Chapter 1 #2
She kisses my cheek and disappears in a cloud of expensive perfume, heading toward the stage.
Now that I’m the only person left on this side of the room, I feel even more awkward.
The publicist spots me and starts heading my way, presumably double checking I’m not going to get drunk, blow my NDA and tell everyone I wrote the book.
“Excuse me a moment,” I say as she bears down on me with a face like thunder. “I must use the bathroom.”
I squeeze my way through the middle of the line, dodging eager readers clutching their brand-new hardback copies with bright yellow Post-it notes sticking out.
Each one has their name on so Annabel doesn’t have to struggle with the spelling.
Next week, the place will be packed with readers desperate to read the third book in the trilogy Charlotte was talking about.
It’s like I’m on some weird parallel track where I’m almost where I want to be – but not quite.
Write this book and you’ll be in with the publisher.
Write another book and add some dragons and they’ll be interested.
I run my hands through my hair as I look in the mirror. Long red waves… maybe I could pass for a romantasy writer?
I startle as a girl with pink and green hair emerges from what I thought was an empty cubicle, pushing her Barnes and Noble lanyard out of the way as she leans over to wash her hands.
“I read an early copy of the book,” she says, rinsing the soap off. “I’m not usually one for reading memoirs, but it was really good. Can you imagine? Beautiful and talented and an amazing writer. Some people are just blessed, hey?”
“Uh-huh,” I manage with a smile.
“Good talking to you,” she says, tossing a paper towel in the recycling bin. “Enjoy the book.”
The door swings closed. I inhale deeply, flip my head upside down to shake out my hair then reapply some red lipstick like a shield before I head back outside.
I feel my phone vibrate in my bag and pull it out to check – with her usual perfect timing, there’s a message from Anna, my landlord and flatmate.
Hey babe, sorry to interrupt the big book launch, but your rent payment didn’t arrive
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’d timed this to the minute. I open the banking app, and sure enough, my payment hasn’t gone through, and my bills have taken me into my much-abused overdraft. Charlotte assured me that the final payment for the book would arrive today at the very latest.
I’m on it.
With that, I shove my phone back in my bag, feeling a little bit more deflated than I did already.
Anna’s one of those friends who rains on your parade, then casually mentions half an hour later that you could have borrowed her umbrella – if only you’d asked.
She’s been edgy of late, so the barbs are even more barbed than usual.
I spy Charlotte as soon as I step out into the room. She gives me a wave and heads my way, pausing for a moment to exchange pleasantries with the good-looking bartender guy. He’s holding a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Loving you and leaving you,” she says, approaching me at her usual breakneck speed.
“Marcia will look after you. Annabel is going to be signing for ages yet, so plenty of time to have a drink and something to eat.” She air-kisses upwards in the general direction of my face.
“Enjoy your night in New York. And remember, dragons!”
Before I have a second to open my mouth, she’s off like a tiny rocket, heading for the elevator. I head for the bartender and smile at him winningly, taking both glasses from him.
“Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure,” he says, and his dark eyes meet mine. Bloody hell. He’s broad shouldered in his crisp white shirt, with a strong jaw enhanced by a scruff of three-day stubble.
“Actually…” I take a sip. “Do you have any more?”
“I’ve just opened a bottle.” He indicates the bar made of dark stained wood, where several bottles of champagne are resting in buckets of ice. This is the fanciest book launch I’ve ever been to. Usually, it’s cheap white wine in paper cups and maybe some tortilla chips in a bowl.
“Okay, great.” I look at him and lift the two glasses slightly. I need a tray. What I actually need is a whole bloody bottle, but I think that might look a bit suspicious. “Shall I…?”
His mouth twists into a half smile, and he raises a hand to stop me in my tracks. “I’ll get you another. Or two?”
“Please. ”
I’d like to say that I didn’t check out his ass as he made his way across the room, but I’d be lying, because I’m only human, and he is objectively hot.
“Can I get you anything else? Some food, perhaps?” His thick brows quirk up, and he cocks his head slightly with the ghost of a smirk.
“No, that’s great, thanks.” I get the feeling he’s got better things to do.
“Happy to be of service,” he says, nodding briefly, before heading back toward the bar.
I manage to scoop up some canapés and head off to the book stacks like an alcoholic squirrel.
I lean against a table piled high with discounted books by a disgraced influencer, trying to be inconspicuous, watching as Annabel – seemingly inexhaustible – smiles and chats and signs like the professional she is.
Occasionally one of the publishing staff will look over in my direction and give an awkward little half-wave.
An old man in a grey raincoat and a purple scarf asks me if I know where the photography books are.
It’s not very glamorous, and I feel decidedly surplus to requirements.
Maybe I should suck it up and embrace my inner dragon writer, then one day maybe all this could be mine…
Half an hour later, I’m shouldering my bag and am about to sidle unannounced through the magazines section when I feel a hand on my arm.
“Edie, darling!”
I turn, and within seconds, I’m wrapped in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and greeted with kisses on both cheeks.
“Annabel! Hi. You were amazing,” I say truthfully.
“I managed to stick to the script,” she says chuckling.
“Although I get the impression that I’d have been dragged off stage kicking and screaming if I’d said anything contentious.
” She looks me up and down. “I love that dress on you. Who knew under all those baggy writing clothes, all this was hiding.”
She makes an hourglass shape with her hands and pulls an exaggerated face of surprise which makes me laugh.
“I thought I’d make an effort.”
“Well, you look quite beautiful.” She lifts a lock of my hair. “Fox red hair and a red lip. Very daring. I love it.”
I look around, slightly panicked. Annabel peers at me with a concerned expression. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Charlotte gave me strict instructions not to talk to you or be seen with you this evening. She’ll have me strung up if I piss off the publishers.”
“What nonsense.” Annabel gives a derisive snort. “I wasn’t going to head off into the night without saying thank you. The book wouldn’t exist without you.”
I shake my head. “It’s your story.”
“And your skill,” Annabel says, taking hold of my wrist and looking at me directly with her huge amber eyes. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel, Edie. You’re a talented writer. It’s time you started believing in yourself.”
I press my lips and nod. “I’ll try.”
“What are you doing tonight?” She glances toward a group of readers approaching fast, clutching their signed copies with eager expressions.
I make an open-handed gesture. “I’m not sure.”
She turns, waving an arm in the direction of the window where the lights of the traffic are glowing softly in the falling dusk.
I don’t want to tell her that I was thinking of going back to my hotel room with a burger and fries.
Maybe she’s psychic. She looks at me with a slight frown and raises a finger .
“I’m going to tell you, Edie, what someone told me on my first night here, a million lifetimes ago. If you walk into New York with your head held high, she’ll open her arms to you. Go and have an adventure.”
And with that, she shoos me away, turning to the fans with a welcoming smile. I spot Marcia in the distance, heading our way to annex Annabel and take her over to meet an assortment of men in suits who’ve appeared out of nowhere.
Outside it’s getting dark, and the air is warm and heavy. A yellow cab passes by, and I hear a siren blare somewhere in the distance as a boy whizzes past on a skateboard, the rap music from a speaker in his pocket blaring.
Directly across from the entrance to Barnes and Noble, there’s a beer garden with strings of lights hanging from poles across the entrance.
It’s packed, but there’s a table in the corner, and I make my way over, weaving between people.
It’s not much of an adventure, but it’s better than McDinner on my hotel bed.
Just as I reach for the chair, a hand closes over mine, and I turn around.