Page 43 of Wolfish Player
TheWildwoodsaga is still holding steady on the bestseller charts, and this winter the third book is set to hit shelves—with a nationwide tour to follow. Rumor has it I might not be traveling alone. A certain fellow author has been dropping hints about finally stepping out from behind his pseudonym.
But I know that he’s still mulling a certain “conflict of interest” …
Either way, I’ll be there. Writing. Signing. Meeting readers who remind me why I kept going.
Adrian never asked for a dime back from my advance, and now he doesn’t have to. I’m writing every day again—some mornings harder than others—but the words come because I show up, and because he makes sure I do. Coffee. Eye rolls. Stolen kisses across my desk. Most mornings, it’s him and me, and the page.
Tonight, though, it’s this rooftop.
I finish the last signature, the crowd thins, and the fairy lights finally settle into quiet. I’m still gathering myself when I feel him at my side.
“Come with me,” Adrian says. His hand finds mine, steady, certain, guiding me off the rooftop and back inside.
The halls are empty now, our footsteps echoing against marble and glass. He doesn’t stop until we’re in his office—the place that once terrified me, then tempted me, then became the start of everything.
He closes the door behind us and turns, his eyes sharp but unguarded.
“I’ve never once been happy when an author reneged on a deal,” he says slowly, each word deliberate. “Until you. You broke every rule I set, crossed every line I drew. And instead of destroying everything, you forced me to admit the one truth I’ve spent years avoiding—I don’t want control if it means living without you.”
He slips a hand into his jacket, pulls out a small velvet box, and lowers to one knee. The sight of Adrian Wolfson—the Grey Wolf himself—kneeling on his own office floor nearly knocks the breath from me.
“I’ve negotiated every kind of contract in this building,” he continues, voice low but steady. “But this one is different. Thisis the only deal I’ll ever put everything on the table for. My only offer.” He opens the box, eyes locked on mine. “Marry me.”
The words land like a signature across the page of my life. My throat tightens, my vision blurs, and then it’s there—the only answer I’ll ever give him.
“Yes.”
And for the first time in forever, I’m not dreading the blank page. I’m looking forward to it—looking forward to penning the next chapter of my life with him.
—The End, Again?—
