Page 101 of Someone to Tempt
36
JAKE
The bookstore appearsdark as I approach, but the door is unlocked, and I hear voices from the back of the store.
What the hell am I thinking? This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late for me to change my mind. I tuck my computer bag more tightly under one arm, then startle as Sloane appears around one of the tall bookshelves.
“Oh, hi, Jake,” she says, looking confused about why I’m standing inside her store. “Iris is booked for tonight.” She holds up her hands, indicating the surrounding shelves. “Get it, she’s booked.”
“I’m not exactly here for?—”
“We’re having a book club meeting.” She’s studying me intently now, like I’m slow on the uptake.
I’ve never been one for cardigan sweaters with leather patches on the elbows or whatever other stereotype of a mystery writer they might have. I should have brought the thick-framed glasses I wear when I’m writing to protect my eyes from the computer light. I could have done the reverse Clark Kent thing and made myself look like an author. I only brought my laptop in case I need to convince these women I’m Spencer Charles.
“Is it him?” Molly asks as she joins Sloane, holding a small plastic cup of red wine. “Oh, hey, Jake.”
At some point in almost every story I write, the characters go off script, the narrative taking on a mind of its own, with unexpected plot twists or a snippet of backstory I didn’t see coming. If I were writing this particular scene, this would be the moment I lose control of the story.
The rest of the group joins Sloane and Molly, each of them staring at me like I don’t belong, including Iris.
“Evening, ladies.”
Iris offers a soft smile. “Hey, you. Sorry I haven’t been around much.”
“I’m—”
“We’re in the middle of something. This is not the time for googly eyes between the two of you.” Sloane steps in front of her. “Jake, you’re killing the vibe.”
She glances at her watch. “We’ve got a special guest coming, and he—or she—is about to?—”
“Spencer Charles is the guest,” I blurt.
Sloane looks over her shoulder at Iris. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“I didn’t.”
“Which one of you blabbed?” Sloane demands, and it’s like watching a kitten being fierce and commanding.
“My agent told me and…”
My voice cuts out as six pairs of eyes stare at me again. So many years of keeping this secret. As much as I’m ready to claim my alter ego, I’m surprised at how difficult it is to say the words aloud.
I clear my throat. “I’m here for the meeting. I’m Spencer Charles. Or, he’s me.” I shrug. “My pen name.”
There’s a beat of weighted silence before Avah barks out a laugh. “Impossible. You’re a charming slacker with an enviable trust fund, but you’re not a chart-topping author.”
“No mincing words,” I say with an answering chuckle, although the judgment—while not surprising—stings. “I don’t need to live off my trust fund because I do fine writing the Ellie Spaulding mysteries.”
I pull a copy of the latest release out of the computer bag. “You spoke to my agent, KJ Preston,” I tell Sloane, but I’m hoping Iris will meet my gaze. No such luck as she keeps her eyes averted. “She confirmed my appearance tonight.”
“Anyone can find out an agent’s name,” Molly answers.
“Why would Jake go to the trouble to lie?” Sadie asks, and I appreciate the measure of confidence, even a small one.
After another few seconds of silence, the room erupts.
“No way!”
