3. Micaiah
TWO MONTHS LATER
“I wasn’t looking for a woman. Women somehow tumbled in my path. With or without panties, they were always there—but her, there was something different about her. She made me want her, want to take a second chance on love. It was crazy, but I knew she’d be my wife.” – Love You Hard, MJ Stone
“Thank you for coming out, Mike. Your readers were really hyped when they learned you would be here.”
“Thank you for having me, Quinn. I’m honored.”
“You’re honored?” she asked, chuckling and shaking her head. “Brother, we didn’t think we could get you. The only reason that I did decide to ask was because my husband challenged me to be bold enough to reach out to your agent and ask. He said, ‘Quinn, closed mouths don’t get fed.’”
“He’s right. You should’ve been asked. I would have done it.”
“I’ve never seen you do one of these book conferences before. You always do private, invitation only book signings.”
“That’s because no one has ever asked me.”
We were shouting over the music like all the other attendees at the Books, Baes I didn’t usually do these types of events, but Arabella had talked me into it.
She thought it was the perfect launchpad to announce my upcoming mystery novel, Can You See Me, written under the pen name Mike Jamison.
I had two of them: Mike Jamison and MJ Stone. I had created Mike with my first novel in an attempt to keep my personal life and growing career separate.
“Damn, if only I had known that I would’ve been asked you. Once we announced that you would be here, ticket sales skyrocketed.”
Chuckling, I replied, “I’m glad.”
“You should be,” she replied, laughing. “We’re paying you a hefty fee for your attendance. I was worried if we would be able to cover the cost, but I shouldn’t have been.”
I winked and thanked her again as I made my way to mingle with other authors.
“Mike! It’s good to see you here, bro.” Rick Powers, a sci-fi author, greeted me.
“My man. It’s been what? Three years?” I asked.
“Try doubling that.”
“It hasn’t been six years,” I replied, laughing.
“Yes, it has, Mike. You don’t come out to play much anymore. You’re always hiding,” Willow Creed, a romance author, teased.
“I’m on their side,” Aria Rose, another romance author, declared.
I had met the three of them early on in my career when I had been attending book conferences. I often attended them back then, and the four of us always moved lock-in-step.
“Damn. I guess I do need to come out more. Didn’t realize it had been that long,” I muttered, scratching my beard.
Six years ago was when I released my first romance novel, Sacred Vows, under the pen name MJ Stone.
It was an anonymous pen name that I chose to see if I could make a go at it without the support of the Mike Jamison pen name.
My mother suggested that I write romance, and I did it to honor her.
Everyone assumed that MJ Stone was a woman, and we did nothing to dissuade them from that thought process.
We also knew that I had two divorces under my belt by then, and that didn’t fit in with the image and brand we were creating.
I honestly didn’t think the name would take off, and I damn sure didn’t expect to hit the New York Times or USA Today Best Sellers lists.
Once that happened, I was glad I had chosen another pen name.
I didn’t need anyone prying into my personal life, because it was in shambles.
Romance was serious with these women. If I thought I was doing extremely well with Mike Jamison, I hadn’t been prepared for MJ Stone. I had to hire an accountant and financial advisor once that name took off.
It was the success of that book and the subsequent ones that drove me almost into hiding.
I seldom attended events except for specially curated ones and invitation only.
I kept my second pen name sacred, and the only ones who knew that name were my family, my agent, my publishing company, my boys, and a few industry professionals like those in attendance at my party.
I stood around talking to the other three as various readers came up to us to chat and take pictures. I tried to relax and enjoy myself until a woman bumped into me and spilled her chocolate ice cream on my white long-sleeved T-shirt.
“I’m so sorry. Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m so clumsy. Let me get that off you.” She tried to wipe it off with her napkin, which made it soak through to my undershirt.
Quinn rushed over to me at the same time and grabbed my hand.
“Don’t worry about it, hon. We’ll take care of it,” she called out as she led me to a corner. “I’m so sorry about that, Mike.”
“It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
She pulled an event hoodie out of a box and held it up with the words “Volunteer Security” on the front and back. “It’s a two X. You think it will work?” She held it up against my body.
“Yeah, that should be fine,” I replied.
I moved off to the side and removed my T-shirt. Quinn held her arms out in an effort to hide me, but it drew more attention our way, if anything.
Women applauded, whistled, and cheered. I heard remarks about my beautiful brown skin, my fit abs, my tight ass, and my sexy tattoos all before I got the hoodie on.
Although I was embarrassed, I glanced over my shoulder, winked, and blew a kiss, eliciting starstruck screams.
I knew that I needed to get out of the conference room as the familiar signs of an anxiety attack crept up on me.
The headache was the first sign twenty minutes ago.
After the ice cream catastrophe, I could feel irritability creeping up inside of me along with me disengaging from conversation.
Now that my heartbeat was picking up, I knew that I was in a full-scale anxiety attack.
They were a constant companion when I was a kid and a teen, but I had outgrown them over the years. I was surprised to find it returning.
I needed to find a quiet space where I could calm down and escape the overwhelming atmosphere. It had been triggered by my ass being overstimulated. I knew coming here wasn’t a good idea, but as with all things when it came to Arabella, I didn’t argue.
Sweat formed under my armpits and around my temples. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. All I needed was a quiet, cool, dim place to regain control, and I would be okay.
My breathing was shallow and coming in short and fast pants, and my fists were clenched. I knew when I finally unfurled them there would be half-moons dug into the skin of my palms.
Thankfully, I slipped out of the conference room without being noticed. There was a crowd around the elevators. I headed to the skywalk that would lead me to my hotel room in the connecting building. There was a crowd there too.
I rushed to the stairwell that led to the roof.
The rooftop was empty, thanks to it being cool outside and it was late.
By the time I made it to the pool at the other end of the roof, I was sweating and panting for breath.
I dropped down on the edge and removed my shoes and socks so that I could dip my feet into the cool water.
I inhaled for a count of four seconds, held my breath for four, and then slowly exhaled for another four seconds. I repeated the routine three times before I started my other calming technique.
In my direct line of sight, I mentally acknowledged five items. My gaze zeroed in on the blue lounge chair before it dropped to the eddying pool water and drifted to a lone red and white life raft on the deck.
I needed two more items. The peaceful sound of trees rustling in the distance caused me to look up and spot towering palm trees across the street that were taller than the convention center roof, and that made me gaze up at the beautiful, twinkling stars in the sky.
After I identified those five items, I searched for four things that I could touch.
My hand scaled across the rough and smooth surface of the pebbled pool deck, and I wiggled my toes in the water.
I felt a calmness returning to my body, but I had to finish the process.
I slid my hand into my pockets to touch the smooth surface of the lighter and the smooth but textured surface of the blunt in my pocket. I removed the last two.
I kicked the water, taking in the sound of my feet slapping against its velvety surface, and then I listened for two more things. A bird chirping in the distance was crisp and clear, but there was another slightly detectable sound that almost sounded like sniffles.
I was down to two more steps in my technique that would help me gain control of my anxieties. I sniffed and inhaled the clean scent of the chlorine and something light, airy, crisp and clean—a woman’s perfume—tickled my nose.
I turned around, and that was when I spotted her sitting alone on a chaise lounge behind me and to my left. Normally, I scanned every place I went, so the only way that I could have missed her was because I was in a full scale anxiety attack.
I stood and removed a peppermint from my pocket. I slid it into my mouth for the final step: one thing I could taste.
As I made my way toward the woman, I took notice of her bold and daring curves in an aqua blue hoodie and tight, white jeans.
She wore low-heeled denim boots on her tiny feet.
She didn’t move or say a word when I sat on the lounge chair beside her and lit up the blunt.
She sobbed quietly, and I smoked in silence while she got it all out.
When she finally looked at me, I asked, “What can I do to erase those tears and bring out that beautiful smile you’re hiding like the sun behind the clouds?”
When she gazed at me, her head was still slightly bowed. I noticed she had the prettiest, chocolate eyes. They were narrowed and had a slight upward tilt like cat eyes. They glowed beautifully in the night against her flawless hazelnut skin.
She gave me a tentative smile and looked down again.
Curiosity about this woman swelled within me, not just because she was sad, but because she had stirred my soul in a way that it had never been stirred before.
If I were a character in my romance novels, I would say that was the moment I knew she was my soulmate.
I reached out and tipped her chin up with my fist. “God, you are one stunning woman. Whatever it is, don’t let it dim that beautiful smile.”
Her beautiful arched cheekbones lifted when she giggled and wiped her tears. “You’re corny, but that’s cute,” she replied.
“What’s wrong? Did real life bae fail to measure up to book bae?” I teased.
Her eyes widened, and she released a soft gasp from those plump, heart-shaped lips.
“He never came close to measuring up.”
“Yeah, well . . . life doesn’t always go the way that we want it to.
The people we find ourselves in relationships with may fail us or vice versa; but tomorrow is always another day to improve yourself and your circumstances.
Don’t ever be afraid to change the narrative to gain your HEA.
You should never settle, because you’re deserving of so much more than that. ”
She smiled at me. “Thank you.”
“What can I do for you? Do you have a friend that I can call? You want a drink, something to eat, or do you want to just chill the fuck out and vent? I’m a good listener.”
She giggled. “No, I want my girl to enjoy herself, so no one to call. I don’t need another drink, or I might do something I’ll regret. I’m not hungry, and there’s nothing I need to vent about.”
I bobbed my head. “How about a smoke?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“It might be just what you need tonight to say fuck all the restrictions. I promise I’m a safe space.”
“I was taught to say no to drugs in school.”
“Your parents might’ve taught you to say no to drugs, but I’m sure your parents told you to say no to fuck boys too, but you didn’t listen; otherwise, you wouldn’t be out here crying.”
“Why do people always assume a man is behind a woman’s tears?” Her voice was emotional again at just the mention of a man, which was how I knew that I was right.
“I mean, it could be another woman, but I know you’re not about to break my heart like that.”
She rolled her beautiful eyes and then smiled. “No, I’m all about men. I just wish they were all about me or that I would stop hoping these fictional characters can be found in these streets.”
“That’s your problem right there. Stop looking in the streets.”
“Where else am I supposed to find a good man?”
“You shouldn’t be looking, gorgeous. Let him find you. You’re too beautiful and too witty to ever chase a man.”
“Yeah, well, I’m obviously not the brightest one in the barrel. I’m sitting on a roof with a stranger, crying my eyes out.”
I took a good puff on the blunt, held the smoke for three seconds, and then slowly released it.
“Tell you what. Let’s get you in a space that feels safe to you.
I see how you keep looking around, and I don’t want you to feel anything less than safe.
How about we head across the street to Caesars and get coffee and dessert, if you don’t want food?
If you change your mind about food, we can do that too.
We can sit and talk so you can ease the troubles on your mind and watch the sun come up.
Afterwards, you can return to your room and get some sleep so that you can enjoy the rest of this conference. What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“I’m Myraj.”
“Myraj. I like that name, but are you telling me that you’re just an illusion that I’m experiencing from my anxieties?” I blew the smoke out and stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes.
“I’m real, but I’m starting to wonder if you are. Do you know that Caesars costs a grip?”
“So I’ve heard.” I winked at her and stood as I put out the blunt. I reached for her hand, and she eyed mine carefully. “I’m safe. If you don’t trust me, you can head over there and meet me on your own.”
“I trust you.”
“Good. I’m Micaiah.”