Olivia startled me by nudging my arm to slide out of the vehicle. I came into focus, realizing Greg was holding the door open for me. "Piece of cake," he said warmly.
He reached out a hand to help me climb from the vehicle. "Did you pay all those people to wait in line for me?"
"They're the ones who paid—by buying your books. Go give them what they want." He smiled widely, putting my mind at ease. "I've been instructed by Remi to get a lot of pictures. Tonight is your night. Enjoy it."
Olivia nodded in agreement, shouldering my bag with hers. "Let's not keep your readers waiting, Talent."
"Oh my god. Greg called me that too at the airport. Did you guys rehearse that or something?"
Before she could answer, the manager opened the back door of the store as I rounded the vehicle. "Ms. Blake, it's a pleasure to have you here," she said, shaking my hand enthusiastically. "I'm Patricia—owner, manager, and everything in between of Book Time. I can't tell you how excited your readers and I are to have you here today. They've been lined up for hours."
"Hours?" I squawked, not quite believing her words.
"Hours," she repeated. "Even in the cold. They're a hearty bunch. We passed out hot chocolate an hour ago, but we haven't heard a single complaint. They're so excited to meet you." She led us through a tiny stockroom crowded with boxes and shelves of overflow books.
"I have to tell you, I'm excited too," I said, beaming with pleasure as I spotted a cat sitting on a desk in the corner of the room. Another sat by the door leading to the main area of the store. "Oh, I love your shop," I added, bending down to pet the cat for a moment. "I had to leave my baby at home."
"Ah, thank you, my dear. It's been in my family for generations. The first paperbacks sold here cost a dime, if that tells you how long we've been here. We've made some cosmetic changes during the years, but the shelves are all original," she said, opening the stockroom door to reveal a small but perhaps the warmest bookstore I'd ever stepped into. Rich mahogany shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling while shorter shelves and tables divided the floor space into sections. Two leather chairs bookended a small round table in the corner where we were standing. A delicate Tiffany lamp sat on the table, casting a warm glow that provided an intimate feel.
After the crisp, cold air outside, the appeal of curling up in one of those chairs with a good book all day was tantalizing.
"I thought I'd set you up over here," Patricia said, pointing to a narrow wooden table just to the left of the seating area. "I figure that way they can make their purchases first and then funnel back here to you. My staff will then direct them down this row and back out of the store. I think that will work best for crowd control. Originally, I planned Q&A and even had chairs set up, but we quickly dismissed that idea after the line formed. Hopefully we can still get you out of here in two hours.
I nodded, starting to feel overwhelmed. I couldn't quite wrap my brain around the idea that she thought I'd have a steady line for two hours. Was this really my life?
"Nicole, the photographer is here and wants to take some shots of you behind the table," Olivia said, handing me a Starbucks that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. "Patricia," she answered, smiling at the shop owner who was currently stacking copies of Wicked Lonely and Wicked Lovely at the front counter.
I approached the table with a bit of reverence. A copy of Wicked Lovely sat in front of my chair. I studied the cover fondly, running a finger over Alec's face. He and this book were the reason I was standing here. He was going to freak when he saw the pictures.
Following the photographer's instructions, I posed behind the table while he took the shots he wanted. After a few minutes, though, I called a halt to the picture taking. Everyone had already been patient. If the photographer wanted more pictures, we could take more afterward. Patricia and her staff had already catered to me enough. And god knows the readers outside had waited long enough.
Olivia took charge and directed the photographer into the corner so Patricia could begin letting people in. Greg stood beside me, handing over a silver Sharpie, which was my favorite color to sign with.
I could hear excited chatter as soon as the front doors opened. Patricia planned to allow twenty people in at a time to make sure no one felt claustrophobic. I sat toying with the pen Greg had given me, anxious from the sound of approaching voices.
Olivia winked at me as the first two women made their way back to the table, squealing as soon as they caught sight of me. They were both clutching their purchases against their chests and looked close to tears. I almost teared up myself from the way they gushed about how much they loved me. They were acting like I was a celebrity. It was wild. I would call it the most insane moment of my young life.
More women joined the line, eagerly waiting to get their books signed and have pictures taken. Olivia helped keep the line moving by writing each person's name on sticky notes so I wouldn't mess up when I signed their books. Greg remained at the side to take pictures with their phones when asked.
The steady stream continued, and I lost track of how many books I signed. The hours bled away and finally when my hand was beginning to threaten mutiny, the last reader made her way to the table and Patricia finally locked the front door.
I looked wide-eyed at Olivia and Greg. "Holy shit," I said in complete awe. Even though it had been a long day, I bounced in my seat, riding the adrenaline that was still coursing through me. "That was amazing."
"You were amazing, my dear," Patricia said. She looked tired but pleased. "In all the years I've been doing this, I've never seen a writer so open and giving to each reader. You made every single one of them leave this store feeling like they were special."
I beamed at her. "They are special. Without them none of this would be possible. I owe everything to my readers." Sudden happy tears blurred my eyes and a knot formed in my throat. "Thank you so much for organizing this, and I'm sorry it ran over." I gave her a quick hug.
She clucked her tongue. "Never apologize for something like that, my dear. You treated my customers with dignity and respect. I should be thanking you. It was an honor to have you here tonight, and I hope you'll come back again."
"You can count on it," I said, sliding my arms into my jacket Olivia handed me.
Greg packed up my belongings and then went out to warm up the vehicle while I posed for pictures with Patricia and her staff. After another hug, we left Book Time in a happy haze.
Finally seated in the back of the SUV, I pulled out my phone. All I could think about at the moment was sharing the success of the signing with Alec. My face spread into a wide smile, anticipating his response. I waited as his phone rang four times before going to voicemail. Odd. Maybe he was sleeping. I couldn't deny it was disappointing, but I left him a quick message before hanging up.
I'd have to share the night's festivities with him in the morning. My excitement would keep until then.
Chapter 9
I tried Alec again the next morning, but the call went straight to voicemail. The disappointment I felt the previous night now turned to a twinge of aggravation. He knew how nervous I'd been about the solo signing. Plus, I'd left him a voicemail. The reasonable part of my brain knew he was probably busy. Thinking back on our conversations the past couple of days, I couldn't recall a reason why he would deliberately ignore me.
Unfortunately, as much as it bothered me, I didn't have time to dwell on why Alec seemed to be ignoring my calls. My agenda was full. I focused on answering the long list of social media notifications and other book-related responsibilities that had accumulated during the past week and a half.
Olivia and I sat in our pajamas all morning drinking coffee and picking from my magic chocolate basket. Eventually, even my sweet tooth couldn't take anymore and we decided to take a break and call room service for some real sustenance.
Munching on a perfectly cooked hamburger, I studied my to-do list, feeling slightly less intimidated now that we'd managed to cross off almost ha
lf the items as completed. Most of them were administrative types of tasks that Olivia handled, but she did need me to sign off on them, so I guess I did my part.
As we continued to eat our early lunch, Olivia and I bantered back and forth over one of the more fun items on the list. One of my favorite blogs was hosting an interview for Wicked Lonely and wanted my dream cast if the series was made into a movie. Olivia and I, of course, had totally different opinions on who should play Dimitri, a new side character I'd introduced to the series. Casting him would be a pivotal decision for a Wicked Lonely movie since he was the new sexy love interest. I had a mental picture of a dark and mysterious, sinfully handsome, but brutally dangerous character, which made him damn near impossible to cast, in my opinion. None of Hollywood's current pretty boys could touch his combination of good looks and lethal persona.
"He's too put together," I said, dismissing Olivia's nomination of Channing Tatum. "Dimitri is sexy in a rugged, handsome way. Not every pretty boy with pecs and a six-pack can pull off ruggedly handsome. You have to be born with it," I insisted.
She rolled her eyes. "Please, who do you want, the Marlboro Man?"
I threw a chocolate at her. Up until a month ago, I had no idea who the Marlboro Man was. Olivia and I spent days researching my next series, which I wanted set in late eighteen hundreds Texas. In order to wrap my brain around the leap from pirates to cowboys, I needed a clear mental picture of what my hero needed to look like.
Olivia didn't share my assessment when I told her the Marlboro Man definitely had some sex appeal. "He looks like old worn-out leather," she'd argued.
I disagreed with her. "He's weathered. Not every guy has to look like he just walked out of a spa."
"Dimitri isn't rugged and weathered like the Marlboro Man, but more like Orlando Bloom in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, just without his boyish looks."
She shook her head. "Orlando Bloom? Johnny Depp is the looker from those movies."
I shook my head, disagreeing with her again. Johnny Depp looked too greasy. Dimitri is not greasy. He's dangerous and rough.
We continued debating for most of the afternoon until we had to get ready for a book tour dinner with the other authors. Our final conclusion about the casting for Wicked Lonely was that it would be fun to let the readers decide. We'd have the blog use the casting as a way to do a giveaway for some signed copies of the book.
Greg met us in the lobby later that evening since everyone decided on our recommendation to eat at the restaurant in our hotel. His suit still looked rumpled, like he'd been storing it in the back seat of his SUV. He held out a closed fist to bump with Olivia and me as we approached. It was funny how much he reminded me of Zachary. Maybe that's why he was so easy to get along with.
"I like you, but I don't fist-bump," Olivia said, shaking his fist instead.
Greg smiled, looking unfazed by her mild rejection."Denied. That's cool." He turned his attention to me, holding his fist out. I didn't have the heart to see him get rejected twice, so I gave him a halfhearted light tap with my knuckles.
"Boo-yah. Fist-bumped by N.S. Blake. I may never wash this hand again," he said, holding his hand in the air.
I couldn't help but chuckle. He acted like a big kid. "You always geek out like this?" I adjusted his tie, which hung loosely and slightly askew around his neck.
"Why don't you tuck his shirt in too?" Olivia said, shaking her head.
A squeal rang off the lobby walls, making the three of us whirl around. "Monica," I screeched, holding my arms out. A wide grin split my face at the sight of my friend teetering toward us on heels that were easily six inches tall. Some people called them hooker shoes, but they were knockout gorgeous and screamed attention. Olivia could pull off shoes like the ones Monica wore. Me, I never had the nerve.
Monica somehow managed to make it over without breaking her neck. She pulled me in for an exuberant hug. "I'm so-o-o-o glad they picked me to go on tour with you! We're going to have so much fun."
I nodded my head, laughing. Monica was a rock star in the publishing world with several highly successful series under her belt. She was an icon in the industry, and it still felt surreal that she and I were friends. "I think I'm the one who got picked to go with you guys. Did you have something to do with that?" I asked, wondering if she'd put my name into the running.
She kept an arm around me. "Oh please, honey. You're hot right now. Everybody knows it. You need to own that shit."
"That's what I told her too," Olivia said, laughing. "See," she added, slapping my arm.
"Believe me, you're the face of this tour. I'm thrilled they're letting me tag along," Monica continued earnestly.
The words were coming from her mouth, but I still couldn't believe them. One of my writing idols was telling me she was grateful to go on a tour with me.
"Aw, look at her blush. So fresh and humble. Honey, this trip is going to be such a refreshing one. Now, let's go inside so I can sit down. These fucking shoes are killing me."
I sniggered. Greg looked shocked. Olivia outright laughed. That was Monica. I was actually surprised it took as long as it did to drop an f-bomb.
Monica kept her arm around me as we walked through the lobby toward the restaurant. "If you couldn't walk in them, why'd you wear them?" I asked as she continued to swear with each step. We were gaining the negative attention of everyone we passed. Olivia and I found great enjoyment in their offended expressions. Not that I was necessarily interested in running around dropping f-bombs, but I did wonder if the day would come when I would have the confidence to say whatever was on my mind without a second thought.
Michelle and Tina, the other two authors included on the Love Bus tour, were standing with Remi and Jillian near the restaurant hostess station when we arrived. Chelsea, a public relations associate from the publisher, was also there.
Michelle and I hugged. We both started writing around the same time and met on social media. Since then, we had stayed in touch. She went directly into traditional publishing rather than starting indie the way I had. Doing this tour together would be like coming full circle for us. "Can you believe this?" she said happily. "It's going to be like a nonstop slumber party. I've brought all kinds of games for us to play."
"I'm out on spin-the-bottle. Unless, of course, Greg wants to participate," Tina said dryly, winking at Greg. I had never met Tina in person, but we had interacted many times on Facebook. She had the same in-your-face type of personality as Monica. The publisher couldn't have put together a more interesting bunch for the tour.
Greg, who up to this point had shown he was quite the kidder, couldn't help but blush. It was funny to see him out of sorts. He recovered quickly though, flashing a crooked boyish grin. "I guess I better stock up on mouthwash."
The hostess led us to our table and before sitting down, I formally introduced myself to Tina. She reminded me a little of Olivia. The type of person you loved having as a friend and would hate having as an enemy.
The conversation during dinner was lively and served its purpose to break the ice between us before the tour. I could tell by Remi's and Chelsea's satisfied faces that they were happy we were all meshing so well.
The wine, flowing like a fountain of life, helped mellow the group even further. We were informed Chelsea would tag along for the first week of the trip and then Greg would take over her duties after that, while also serving as driver.
He puffed out his chest and sat up straight in his seat as Chelsea went over the itinerary. Olivia opened her mouth to tease him, but I shot her a look of warning.
Each author was handed a packet that contained the same itinerary Chelsea was going over. Once she finished, Jillian moved the conversation to my signing from the previous night.
"I heard you were a rock star last night. And congrats on Good Morning America, by the way. You were so cute," she said.
Suddenly all the attention at the table was on me. Something I had never been comfortable with. I preferred sitting o
n the outside, listening and observing. "It was amazing. You guys must have done a great job of promoting it," I said, trying to turn the attention to Remi and Chelsea.
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Don't mind her. Nicole is humble to a fault. Never in a million years would she allow herself to believe she has a rapidly growing fan base."
"Nicole, that was all you last night. I know the shop owner did a little advertising, but those people were there for you. The presales for Wicked Lonely look great. We are more than confident that the book will perform very well," Remi said, looking to Chelsea for confirmation.
Chelsea agreed, rattling off numbers that went mostly over my head, but as long as they were happy, I was happy. The contract they offered was good for both sides. From the publisher's perspective, the quicker I paid out on my advance, the better I looked. From my side, I was debt free for the time being. Anytime anyone asked why I signed with a major publisher, my standard answer was—they made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Now I just needed to make sure I delivered. So far, so good.
Eventually we had to call it a night when the restaurant began closing around us. I stood from the table, watching a tipsy Monica in amusement as she teetered on her high heels. She could barely walk in them when she was sober. Instinctively, I offered a hand to steady her. She took my gesture as a free pass to throw her arms around my neck. Unfortunately for the both of us, the table we'd been sitting at was a step above the actual main floor. I happened to be standing on the edge when Monica decided to use my neck as a life preserver. My ankle, which wasn't fully recovered from my last fall, buckled almost immediately. The result was me falling backward, leaving us in an unceremonious heap at Remi's and Jillian's feet.
"Oh my god. Are you okay?" Jillian asked, kneeling at my side. My ass took the brunt of the fall, along with my ego. Pain radiated up my backside. Monica, who was cushioned by my body, tried apologizing, but found it hard to talk from the giggles bubbling through her. Her laughter was contagious, and I couldn't help joining her, despite my aching backside.