Since I didn’t want any bloodshed, verbal or otherwise, I stepped forward and gently tapped Killian’s shoulder, all the while thanking my lucky stars that I’d picked up the trash the night before, and that I was in a T-shirt that was only four or five years old and my yoga pants had been freshly laundered this week. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Then I looked at the petite woman. She had a sleek brown bob, warm with a hint of golden highlights, but her eyes were the same intense blue as Killian’s. The bridge of her small, narrow nose was freckled, and unlike her brother, her complexion was milky white, typical of somebody who worked in an office all the time. The Axelrod T-shirt she wore had autographs from all the band members, and her black denim shorts were neat and looked new. She even had her nails done in pink. There was nothing remotely dark or evil about her, but I reminded myself not to judge a book by its cover. My dad was clean-cut and suave, with the kind of smile that put you at ease, but he was a complete dick.
Killian’s sister stared at me like I’d just saved her from Genghis Khan’s Mongol horde. Meanwhile, I was trying to remember whether I’d brushed my hair. And I wished I were wearing something other than a black T-shirt that said Short Your Innocence and Long Your Pain. I’d custom-ordered it the day I became disillusioned with my old corporate job and drank like my liver was made of titanium.
“Wow. You’re Emma Grant,” she whispered.
“And who are you?”
“I’m Miriam, but please call me Mir. All my friends do.”
Were we…friends?
“I absolutely adore your books,” she said.
My cheeks heated. I could never get used to this. I was still stunned and ridiculously blessed that people not only read my books, but really liked them. Mainly because every time I reread my old books, I wanted to rephrase things, work in new character motivations and tweak descriptions and dialogue. It was an oddly contradictory feeling, because I was generally proud of my writing.
“Hi. Thank you,” I said with a smile, hoping she was too star-struck to notice anything except the fact that she was meeting her favorite author. Then I remembered her brother was a big freakin’ celebrity. She wouldn’t stay impressed for long.
Sure enough, her gaze dropped to my shirt. “That’s such a cool saying.”
“Yeah,” I said vaguely.
“I don’t think you’ve written anything angsty, though. Are you going to?” Mir asked me, half curious, half anxious. “I really love your rom-coms.”
“It’s a shirt I bought on a whim. I’m still writing rom-com,” I said with a smile that would hopefully reassure this woman.
“Oh, awesome. Angsty books make me cry, which makes my eyes swell up like dinner rolls, you know? Not a good look when I have to go to work.”
“I’m sure,” I said, waiting for her to reveal her dark side or go wherever she needed to go to. But she just stood there, her eyes bright and expectant. “Do you want to come in?”
“You don’t have to,” Killian said.
“Shut up,” Mir muttered, then turned to me. “Can I?” she said in her regular voice. Then she nodded to herself. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to. Thank you.”
She was flustered. It was cute. And it made me wonder what she’d done to deserve that ringtone.
She came in and Killian shut the door. He caught my eye and mouthed, Sorry.
I shook my head with a small smile. It seemed like Mir had ambushed him with the visit, like my mom did with me when she needed somebody to sob to about Dad’s infidelity. I wasn’t going to hold it against him.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” I asked.
“Yeah, I ate on the way. An Egg McMuffin.”
“You eat like a kid,” Killian muttered, staying close to his sister.
“Breakfast of champions.”
I raised my eyebrows. He must have something against quick and tasty food. He’d said something similar over the shrimp scampi, too. As far as I was concerned, anything not ready to eat right out of a box or a bag was adult food.
“He disapproves, but I like food that I don’t have to slave over.” Mir noticed the notes on the coffee table. “Wow. Are those for the next book?”
“Yes, for the May release.” I started to move forward to stop her when she began to approach the table. They were my promo ideas and tasks to complete. I didn’t let anybody look at them except my mom and the PR company I’d hired.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Killian said before I could. “Stay away from her inspiration. You’re going to jinx it.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Mir stepped back, her gaze still on the notes. But she was too far away to read anything. Not to mention she’d have to decipher my shorthand. She turned to me. “I’m so glad to meet you. I worked extra hard to take time off.”
“Oh. Well…I hope it’s worth it.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Totally.” Mir was gazing at me, her eyes shining. A moment of silence stretched.
“Um… Want something to drink?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Thank you.”
Killian looked like he needed something strong, but he didn’t ask. And I didn’t offer. He knew where the alcohol was kept, and that he was welcome to it.
I gestured at Mir to sit with me at the dining table then flipped my notebook shut so she couldn’t see anything. Killian joined us, positioning himself between me and Mir.
“So what do you do?” I asked. Mir had spoken of taking time off like it was some sort of feat.
“I’m an accountant. I audit, though, which is the only reason I could take two days off. Otherwise, my manager would’ve fired me for even asking. I wanted more, but I have to drive back tomorrow after lunch. There’s a meeting I really can’t miss.”
I nodded. That was so corporate. And I didn’t miss that lifestyle. But I also felt guiltily grateful that she would be leaving tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t deal with people in close proximity for much longer than that.
“By the way, are those for a book about Miriam Young?” Mir asked, gesturing at the papers.
“No.”
“Who’s Miriam Young?” Killian looked confused.
“One of my secondary characters,” I said. “A popular one.”
“Are you going to write about her?” Mir asked.
“Maybe at some point. I can’t say for sure.” Just because a character was popular didn’t mean my brain came up with suitable ideas for a book. Actually, it was harder to come up with something for an established character because I had to work within specific parameters.
“I hope you do. I love Miriam Young, and it’s extra cool because we have the same first name. It got me so psyched, you know? The story felt more real to me. And if you write one about her, it’ll be like I’m inside the story when the hero whispers my name.”
Killian made a choking noise next to me. He was probably vowing never to read any book with a Miriam as the heroine.
Mir went on like she hadn’t noticed Killian’s reaction. “And…”
I sighed, resigned. I wasn’t going to get any work done today.