23
“I declare there’s no enjoyment like a book.” —Pride Cat still has her light on to read. “I can see enough. I was struck by how pretty you were the first time I saw you.”
“And horrified at the thought of kissing me. You jumped away like I had cooties.”
“You have it all wrong. I was scared by how much I wanted to kiss you. And since we had just met, and you were working for me at the time... you were totally off limits.”
This comment makes me think about my stupid book in which he’s just the sort of boss who would kiss an employee. This thought kills the mood for me. I stiffen. Liam immediately notices the change in my body language.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“No.” I lie. “Tell me about Christmas with your family.”
He returns to stroking my hair which feels so amazing I can’t help but relax a little. “At my house, Christmas Eve was the big event... ”
***
I wake with Liam’s bare, muscled arms snugly around me. The hotel room has the strange, heavy white light that comes after a snowstorm.
“Say cheese!” Lydia snaps a photo before I can block my face or Liam’s. I can’t imagine how she could use this picture against me. But still.
“Morning, love birds,” she chirps. “So much for Darcy being a perfect gentleman.”
Liam stirs. “Morning, Lettie,” he greets me with a rusty morning voice. He kisses the top of my head, filling me with so much gladness I can almost forget Lydia and her intrusive photo—except she ruins the moment by continuing to talk.
“I sent this photo to Jane with the caption: Looks like you weren’t the only ones having fun last night. ?? ”
“Nothing happened,” I say through gritted teeth. “I was cold, and Liam kept me warm.”
Liam, now fully awake, chuckles, his deep, rumbling laugh reverberating to my heart.
“Don’t give me that nonsense about him keeping you warm. It’s roasting in here,” says Lydia. “Probably why he took his shirt off, not that I’m complaining.” She gives him a saucy look, which he blithely ignores.
“Why are you all so loud?” Cat moans.
“I caught these two fragrante.” Lydia passes Cat her phone with the photo of us waking up.
“Whuh?” Cat mutters almost incoherently.
“You know, French for getting it on.”
Liam shakes his head, laughing. The blanket falls from his bare chest when he sits up, giving us all an eyeful. I’m astonished all over again that I slept next to this man and that he seems to really like me.
“I think you mean, ‘in flagrante’ which is Latin,” he says. Okay, it’s not always annoying when Liam corrects people’s vocabulary. “And not at all what you saw.”
“We didn’t even kiss,” I say petulantly.
“True enough,” says Cat. “I stayed up well past two to finish my book. There was a little cuddling and some sweet nothings, but nothing more.”
“How disappointing,” says Lydia.
“Tell me about it,” Liam mutters low in my ear. It takes all of my willpower not to pull his mouth down to mine for a kiss. I would except for Lydia and her phone.
In the morning light. I can see the book Cat read last night. My book, All’s Fair in Love , rests on the nightstand between our two beds. Liam notes the book as well.
“Hey, is that your book?” he asks. For a moment, I freeze, my heart hammering.
“I believe it’s yours,” Cat answers Liam. Oh! He isn’t talking to me. He asked Cat if it’s her book—kind of a weird question. Still, I exhale a big sigh of relief. “I found it in your back seat,” she continues. “Have you read it? It’s amazing. I couldn’t sleep until I finished it.”
Normally, such an admission would make my day, but not today. Because my mind has just reached a terrifying conclusion.
“Wait, that’s YOUR book?” I practically scream to shirtless Liam. He shrugs a sort of yes. “But you don’t read romance.”
“You told me to give it a chance.” No, this can’t be happening. But then again, maybe I’m getting upset over nothing. Maybe he read it and didn’t recognize himself.
“Have you read it?” I try and fail to sound nonchalant. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” Phew!!! Okay, all I need to do is get the book away from him and destroy it.
“Can I see it?” I ask. Cat tosses me the book. “So where did you get this?” I ask, trying to sound casually interested. My book isn’t sold in bookstores. Though you can buy it on Amazon, most of my readers go for the eBook on their Kindle.
“My assistant gave it to me. Apparently, some people think the villain is based on me. Crazy right?”
I’m going to throw up.
“Yeah . . . Totally crazy!”
“I saw it on TikTok,” says Lydia. “Ms. Book Boyfriend. I hate her.”
“I think that’s the lady,” says Liam. “ She put forth the theory that it was written by a disgruntled employee. Reynolds wants me to read it, to see if I can figure out who wrote it.” He turns to me, unsuspecting. “I meant to ask, could it be one of your writing friends?”
“No!” I shake my head violently. “Nope, no way! That’s not possible.” I say all of this in a burst. I know I’m being too dramatic, but I’m freaking out here. I try to speak calmly.
“So... what sort of things is this lady accusing you of?” I’m not sure why I ask. I have a pretty good idea of what people might say. I know all about Ivan Pennington—I created him. And he is arrogant and overbearing, but not scandal-worthy.
“Terrible stuff. Abuse of power, exploiting my employees, preying on women.” Okay, none of that is in my book. Even before I revised it.
“No one who knows you could possibly think that’s you,” I sputter.
He gives me a wry smile. “Is that so?” I turn crimson, immediately recalling the accusations I flung at him only a few months ago.
“Yes, only a total moron would believe any of that,” I say. “Your employees love you.”
“Yeah, well, hopefully, some of them will attest to my character and keep me from losing my job. It’s already been hard enough to prove that I can continue as CEO, considering how young I am.”
“They can’t do that!” I say. I’m horrified, to think my silly book could cost Liam the chance to lead the company he loves.
“They just might,” he says, resigned. “Joe Whittaker has been waiting for me to slip up, and now he has this. I’d think he was the author, except the guy can hardly string a sentence together.”
I have to do something. I need to find these people accusing Liam. I need to make it clear that my book is absolute fiction. I dread the idea of going public. Mainly because I fear losing Liam. But he can’t lose his job over this. But also, he can’t read that book, not before I tell him. While he showers, I ask Cat if I can borrow the book. And when no one’s watching, I go outside, cross the bright, snowy parking lot, and throw All’s Fair in Love in the dumpster.
***
The sun is out, the sky blue, and the roads are plowed by 11 a.m. We’re all back in the Land Rover. Liam and I never had a moment alone. I probably could have managed it, but I know I must tell him about my book as soon as we have a private moment. And yes, he likes me. I believe Liam really likes me. But he will not like this. And he just told me he hates surprises. He will really hate this.
The moment we pull out from the motel, Lydia starts whining. “I get car sick! I need the front seat.”
Liam turns to me with a questioning look. I love that we already have our own silent communication. I shrug and smile—code for, why not? He understands and pulls over when there’s a wide enough shoulder. “Let’s swap,” I say to Lydia. “I don’t want you puking in Liam’s car.”
“Thank you, bless you,” she says as she climbs over to the front.
Liam gives me a wink and a smile in the mirror. I note with pleasure that a Frasier Fir air freshener hangs from his rearview mirror. In no time at all, I drift off to sleep in the comfortable leather back seat. When I wake, the scenery outside is no longer white with fresh snow. We must be getting close to home. Lydia reads a book on her Kindle out loud. It sounds very familiar, too familiar.
“Lydia!” I exclaim. “What are you reading?”
“The book with Darcy in it. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much.”
“Didn’t you say you get car sick?” I ask.
“Yeah, so?”
“Won’t reading make you more sick?”
“No, it distracts me from my tummy.”
I look to Darcy for backup. “Liam, don’t you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Honestly, I’m enjoying it.” The sweetest words to an author’s ears—to have the man you admire say he likes your book. But also, painful. He likes my book, but he won’t for long.
“Fine, but don’t come complaining to me if she throws up.”
“Not going to happen,” says Lydia. “Where were we?”
“Lizzy was in the staff kitchen and her boss walked in,” Liam says matter-of-factly.
Oh no, no, no! Not this scene!
The air in the room shifts the moment he enters, Lydia reads dramatically. Lizzy feels every atom in her body careen toward him as if he were a magnet and she were made of iron filings. She feels betrayed by her body. How dare it be attracted to this man? She has heard the stories; she knows he is a player and a flirt. She is no fool. But when he says her name with his voice as deep and rich as whiskey...
I inwardly wince; couldn’t I have come up with a better simile?
She cannot resist. She steps toward him.
“I have a few questions.”
“Yes?” she asks, her eyes fastened on his perfect lips. He notes where her gaze lands and breaks into a devastating smile, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. Ivan Pennington is worth more than a small European nation; why doesn’t he straighten his teeth? Probably because he knows that this one imperfection makes him exponentially more attractive.
Lydia pauses. “Whoever wrote this got that right; your crooked teeth work for you.”
“Um... Thanks!” says Liam. “Though I’m still not convinced this is me.”
“Oh, it’s you! Perfect lips? That’s you,” says Lydia. “You have great lips, not too thin, not too full. Back me up, Lettie.”
“She’s right,” I answer weakly.
Liam grins at me through the rearview mirror. My heart would be melting if it wasn’t already in so much distress.
“Should I go on?” asks Lydia.
“No!” I welp as Liam gives an enthusiastic, “Please!” Again, even in the midst of this torture, a little piece of my ego cheers, He likes my book!!!
“Okay, where were we... ” mutters Lydia. Richer than a small nation, exponentially more attractive. Oh, here we are... She stands so close she can smell his intoxicating scent. Is it cologne or his soap or simply a heavy dose of pheromones? Hard to say. But something pushes her over the edge of reason. She gazes up into his glorious face. His eyes flick to the green garland above. ‘Mistletoe,’ he whispers. It’s not a question but an explanation and promise. In a flash, his lips are on hers. Hot and needy. Lizzy kisses him back with reckless abandon.”
How is Lydia reading this and not turning totally red with embarrassment? Liam catches my eye again in the rearview mirror. I immediately glance out the window, trying to look bored. I wrote this scene imagining that moment at the first Christmas party. Wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t jumped away, if we had kissed. I don’t know if he’d recognize my inspiration. It’s just one more passionate kiss under mistletoe. There are no telling details. Mistletoe is used in every other Christmas romance. There’s no reason for him to think I wrote this scene specifically about him. I mean, except his face is glorious. But that’s not enough to give me away. All I need to do is play it cool. He won’t figure this out unless I give myself away. I try very hard to remain chill as Lydia reads on and on and on. Why did I write such a long scene? It never ends. Hands in hair. Rapid heart beats. Panting. Sighs. More lips on lips. Ugh! No one needs to listen to a kissing scene this long. They get the idea. The two kiss. Enough said.
Finally, the never-ending kiss is over. Lydia continues reading,
“ What color are your eyes?” Ivan asks.
“Green,” she answers.
“My favorite color.” He winks and walks away.
I sink into my seat in absolute misery. In my frenzied revision, I totally missed that comment about my eye color. The very question Liam asked me at the first holiday party. I’m praying he doesn’t recall. I’m hoping that moment, seared in my memory, has somehow slipped from his. Judging from his rigid posture, he remembers alright. His hands grip the wheel tighter. His broad back turns as stiff and formidable as granite.
“Woah! That was hot!” says Lydia, waving her face. “If this is how she kisses the villain, I can’t wait to see her get down with the love interest.” She’ll be disappointed. The final scene with the hero is not nearly so good.
“I’ve had enough romance,” Darcy says coolly. He turns on the radio. Out of the speaker pours Freddy West, my cousin’s boyfriend, singing about broken hearts and broken promises. The song suits my mood.
Liam drives with both hands on the wheel, his face fixed on the road. From where I sit, I can see a muscle in his jaw flick. I swear I can feel his anger rippling off in waves. Lydia tries to read again, but each time, he gruffly says, “No, I’ve heard enough.” He hits the gas, and we speed toward Sacramento, and the end, I fear, of any chance for us.