Oh…
Oh God.
I hadn’t been about to say that—not that I wasn’t feeling along those lines myself, but you just didn’t say that sort of shit after four days.
After showering, I hurried to make it to my hair appointment. I hadn’t had my hair styled in…I couldn’t even remember the last time. My wild auburn bush was chopped back a good six inches and layered, and I was given bangs, which I wasn’t overly thrilled with. I’d have to constantly style them until they grew out. It was highlighted, which took forever, then blow-dried and straightened into the sleekest and shiniest I’d ever seen it.
“Damn!” I said to my stylist, Trish.
“You’re welcome,” she replied with a wink.
Then, I had to haul arse back to the hotel where Mandy had set up a makeup artist to come and take care of all of that in my room. Mama Jax, my sassy Puerto Rican makeup artist, turned me into someone fabulous.
An hour before the convention, I was in dire need of another shower. My armpits and tits were sweating, and I only had time to rub a cold, wet washcloth over my bits and pieces before I was wriggling my way into a body-slimming contraption for someone a size two, not a size ten.
“Oh my fucking God!” I cried, twisting my hips, rotating my pelvis, and finally rolling the damn thing over my rear.
Fishnet thigh-highs with garters—so hot—and a seamless bra on, I slipped on the magnificent vintage dress. It hugged my curves like a dream, and I had to admit it. I was bitchin’.
Sliding on the black stilettoes and grabbing the matching clutch, I walked out of my room as though I owned the damn hotel. Head held high, strutting my stuff, I made it to the elevator like a queen.
Once the doors closed, I sagged against the back wall, holding on to the railing. Nervous to the point of nausea, I was going to be sick. After spilling everything to Ollie last night, I’d sort of hoped I wouldn’t need to have a panic attack about meeting my readers. However, George Kastor was now haunting my steps.
Those indie signings I had gone to were years ago and thousands of miles away. There was a huge following of the Paranormal Hunters series here. There would be more people here than all the signings I had participated in the past combined.
Dreamstone had been making a big deal about revealing Elaine H. Ford.
The elevator hit the main floor, and as though I wasn’t having a mild heart attack, I waltzed out. Ignoring the mass of people accumulated outside the façade, I made my way to the room where Ollie would be waiting to take my picture.
My heart wasn’t beating; it was vibrating in my chest.
I thought I’d mentally prepared for all of this—handling the masses, the media, the fact that people were going to know what I looked like—but I wasn’t.
Ollie was standing in front of the door, dressed handsomely and freshly groomed. Warmth spread throughout my body as memories of this morning rushed through my mind, melting some of my fear away.
He looked up at me and then glanced back down at his digital camera. Then, I saw it. Ollie froze and slowly raised his eyes back up to me.
With a smile and some newfound confidence, I walked up to him.
“Oh my God…” he said. “Xanthe, I—”
“Didn’t recognize me?” I joked.
“You look…” He took my hands. “Fuck, I can’t find the words.”
“Still want to take my picture?” I said, giving him a jaunty pose, batting my eyelashes, and smiling with mock seductiveness.
Giving his watch a brief glance, he nodded. “Yes, most definitely.”
Reaching out, he grasped the door handle and ushered me inside. There was a plain backdrop hanging on the farthest wall with a stool in front. Dropping my clutch onto a small table, I headed for the stool and took a seat.
“Are you happy to be here?” I asked him. “Excited for your first signing?”
“I’m beyond thrilled now that you’re here.”
“But I mean…being the face of Donovan Colt?”
He nodded, smiling. “I’m eager to meet the fans.”
I beamed at him. “I’m glad. There was no one better for it really.”
Raising the camera, Oliver took a few shots. Then, he came up and positioned me, letting his hands linger, before he took a few more shots.
He laughed. “Try not to smile. I want some serious ones.”
Attempting to compose myself, I couldn’t completely wipe the happiness from my face. Being here with him, it was wonderful.
Again, he glanced at his watch. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“Elaine’s running late.”
“What?”
Then, he looked up into my eyes, and a sense of horror shoved a sharp pain through my vitals.
“Oliver…”
“Yes, Xanthe?”
“Didn’t you understand? Last night, I told you…I know I told you.”
“Told me, what?”
I could hardly breathe. A buzzing took over my hearing, and I felt the blood pool in my stiletto-covered feet. “I’m Elaine.”
“Come again?”
“I’m Elaine H. Ford.”
Oliver Fairfax’s spine straightened to the point where I thought it would snap. “When the fuck did you tell me that?”
There it was. Fear. It sluiced down my body like ice water. This moment had the power to horrifically wound me, and I was very, very afraid of the dawning look in his eyes.
“I told you at dinner that Elaine’s stories were mine, that my mind came up with them.”
“You never said you were Elaine,” he accused.
“I did,” I insisted. “I know I dumped a lot of info on you, but how—”
“You most certainly did not say that you were Elaine H. bloody Ford, Xanthe!”
“Oliver, I’d never have slept with you if I hadn’t told—”
A sharp knock came at the door, and Mandy popped her head into the room. “Come on, you two! We’re ready to roll!”
We stared at her in shock for a few seconds.
Ollie was the first to recover. “Be right along, Mandy.”
Beaming, she gave us a thumbs-up and hurried off, not bothering to shut the door.
“Oliver,” I said softly. My poor heart felt as heavy as iron. I wondered if this was a precursor sensation to heartbreak.
Without a word, not even a backward glance, Ollie walked out the door.
No one was paying much attention to me as I was admitted into the ballroom after showing the security guards my pass. I looked around, and everything was set up, the other authors already at their stations.
Elaine H. Ford’s station was front and center. Huge banners of the new cover flanked mine and Ollie’s table, and a huge one with the words Paranormal Hunters hung above.
Vomiting is not permitted. Fainting and soiling your awesome dress is not allowed.
Ollie was chatting with Mandy and one of the head honchos of Dreamstone, Renee Ericson. I liked Renee. She was good people. Ollie seemed more than comfortable being social with the ladies.
Deep breaths. You can do this. It’ll be okay. It’s all going to work out. It’s going to be just fine.
“Elaine! Oh, I was starting to worry!” Renee came right up and clamped her hand around my forearm, like a vise. “I was going to send someone to look for you. Come, you need to see your station! Ollie is certainly charming. You found the Donovan of everyone’s dreams!”