couldn't exactly say, “Actually, I need the morning off to be interviewed as my secret romance novelist alter ego.”
The day progressed with its usual rhythm of customers, recommendations, and small tasks.
Emery found herself watching Eveline more than usual, admiring the graceful way she moved among the shelves, the careful attention she gave to each customer.
Since Maya's party, something had shifted between them.
Nothing definite, nothing they had acknowledged, but a new awareness lingered in the air whenever they were near each other.
Too soon, it was time for the Romance Book Club to meet. Emery had been dreading this moment all day. Zara had decorated the back corner with fairy lights and brought in extra chairs to accommodate the growing number of attendees, drawn by the shop's newfound social media fame.
“Emery! Just in time,” Zara said, waving her over. “Mrs. Hampton has been asking for you.”
The formidable club leader beckoned Emery to sit beside her. “We've been discussing the scene where Edward finally reveals his true identity,” she said. “Such powerful emotions. What did you think, as you were reading it?”
Emery swallowed hard. Discussing her own writing was awkward enough; discussing it while pretending not to have written it was torturous.
“I thought it was, um, nicely done,” she offered weakly.
“Nicely done?” Mrs. Hampton scoffed. “It's masterful. The way Pearl builds the tension throughout the chapter, the physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability—” She turned to the group.
“Remember when Victoria places her hand over his heart?
'I don't care who you are,' she tells him.
'I only care who you've shown yourself to be with me. '”
Emery cringed inwardly. She'd written that line at three in the morning, half-delirious from lack of sleep and fueled by chocolate biscuits. She'd thought it was too cheesy, but Domi had insisted it stay.
“What I want to know,” said another club member, “is how Pearl manages to write scenes that are so… stimulating… without being crude. That first kiss after his confession? I had to fan myself!”
“It's the emotional honesty,” Zara said earnestly. “The physical desire grows naturally from their emotional connection.”
Emery noticed Eveline hovering at the edge of the group, pretending to rearrange a nearby display but clearly listening.
“What about you, Eveline?” Mrs. Hampton called out, clearly having noticed the same thing. “You've been awfully quiet. Have you been reading along with us?”
Eveline looked startled at being directly addressed. “I've… glanced at a few passages.”
“And?” Mrs. Hampton prompted.
Eveline hesitated, her gaze briefly meeting Emery's. “It's better than I expected,” she admitted grudgingly. “Some passages are actually quite good. Stimulating, even.”
Emery felt her face flame. Eveline had found her writing stimulating? She wasn't sure whether to be mortified or elated.
“High praise indeed from our resident literary critic,” Mrs. Hampton said with a satisfied nod. “Perhaps romance novels aren't such 'mindless drivel' after all?”
Eveline's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't contradict the older woman. Instead, she returned to the counter, leaving Emery to endure another hour of discussing her own prose while trying not to combust from embarrassment.
When the bookshop door opened after the club meeting had finally concluded, Emery looked up to see Jax striding in, dressed in stylish yoga wear, her tattooed arms on full display.
“There you are!” Jax said. “Ready for class?”
“Class?” Emery repeated blankly.
Jax gave her a pointed look. “Yoga class. The one you've been talking about all week? I'm here to pick you up, remember?”
“Right,” Emery suddenly caught on. “Yoga. Yes. Let me just get my things.”
As she hurried to gather her bag, she heard Jax introducing herself to Eveline.
“So you're the famous bookshop owner,” Jax was saying. “Emery talks about you constantly.”
Emery nearly tripped over her own feet to make it back to the counter. “I do not talk about you constantly,” she said quickly, then winced at how defensive she sounded.
“Only every other sentence,” Jax continued, examining Eveline with exaggerated interest. “Though she didn't mention how—”
“We should go,” Emery interrupted, grabbing Jax's arm. “Don't want to be late!”
Jax smiled sweetly. “Of course not. Lovely to meet you, Eveline. I can see why Emery's so—”
“Bye, Eveline. See you tomorrow. Not in the morning, though. Because of my aunt. And her elbow.” Emery practically dragged Jax toward the door, aware that she was babbling but unable to stop herself.
As they exited, she caught a glimpse of Eveline watching them leave, an amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Subtle,” Jax said once they were outside. “Very smooth.”
“I hate you,” Emery groaned, dropping her head onto Jax's shoulder. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Because you'd never make a move on your own,” Jax said, patting her head. “Besides, I needed to see this woman for myself. Make sure she's worthy of all this subterfuge.”
“And? What's the verdict?”
Jax considered this as they walked. “She's definitely hot. Great cheekbones. And she couldn't take her eyes off you, by the way.”
Emery's heart skipped. “Really?”
“Really. But she also looks like she could cut someone with a withering glance. Intimidating.”
“She's not once you get to know her,” Emery said, then caught herself. “I mean, she can be, but there's more to her than that.”
Jax nodded. “You've got it bad, Em.”
“I know,” Emery admitted, the fight going out of her. “What am I going to do?”
“Well, first you're going to do this interview tomorrow and not mess it up,” Jax said. “Domi told me all about it, and I’m supposed to make sure you actually show up. Then you're going to figure out how to tell this woman the truth before someone else does it for you.”
Emery sighed. She'd been avoiding thinking about that inevitable conversation. How do you tell someone who hates romance novels that you're one of the bestselling romance novelists in the country? How do you tell someone who was betrayed by a writer that you've been secretly writing about her?
“Maybe she'll understand,” Jax offered, as if reading her thoughts.
“You didn't see her face when she talked about her ex,” Emery said. “About having her stories stolen and published without her permission. What I'm doing isn't that different.”
“It's completely different,” Jax insisted. “You're not stealing her stories. You're inspired by her, that's all.”
Emery wasn't convinced, but she nodded anyway. Tomorrow she would put on her Emerald Pearl persona once more, answer questions about a book she could barely remember writing, and continue the charade. But for how much longer?
The weight of her secret was becoming unbearable.