Chapter 7 #2
The twinkle in his eye made her wonder if he was stringing her along, trying to make her jealous. But that was ridiculous. Why would he do that? Why would he even think he could?
She did not let a single inflection touch her voice. “I haven’t looked yet. I was waiting to hear how it went with Alice.” Then she tapped her head. “But I’ll certainly look through all the potential names on my list.”
Fernsby, whom she’d almost forgotten, studied her as if he could hear her molars grinding.
Then the doors opened. The line behind them suddenly moved. It was a crush, and only Troy’s hand on her arm kept her on her feet. With the surge of the crowd, they were carried into the bookstore as if they rode the crest of a wave.
It would have been frightening if not for Troy’s steadying hand and Fernsby on her other side keeping her upright between them.
The bookstore certainly wasn’t large enough to handle the entire mob, what with tables stacked with books sitting on either side of the front door, filled bookshelves rising up the walls, and the checkout counter off to the right.
At the back of the store, two rolling shelves had been pushed out of the way to make room for Mathilda Sullivan.
Michaela was close to losing her breath.
The author had always seemed larger than life.
But she was almost petite, at least from what Michaela could see behind the table, her hair an elegant swirl of silvery curls.
Stands filled with several of her hardcover books surrounded her.
The throng pushed Michaela forward down the central aisle that had been cleared to reach the table.
A superfan, she’d loved all of Mathilda Sullivan’s books.
She’d joined the author’s newsletter and followed her on Amazon and Goodreads, eagerly awaiting each new release.
Now she was here, right before Mathilda. On her left, Fernsby said, “You may go first, my dear.”
Michaela eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “But you’ve been in line all afternoon.”
“As I said, I was saving that place for you.” Then he gave her a little shove. “Go talk to her.”
She whispered, “Thank you.”
Mathilda Sullivan had a beautiful smile and spoke with the refined tones of the late Queen of England. “Hello, my dear. I would love to sign your book if you would like.”
Michaela realized she’d been clutching the book to her chest like she’d never let it go.
The assistants outside had given everyone sticky notes to write their names on so that Mathilda would know how to spell each one.
Michaela had never considered herself starstruck, especially since she represented celebrities as well as billionaires. But Mathilda Sullivan made her feel like a spellbound teenager, and her voice came out as an embarrassing squeak at first. “Thank you so much for signing it for me.”
She slid the book across the table, opened to the title page with her sticky note on it.
And then she couldn’t help gushing, “I want to thank you for what you do. When times were tough, I could turn to one of your books and feel good for a while. Justice is always served, and they were exactly what I needed to escape from real life sometimes. I started reading them as a teenager, and they’ve always made me feel better. ”
Mathilda reached out to touch her hand. “Thank you so much for telling me that, my dear. Every writer wants to know that what they’ve written has touched people.” She picked up her pen and signed with a flourish.
Michaela had to gasp. “That’s the same pen Camilla Fernsby always uses.”
Mathilda laughed, a sparkling sound in the crowded bookstore. “It’s our favorite writing implement.”
As she handed back the book, Mathilda put her hand over Michaela’s. “I can’t tell you how special you’ve made this book signing for me. Thank you so much.”
Michaela could have talked with her all night, but there were at least five hundred people waiting behind her. Michaela couldn’t help but move out of the way, saying again, “Thank you.”
It was one of the most wonderful moments of her life.
And it almost made her forget that Troy wanted her to set him up on a date with someone else.
The woman had practically gushed over Mathilda Sullivan and completely charmed the best-selling author.
But Michaela had also charmed him. Troy couldn’t help wondering what those tough times were.
He couldn’t help wishing he’d been there to ease whatever she’d been going through.
Watching her with Mathilda had given him a glimpse of the vulnerable woman she was at times.
Then Michaela stepped back from the table and almost into his arms. Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated; maybe it was the high of meeting her idol.
He would have asked her about the teenage years Mathilda Sullivan’s books had helped with, but Fernsby was stepping up to the author’s table.
Troy’s jaw was close to dropping at the look on Fernsby’s face. Why, the man was flustered. When he spoke to Mathilda Sullivan, he actually stammered. Fernsby stammered.
“I… I… don’t know… know…” Then he blurted out the rest. “If you remember me.”
Before he could even say his name, Mathilda jumped up from her chair and rushed around the table. “ Rolly . Oh my goodness. I can’t believe it’s you. How are you?” Then she threw her arms around Fernsby and hugged him.
Troy, his dropped jaw now firmly back in place, whispered to Michaela, “Rolly? That’s Fernsby’s first name?” His tone added a couple of extra question marks. “Holy hell. It’s a nickname.”
Michaela looked from Fernsby to Mathilda then back to Troy. “Don’t you know his first name?”
“None of us know his first name. Not even Dane. I wasn’t sure he even had a first name. I don’t know his age or exactly where he’s from in England.”
“Well, someone’s got to know,” Michaela insisted. “Doesn’t he get a W-2 at the end of the year?”
Troy snorted. “You think Dane fills out the W-2 himself? All that information is under lock and key with the payroll service.” Maybe he needed to break into the payroll office and discover the truth.
But Michaela was saying, “Well, Mathilda Sullivan obviously knows.”
Mathilda returned to her seat behind the table.
Was Fernsby’s hand shaking as he handed her his book to sign?
Troy had never before seen the man out of sorts like this.
Not even when he was on Britain’s Greatest Bakers and waiting to find out if he’d won.
But with Mathilda Sullivan, he stammered and he shook.
She slid the book back across the table to Fernsby and said, “I’d take you out to dinner so we can catch up, but I’ve already agreed to dine with the store manager and my publicist after the signing.
” She rolled her eyes like a teenager. “Along with several people I don’t even know.
Then I’m flying out straightaway for the next venue.
” She pulled a card from the stack at her elbow.
After writing on the back, she gave it to Fernsby.
“Rolly, this is my personal mobile. Please call me.”
Behind them, the fans were getting restless, rumbles of annoyance that Mathilda was spending so much time with the first two people in line.
The red-faced guy who’d complained that they were cutting mumbled loudly, steam practically coming out of his ears.
In a few minutes, they might have a riot on their hands.
But Fernsby was already stepping away, his signed book clutched in one hand, Mathilda’s card in the other.
Moving to the side, letting the red-faced angry guy approach the table, Fernsby opened the book, taking a few moments to read what Mathilda had written.
Eyes on the page, he stood for so much longer than it should have taken to read the inscription.
Then finally, he came to them where they stood out of the way against a bookshelf along the wall.
Troy wasn’t about to let him have a minute to compose himself. “Rolly? Your name is Rolly? What’s that short for?”
But Fernsby, already having pulled himself together, said in his usual stern, cultured British voice, “Ms. Sullivan didn’t say Rolly. She said ‘my boy.’”
Troy eyed him. “I’m pretty sure she said Rolly.” He touched Michaela’s arm for confirmation. And because he wanted to. “Right?”
Michaela held up her hands. “I’m not sure. It could have been either.”
Troy snorted and didn’t let up. “So you know her?”
Fernsby’s drawl was holier than thou. “Of course we know each other. We’re both British.” As if all British people knew each other.
Troy wouldn’t give up. “But you ,” he stressed, “know her .”
Fernsby didn’t even blink. “‘Know’ is relative, sir. We were acquainted many years ago. I’m quite surprised the lady remembered me.” Then he blew them off completely. “Now we must leave to allow room for other fans to come in.”
Troy had to admit the line was snaking in between tables and past bookshelves, then finally out the door. There were so many more fans than they could even see.
Outside, the line was still all the way around the block. Troy would have tackled Fernsby again, except that Michaela’s stomach rumbled. Not just a rumble, but a gigantic grumble that seemed to go on and on. She put her hand to her belly. “Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to eat before I came up here.”
Troy forgot all about Mathilda Sullivan, Rolly, and Fernsby. Here was his chance. “There’s a great Thai place around the corner. Want to grab something to eat before you go home?”
Without even taking a breath, she said, “No.”
He couldn’t let her get away with that. “I literally heard your stomach growling. Can we just go and have some pad thai?”
Then her stomach rumbled again, and he could almost read her thoughts. She didn’t want to look like an idiot. “Pad thai would be nice,” she conceded.
He thought of the evening ahead, just the two of them, sitting together in a restaurant. It would seem so casual. But if he asked for a corner booth in the back where the lights were low, it could be the most amazing romantic dinner he’d ever had.