“Anders told me you used to be a PA for authors at Random House,” I said, trying to rein in my anxiety.
“And Penguin. I actually worked for an author who threw up five minutes before every signing.”
“Every signing?” I asked, feeling more overwhelmed by the fact this fear might never go away.
“Like clockwork.”
“I haven’t puked yet.”
“See, already above the curve.”
“There’s still time.”
His laugh calmed me a little. “I think you’ll do just fine.”
“Thanks,” I said, appreciating his dimples.
Andrew had been assigned to me by Bartley Press for PR. I didn’t want a personal assistant, preferring to do things on my own, and my own way, but Anders had insisted. Andrew was way too good looking to be my assistant. Leaning against the wall with long, thick legs, wrapped in perfectly tailored slacks, I could already picture him starring in some of my more imaginative sex dreams. He was a distraction I didn’t need. He was probably straight, and Anders had handpicked him to torture me.
He looked at his watch as he approached me. “So, you don’t have to make a speech or anything. But maybe say something like, thanks for coming out, or whatever, and then we can start the line.” He placed his hand at the small of my back, the light touch making me even more nervous as he guided me to the curtain. “You can do this, Wilder.”
It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, having him so close, but as he pulled back the curtain, and the room erupted in applause, I was grateful for his steady hand. Andrew followed me to the table they’d set up for me, leaning in, he said, “Wave, and don’t forget to smile.”
I did as he said, feeling ridiculous, but as I raised my hand the room quieted. This was where I was supposed to say something, but my fear had taken over in the silence. I offered the crowd a shaky smile, my cheeks on fire, I finally managed a few words.
“Fuck, I’m nervous.”
Everyone laughed, and I thought I might actually puke.
“I was worried I would say something I shouldn’t, now that I’ve checked that box, should we sign some books?”
There was a chorus of cheers, and as I got a closer look at the large crowd, my nerves subsided. Everyone had a smile on their face, the excitement in the room palpable, like I could reach out and grab it and save some for when I couldn’t remember if this had been a dream or my reality.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, was the first to walk up to the table. He handed me his book with a quiet grin. I opened it to the title page where a yellow Post-it had the name Griffin written across it.
“Nice to meet you, Griffin,” I said, glancing up at him before scribbling a short note and my signature on the page. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with wide eyes. I closed the book and handed it to him. “Thanks for coming out today.”
“Thank you,” he said, almost too softly for me to hear, and walked toward the exit.
“You’re a natural. Told you, you’d be fine,” Andrew said, with a gentle tap of his foot against mine under the table.
“Is it part of your job to flatter me all the time?”
“It can be,” he said with a mischievous glint in his silver eyes that had me thinking maybe I needed a personal assistant after all.
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:08 PM
SUBJECT: Best Worst Day EVER
Jordan,
How was your brother’s appointment? Did it go well?
The signing was weird, and great, and I’m still a little drunk, but… WOW. Have you ever felt so alone, but at the same time enveloped by a love you don’t deserve? Today was that day, and I wish I could talk to you about it. Face to face. Like over dinner, or here in my condo with wine and… I’m drunk. I’m going to stop before I train wreck even further.
Wilder~
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:19 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
Wilder,
How much have you had to drink?
I’m glad the signing was weird but great, but only if that’s a good thing. I know you’ve been worried about it. Were there a lot of people? Why was it weird?
To answer your question, the appointment was as I expected. It’s normal for people who’ve had brain injuries to have seizures sometimes. We are used to it by now. They gave us a new medication to try. But overall, my brother is fine. Thanks for asking.
Jordan~
P.S. I wish it was easier to talk to you. Maybe one day we can talk face to face.
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:38 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
Text me
470-555-5784
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:50 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve been drinking.
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:52 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
And… I want you to text me. I don’t see a problem. Do you?
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:56 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
No… I mean, maybe. If you were sober you wouldn’t have given me your number. That’s kind of personal information. Three weeks ago, you thought I might be a serial killer.
FROM: [email protected]
Date: Aug 7 8:58 PM
SUBJECT: RE: Best Worst Day EVER
I’m feeling a touch offended, Jordan (not a serial killer).
Three weeks ago, I didn’t know you. And I might not know you, know you, but I know I like you, like talking to you. I look forward to it every day. Of course, it’s personal.
Wild~
I reread the message after I sent it, apprehension filling my lungs as I sank back against my pillows. I’d signed off as Wild, which I’d never done for anyone other than Jax. Goddamn it, alcohol made me stupid. My email sounded needy and dramatic, which, in this second was true, but I blamed my incredibly long day and the two-ish, three-ish bottles of wine I’d shared with June and Gwen after I’d left the bookstore. I typed out a damage control message and erased it, hating myself for being sappy with a guy I’d never actually met in “real life.” I was about to send a simple, ignore me, I’m feeling sentimental, it’s a full moon, and Mercury is in retrograde email, when my phone buzzed next to me on the bed.