Page 1 of And Then Came You

Chapter One

Lexi

“Is it true? Samuel Bernard is going to be here this weekend?”

“Girl, if he is, I’m getting his ass good and drunk and taking that sword in his pants for a test drive.” The taller of the two women jabs her friend in the ribs, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

“Hell, I’ll drop to my knees right now if he whipped it out.”

With the conversations floating around me, you’d think I’d arrived at a porn convention instead of a romance writer’s conference. Not one mention of any author or novel. Nope, these women have one thing on their minds, and apparently, he has a sword.

When I catch wind of yet another description of Samuel Bernard’s equipment, I pick up my pace. That’s enough for one morning.

Fumbling through the crowd of authors, I struggle to balance my own equipment—namely, my suitcase, boxes of swag, and a banner tucked precariously under one arm. Who says an author’s life isn’t glamorous?

I heave a sigh of relief as my home base for the next two days comes into view, dumping my bags down on the table.

“Look who finally made it. What was the hold up?” My assistant, Ramona, pokes her head up from behind the table, her arms laden with books.

“Samuel Bernard’s penis, apparently.” I open a bottle of water, chugging down half the contents.

“You heard, huh?”

“About his cock? That’sallI’ve heard about since I arrived. No joke, I couldn’t make it from the car to the lobby without overhearing at least seven comments about Samuel Bernard, all sexual in nature.”

Ramona shrugs, pushing a stubborn curl from her face. “He’s a big deal.”

“I suppose.” Fine, I’ll admit that in the romance and modeling world, Samuel Bernard is more than a big deal. He’sthedeal. His face and tatted chest have graced countless covers, and his photo on your book practically guarantees a spot on the bestseller list, even if your storyline is nonexistent.

Maybe that’s what irks me as an author. I hone my craft constantly, but I could literally repeat: Samuel Bernard has a big dick fifty thousand times, throw his face on the cover, and land in the number one slot. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing like having a bestseller, and I have had several, but I earned them the old-fashioned way—blood, sweat, and steamy sexless nights. Sad to say that my characters have a far more vivid sex life than me, but hey, someone should get laid.

“You suppose? Girl, you need your eyes checked because that man is the definition of fine.”

“If you’re into that type.” That’s the other thing. Samuel Bernard is not my type. At all. He’s tall, lanky, and covered in tattoos and piercings. I’ll give it to him, he’s got the whole bad boy vibe on lockdown, but he’s the complete opposite of the type of men I’ve dated. Not that I’ve got a portfolio of supermodels in my dating history.

“Honey, everyone is into that type.” Ramona offers a final resigned shake of her head, writing me off as a lost cause.

“I’ll know where to find you should you disappear later today. Circling the shining beacon that is Samuel Bernard.”

That does it. A smile cracks across my friend’s face as she lobs a towel in my direction. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

Chuckling, I turn my focus to the boxes of books and swag piled on the table. I’m grateful for a weekend away. My boyfriend Carl and I—if you can even use that term for the money-grubbing, womanizing moocher—had another row this morning before I left for Manhattan. He was still hurling obscenities at me when I shut the door to my condo, so I’ve opted to err on the side of caution and keep my phone off.

I don’t need to hear his mouth right now, especially not after I caught him with his hands down some redhead’s pants the other night. The best part? The bastard tried to deny it, claimed I was losing my mind.

He’s right, come to think of it. Otherwise, why would I still be dating the loser?

When well-intentioned friends and families ask the same question, my best answer is damned if I know. Let’s just say that doesn’t put their minds at ease.

Honestly, I don’t want to date Carl. I haven’t wanted to date him for months, right after he showed his true colors. But he was living with me at that point—a carefully calculated plan on his part—and the idea of riling up an already hotheaded man wasn’t high on my to-do list.

So, I let it—and him—slide, continuing to co-exist as if there is some level of normalcy to be found in my lifestyle.

Newsflash: there isn’t.

I save my romantic ideas for my stories, smiling as they fly off the shelves and accepting of the fact that life isn’t a romance novel. Not mine, at least.

Ramona nudges me, nodding toward a flurry of activity near the hotel entrance. “Looks like our fun is about to begin.”

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