Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
From whom? At this point, damn near anyone.
“Fran.” He blinks at me in surprise. “Heard you were feeling poorly?”
I shrug. “Got into an accident yesterday, smashed my head right good. I really can’t be here long, still on doctor’s orders to rest up, but my mate here needs to do an errand and I do as well.”
“Crap, did you bang up your car, then?” he asks, then before I can answer, he looks at Tate for the first time. At the look of surprise on his face, I look at Tate myself.
Oh, dear.
His eyes glitter with warning, and one hand’s clenched into a fist. Though he wears a jacket, his ink runs up his neck and across his wrist and knuckles. He looks scary as fuck, a full head taller than Lenny.
“You brought a friend,” Lenny says.
I give a nervous laugh. “Oh, right, Lenny, meet Tate. Tate’s taken me to my appointment. Blasted head injury and all that. May need to carry a few things home, so I brought Tate to help.”
Brilliant, Fran. Brilliant.
Tate gives me a withering look, and a little part of me wonders if I keep treating him like a mule, I’ll end up punished like he promised.
I hope so.
Squee!
Tate reaches out one large, rough, inked hand to Lenny, who flinches as if Tate’s going to electrocute him. He eyes him in surprise before he realizes Tate just wants to shake. Idiot. Lenny’s hand is dwarfed by Tate’s, and he winces when Tate gives him a firm handshake.
I bite back a snicker.
We enter the store, and suddenly, this is not a game I’m playing any more. What am I thinking?
What if he finds out I'm the writer? I war with myself, back and forth.
Maybe I want him to.
Maybe I don’t. No, I definitely don’t.
Maybe I do!
God!
I came here to check on the paperbacks, and to see if anybody has come in to pick up their signed copies. Simple. In, out, no harm done.
Lenny goes back inside, and quickly busies himself on the other side of the store as far away from Tate as possible. Smart.
"I have a few things to do in the back. Mind giving me some privacy?”
I need him out of here. I don't need him in my space right now, so that I can do what I need to do with the Clan Chronicles instead of having him watch over my shoulder.
He eyes me warily and shrugs. "No, I'll stay with you until you're done."
How the hell am I going to get rid of him? This is really the stupidest strategy ever.
"Tate…" I bite my lip. "I just need a little privacy at the toilet."
He grunts. “Fine. I'll give you as much privacy as you want, but I'm not leaving you. You're still dizzy, still dealing with the effects of your head injury. If you need privacy, tell me and I'll close my eyes.”
"I have my period!” I lie, and that finally has the desired effect.
He grimaces and shakes his head. "Jesus.”
“Five minutes.”
“Fine, then. You do what you need to, but I'll be back in five minutes. Be quick about it."
As soon as he goes into the main bookstore, I quickly open the bathroom door, and then shut it again, just to throw him off the scent.
I’m maybe literally mental. No, I definitely am.
I'm supposed to be signing paperbacks today. I'm supposed to be making sure that they get on the shelves, uploading things to Instagram, starting everything I need to do for a book release, and a huge variety of tasks.
Instead, I'm pretending I'm on my period, so the hottest guy I've ever been with will leave me alone. Brilliant.
I look quickly around the store for what I need. Finally, I see them. The big, beautiful box of shiny new paperbacks.
It never gets old, holding a book that I wrote with my very own hands. Ruffling through the pages, seeing the words that I penned, seeing them larger than life in front of me. I don’t have time to dawdle, though. I grab a permanent marker, and quickly sign the first half a dozen paperbacks at the very top.
I take a quick moment to admire the cover. I love this one. A dark, brooding, bare-chested man holds a curvy brunette to his chest, the magnificent Highlands in the background. Could be me and Tate.
Focus, Fran!
I take half a dozen pictures, one with the book in my hand, one with them propped up, just as the door to the back room opens, and I hear heavy footsteps again.
I throw all the signed books back in the box, and quickly close it.
"Odd," Tate says. "My sisters say that every time there's a new Clan Chronicle, it's on a main display.”
"And there's nothing up yet?"
Of course there isn't. I'm the one that does the display. I'm the one that's in charge of all the marketing for the Clan Chronicles.