Page 102 of Someone to Tempt
“This is wild!”
“You’re Spencer Charles?!”
Amid the chaos, I look at Iris again. Her eyes are locked on the book, her face pale, her jaw tight. Not exactly the reaction I hoped for.
“Why now?” Sloane asks, and I notice she shifts to block Iris more fully from my line of sight. Like she needs to be protected from me. Which is ironic considering a big part of the reason I’m finally coming forward is because I want her to know the truth.
I want her to know I’m more than my former reputation. I have goals and ambition and alife. A good one, even if it is lonely. I want the excitement she has when she talks about the Ellie Spaulding books directed at me, not just my author persona. More than anything, I need her to understand how much the past month has meant to me. That she’s a big part of why I’m doing this.
“I’m tired of hiding,” I say. “I want people to know.” By people, I think they all understand I mean one person in particular. A person who is still not looking at me.
“Do you have proof?” Avah demands. “Because I’m a little gobsmacked, to be honest. And what’s stopping you from taking credit for another person’s work? How would we even verify it?”
Molly nods. “I just finished watching season three ofBridgerton, and this exact thing happened. Cressida?—“
“Let him answer the question,” Iris interrupts. Her voice is quiet—almost a whisper—but the murmuring and outright questioning stops.
“I have proof.” I pat my bag. “I’ve written all the books on my laptop, along with notes, outlines, and pages of character profiles. They’re all date-stamped. I’m not sure I can rattle off the more obscure details about some of the older books the way my super fans do. My publisher has really good continuity editors, though. They keep a series bible.”
I give a crooked smile, trying to tamp down the discomfort prickling under my skin. Iris continues to study a place directly over my left shoulder, as if she can’t bear to make eye contact with me.
“Okay then.” Sloane grabs Iris’s hand. “Welcome to our book club meeting, Spencer Charles.” There’s nothing welcoming in her blue eyes. “Do you want us to call you Spencer?”
I shake my head. “No need.”
“We’ve got drinks and snacks plus a list of questions about the book and your writing process.”
“Can I have a minute with Jake?” Iris asks, her tone eerily quiet. I’m not a fan of her reaction to this news. Dread settles like a layer of hot ash over my gut. I didn’t expect her to start gushing over me, but…well, I wouldn’t have said no to a little gushing.
Sloane looks like she has no intention of leaving Iris alone with me. Maybe she’s more ferocious than a kitten after all.
Sadie steps forward and places a hand on the bookstore owner’s arm. “We can give you guys all the time you need. Talk about a plot twist. The rest of us will be in the back…um…processing.”
She waves a hand in my direction. “You’re a very talented writer, Jake. Congratulations on your success.”
“Who else knows?” Iris asks when we’re alone, although it doesn’t feel like we’re alone. The books lining the shelves seem to be leaning in, listening and waiting to hear my answer as much as Iris is.
“My agent, obviously,” I say. “The senior editor at my publisher, but no one else.”
“Whohereknows?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“You and my grandfather, but he found out on his own. You’re the first person I’ve told, Iris.” I move closer, but she takes a step away. “You’re the first person I’vewantedto tell.”
I need her to understand what this means to me—for us and our future. Iwillher to understand why I’m revealing this now.
“But you didn’t tellme,” she points out. “You told my book club. You were looking at Sloane when you did your big reveal.”
“She was standing in front of you.” I run a hand through my hair. “What does it matter anyway? I did this foryou. You were the one who wanted Spencer Charles—me—to come to your book club.” I lift up my hands. “Here I am. This is me.”
“Sure it is.” She laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Have you been laughing at me for the past month? All those times I encouraged you to believe you’re better than other people’s doubts.” She holds out her hands. “You must have thought I was clueless giving advice to someone who didn’t need it.”
“No. Your confidence meant the world to?—”
“Youknewyou were better than the doubters. You dominate the freaking New York Times bestseller list like it’s your job.” She laughs again. The sound is too wild for my taste. “Itisyour job. You don’t need me or my support.”
“I do, Iris.” How can I make her understand? “You helped me believe I was worthy of claiming this.”
“Worthy? You wrote the books, Jake. You’re not just worthy. You’re exceptionally talented.” She takes another step away, and I want to growl in frustration. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
