Page 20 of More Than Words

“Don’t be afraid to put in the hard work and collaborate with your authors to develop their craft. Sometimes even the most competent authors need help getting a story out the best way. But don’t discount the stories that are rough around the edges. Don’t automatically dismiss the ones that are thought-provoking and cause an emotional response that is messy. Sometimes it takes peeling back the superficial to see the potential in something.” He hesitated for a moment, running his hand through his hair.

When he glanced back at me, the corner of his mouth was set in an amused smirk. “And the best novel of your career may come from seeing past the bullshit. Because life is messy, and sometimes manuscripts and being an editor or publisher is messy, but don’t ever be afraid to put in the hard work to create something truly impactful.”

My heart pounded while he stared straight at me, those steely blue eyes locking me in place. I felt that the last part might have been aimed squarely at me.

He knew I’d judged him solely on appearance—what he wanted everyone else to see. I’d bought the act he’d been selling, but I could tell it bothered him I’d fallen for it too. Because whether I wanted to admit it or not, I’d misjudged Adrian, and all the things I thought I despised about him were proving to be the things that somehow seemed charming when framed differently. Not the sexist comments, because he deserved to be kicked in the balls for those, but I could relate to all the word vomit and gut reaction things he said just to see if others would react.

Adrian still saw me as some spoiled Ivy League brat. But in reality, hadn’t I done the same thing to fit in while I was in school? Hadn’t I adopted the personality traits of my peers to blend in and stay under the radar for being different? Hadn’t I combed through second-hand shops to find clothes to make me look like anything other than the country bumpkin whose mother had never worn a designer anything in her life?

Maybe the designer suits, the grooming, and the crass words that came out of his mouth were his armor, just like my sometimes cool exterior. And that realization shook me to my core because maybe we weren’t so different. And perhaps the initial attraction to him all those years ago wasn’t so wrong anymore, and perhaps I might like the person he had buried under that pile of shit. He might have been acting like himself for once a few days ago and not the persona he wore most often.

My brain was static as Adrian finished his presentation, going on to talk about other topics we dealt with daily as editing professionals, his words resonating with me despite my inability to concentrate.

He easily answered a few questions from the audience before he shook hands with one of the event organizers and headed toward where I was sitting along the side of the room. Maybe he was finally ready to stop giving me the silent treatment. I wasn’t sure if the idea terrified me or thrilled me.

“Was I that bad?” he asked with a grimace while he took in my likely stunned expression. It felt like my entire perception of him—years of interacting with him in the office and feeling like a terrible human being after every exchange and watching him swagger around like he had a fifteen-inch dick—had all culminated at this moment when I realized he wasn’t who I thought he was.

Everything he’d ever said to me in the office was now running through my head on a loop. Was it possible that his bravado was complete and utter bullshit? And even worse, if it was, I’d fallen for it. I believed he was a dickhead. I’d thought that he was a genre elitist. I assumed he didn’t deserve the praise he got for his work and his over-hyped authors. But I was wrong.

I was wrong.

Fuck.

“I’m not exactly sure how to interpret the look on your face right now. I tried to tamp down the comments you always scold me for and be honest for once, and you’re looking at me like I just murdered someone in cold blood right in front of you. I know we got off on the wrong foot the other day, but I was hoping to call a truce for real this time. We have to spend five hours in a car together tomorrow, and I don’t want things to be strained.”

In a way, he had. He’d flat-out murdered something—my impression of him. Dickhead might be a decent human being, and I didn’t enjoy coming to that conclusion.

“I need a fucking drink,” I muttered while I shoved my notebook into the tote bag at my feet. I needed alcohol to deal with this epiphany.

“Geez. I must have totally bombed if I’m driving you to drink.”

Ignoring his sarcastic attempts at humor, I turned away from him and headed toward the outside aisle, pushing past other attendees who were still lingering despite the session being over. I kept my head down, avoiding making eye contact because I wasn’t sure my brain could form coherent thoughts right now or—lord forbid—small talk. Fuck that shit.

“Is, geez, slow down. I didn’t mean to piss you off by not telling you they asked me to speak.” Adrian followed closely behind me, still trying to talk, but I could tell from how his voice was pitched that I was freaking him out a little. I was freaking myself out.

As I watched him speak—the audience transfixed on his every word—the only thing I could think was that he had to be the most attractive man I’d ever met. And when the total dickhead personality was stripped away from that, I wanted him. I wasn’t sure I’d ever wanted another human being this much. Listening to him talk, watching his lips move, my ears picking up on the tiny little inflections of his hidden accent, I’d been aroused. Painfully so.

He followed me into the elevator, settling in along the opposite wall and staring at me with wary eyes. I didn’t blame him. I was fucking scared of my thoughts right now, too. Of the images that were forming in my head of all the flirty little interactions we’d had a few days ago—hell, the last five years—and how every single time I’d felt a twinge of attraction to him, he’d killed it by opening his mouth.

“If I said something to upset you, just talk to me, Is. I’m not mad at you. The way you laid into me on the trail wasn’t wrong, but it stung. I just needed some space away from you to think. You make it hard to keep my thoughts straight around you.”

I’d been dreading this trip because I didn’t want him to embarrass me, but he’d been downright nice in the car on the way up here, and I felt like my entire world was crumbling around me with each charming thing that came out of his mouth. Even when he was mad at me, I felt more guilty for being mean to him than angry when he reacted to it.

“You didn’t upset me.” My voice was quiet, but he didn’t look convinced. There wasn’t any easy way to explain the chaotic thoughts that were whirring through my brain.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped forward, using his arm to hold open the door. Glancing up, my mouth watered at how his dress shirt clung to his chest, the buttons pulled tight, revealing tiny slivers of his white undershirt.

“You coming?” he asked, his brows pinched together, and the only thought in my head was…

Not yet.

Nodding, I stepped forward, holding my breath as I passed him in the small opening. The scent of him was starting to set more than just my temper ablaze.

He was only a few steps behind me as I headed toward our rooms, just wanting to flee and figure out the mess of what was going on in my brain. Maybe it was the fact that today was Valentine’s Day, and I was alone, but the ache in my chest wasn’t just loneliness.

“You’re not going to talk to me?” he asked, only a few steps behind me.

It was hard to remind myself I was here to be a professional. My job was to represent Vivid and be the face of our publisher at an industry event. I’d anticipated having a massive headache the entire time because I knew I’d have to do damage control every time Adrian opened his mouth.

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