Page 31 of Strider's Misstep

For now, I’ve done all I can.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JASMINE

TODAY’S THE DAY…

Iwake up feeling a bit fuzzy and regretting that last night I slightly overindulged at the meet-and-greet party. It had been an amazing time, getting to see and talk to other authors and some of the readers who are staying at the resort. While Sheri had backed out early due to her pregnancy, StoryTeller had stayed with me.

I’d gotten plenty of comments about the handsome biker who stayed glued to my side and, more than once, had to hastily correct the misassumption. I do think he was a bit of a draw for some of the readers. It is Motorcycles, Mobsters and Mayhem, after all. With his long hair, his cut and aquiline features, he’s the epitome of a bad boy. I’m hoping he’ll be a similar draw to my table today.

I meant to take advantage of setting up my table last night, which would have been the sensible thing to do, but time and drink had gotten away from me. So now, I’ve woken up with a myriad of things to do and, as I come to myself, anxious that I won’t get it all done on time.

Leaping out of bed, then having to sit down again as the fast movement makes my head swim, I move more gingerly and slowly, shower, and dress myself ready for the day. I’ve just completed my makeup when a knock sounds at the door.

Having identified StoryTeller and Sheri, I open it.

“You’re freaking out.” Sheri greets me with a laugh after just one look at my face.

Gesturing at the boxes behind me and the bags of preorders Sheri and I had packed up yesterday, I explain, “I’ve got to get this lot downstairs and set up…”

“Plenty of time,” Sheri interrupts. “We’ve got a plan for your table, remember? Now you need some food inside you, so come down to breakfast.”

My stomach churns at the idea of having anything to eat, but I suppose I need to try.

The gratefulness that I’ve Sheri and her man to lean on doesn’t subside after they’ve topped me up with coffee, and made me eat some bacon and eggs. It even grows when StoryTeller commandeers a trolley to take all my boxes to the signing room in one go. I’m almost a spare part as Sheri directs StoryTeller on how everything should be placed. Ineffectually, I hand books and swag to her as she sets it all out and then directs StoryTeller to erect my banner and stand it behind the table. Her prior knowledge of signings and organisational skills have really come to my aid.

When I protest I should be doing more, she laughs and tells me I’ll be busy enough when the doors open and the readers arrive.

She’s even got the preorder bags lined up alphabetically before an announcement comes.

“All authors are to report to the foyer for the group photo.”

I feel like I’m in another universe when I go out alongside people whose books I’ve read and admired for years. Somehow,I end up alongside Winter Travers who has such an amazing way with words. And who I quickly discover is an amazingly kind woman as well, as she helps me position myself so I won’t be hidden among the taller authors. Even so, I keep my face slightly averted.

I smile, laugh at the professional photographer’s quips designed to get the best pictures, and then return to my table to find my second assistant has arrived.

Helo. Wow, she’s striking—tall with short hair. I’m tongue-tied when I go to greet her, but surprisingly, she seems a little nervous as well.

“I’ve read your books,” she tells me, shaking her head and admitting, “I don’t normally read fiction, but I loved yours. While you’ve successfully steered clear of identifying the Soulz, you’ve really captured their spirit. When’s the next one out?”

My cheeks burn at her compliment. Nice comments about my writing are for some reason difficult to take, so I turn the tables on her. “I know your background. I’d love to pick your brains so I can include a Night Stalker in one of my stories.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? I’d love that. We’ll talk, yeah?”

Oh, so yeah.I’m so caught up in ideas about the type of information I can get from her that I almost miss the announcement that the VIP ticket holders are starting to come in. Sheri’s already sitting at the table. I sit in the middle, with Helo on my other side. StoryTeller stands, arms folded behind us like some sexy bodyguard. I rummage in my rucksack for my journal to start picking the Night Stalker’s brain and make some notes, when my name, well, J Frobisher, is asked in a nervous, inquisitive voice.

I glance up. “That’s me,” I confirm, realising any of the three of us could be her. I haven’t included my real imagery in any of the publicity. It’s still ingrained in me to avoid revealing my face.

“I love your books,” the bubbly young woman in front of me says. “I’ve got a preorder.” As she tells us her name, Sheri confidently starts looking through the bags. “Can I take a photo with you?”

I’ve already noticed it’s common practice for the authors to stand posed with their fans and take selfies with them. While the idea of having my face plastered anywhere fills me with concern, I’d look like a bitch if I refused to comply. So, swallowing my worries down, persuading myself that even in the unlikely event Barclay was still looking for me, he’s unlikely to search in the social media pages of romance readers.

When I allow her to move me in front of my banner so she gets the full effect, I feel like a rock star as I beam into her phone’s camera.

While I’d convinced myself a few photographs probably wouldn’t put me in any danger, as I sit down, I come up with a contingency plan. This event will be long over by the time Barclay could come across any photos, and I’ll be back living in anonymity by then.But maybe it will be safer to move out of state.That wouldn’t be a problem. I can write anywhere.

I don’t have long to worry about what might happen after the signing as during it I’m much busier than I ever expected. As well as those who’ve placed preorders, other readers stop when they pass by my table. As expected, StoryTeller is proving a draw. After a worried glance at Sheri, I relax, seeing she’s more amused than concerned about the women who are openly flirting with her man. As for him? He’s polite but dismissive and rests his hand on her shoulder as if to reassure her he’s not going anywhere. I bank little things about their strong relationship in my mental book as it’s good background for another novel.

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