She glanced at Penn and Larsen. “I don’t have three people listed.”
“We’re her business partners.” Penn came forward to stand by me with a charming smile.
I resisted the urge to stomp on his shoe with my chunky heel. Business partner, my ass.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
“I’ve met with Mr. Wainwright before. He’ll remember me.”
“I know who you are, Ms. Savage.” The woman leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I quite like your books.”
“Oh, thanks.” I hoped I wasn’t too red. I was not great at the compliments.
“You’re a little early, so you can sit in the waiting area or have a look at the panels in the gallery. I’ll come find you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
We wandered toward the gallery, but I was too nervous to sit. Larsen and Penn talked about their pitch, which left me to read the panels. I’d never been big on podcasts. Attention was a very hard thing with all the things going on in my brain, but there were so many interesting arms to it. The fact that it focused on small towns was both creepy and so very interesting.
“Ms. Savage? And company,” she added coolly.
Penn gave me a shrug, and we followed the woman to the elevator.
She tapped a card to the panel. “Mr. Wainwright is on the fourth floor. Right through the doors and past the podcast booth.”
“Thanks,” I said and stepped into the elevator, followed by the two men. When the doors closed, I glanced over my shoulder at Penn. “Don’t make me regret this.”
He stepped up behind me and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry. We’ll throw the pitch, and if he’s not into it, no harm no foul.”
“So you say,” I said quietly as the doors opened.
The light was incredible through the windows as the thick gray carpet swallowed the sounds of my heels. Podcast booth was an understatement. Half the floor was filled with glassed-in booths. Evidently, Asher was expanding the podcast game as well.
There was a hallway beside it and at the end, Asher Wainwright stood in navy dress pants and a white dress shirt that had seen a long day. The cuffs were rolled back to show stunning ink on his forearm. His short dark hair was a bit disheveled, and a pair of glasses dangled from his mouth by the stem. He put his glasses back on and waved us forward.
“Sorry for my current state. The elementary school children were surprisingly interested in the printing press, as well as the podcast booths. They gave me a run for my money.”
“Not a problem.” I held out a hand. “Nice to see you again.”
He shook it firmly. “I’m surprised you wanted to come in. Did you need to see a workup of the calendar? I’m still waiting on the photographs from the shoot.” He looked over my shoulder. “Penn Masterson.” There was low-level delight in his voice. “I’m a huge fan.” He released my hand and shook Penn’s. “What can I do for you then?”
Penn ushered me inside.
“Have a seat.” Asher went around his desk. “Can I get you anything?”
“We’re fine, thanks.” I smiled and sat in one of the leather chairs in front of his massive antique desk.
Penn stood behind me, and Larsen sat next to me. Penn gripped my shoulder lightly and I was surprised at how that small bit of comfort bolstered me.
Asher sat forward in his chair and clasped his fingers together on the paper strewn blotter. “What can I help you with?”
“I’ve been informed that my former co-writing partner has sold the rights toDate with Disasterthis week.”
“Oh, I hadn’t heard that. I’m usually pretty up on publishing news. Though, I must confess, I’ve been more focused on the podcast world, as of late.”
“I’m still interested in using Bridget and Travis’s photoshoot for my book. Well, books. I’ve talked with their agents to see if we can do an additional photoshoot for my new book.”
“I see.” Asher sat back and steepled his fingers.