Why is my editor calling me to Midtown Central Publishing the day before Blindside’s promo tour? After all the hype and push they’ve put behind this book, are they going to cancel the tour? Tension throbs through my shoulder blades, and I squeeze the paper cup a little tighter as I enter the senior editor and publisher, William Macken’s, top floor office in Midtown. The thought makes my stomach roil, considering the fact I’ve put my own life on hiatus these past six months, working crazy (read: insane) hours to get this standalone novel written in record time right behind turning in the last book in my trilogy.
My fingers dig even deeper into the cup. Of course the lid pops off, but I’m not quick enough to snap it back into place before coffee sloshes over the edge and onto my hand. Wincing against the burning pain, I make sure the lid’s secure and follow William’s assistant editor, Jared, as he gestures for me to sit in the leather chair in front of William’s desk.
Leaning against the desk in front of me, he crosses his arms and smiles. “William is running a bit behind. His last meeting ran over, but he’ll be here in five.”
I find it amusing that Jared refers to his boss so formally. Like I don’t know he’s William’s son. The resemblance between the two is eerily uncanny. Whenever I’m in the same room with them, I feel like I’m standing in a time warp staring at the same person at two different points in his life.
The only physical difference between father and son, other than the obvious age, is that William’s light brown hair is more a grown-out and finger-combed look. The longer style does an excellent job covering up the bit of gray at his temples. In contrast, his son’s hair is short on the sides, leaving only bedhead-styled hair on the top. Whereas William prefers designer khakis and Merino wool sweaters, Jared wears a suit and tie. William calls Jared “son” every so often, but Jared always tenses when he does it and only addresses his father as William. Then again, who am I to judge how people label each other; I don’t call the woman who raised me “Mom”. If Aunt Vanessa minds, she has never mentioned it.
I hold Jared’s light green gaze. “Do you know why William called this meeting? He was very vague on the phone. He’s not cancelling the promo tour is he?” I say in a teasing, upbeat voice, then take a sip of my coffee to stop myself from blurting out other bad scenarios that might be behind this meeting. I can accept a cancelled several-day, city-wide book tour; I’ll just take those few well-needed days off before heading into work at the Tribune instead. But what if my publisher decided not to do the extra print run they mentioned last Thursday? Less books will mean that Blindside’s chances of being picked up by more bookstores will drop considerably.
Jared smiles smugly, the slight cleft in his chin disappearing. “On the contrary, we’ve hyped Blindside’s fictionalized version of you being stalked by a serial killer so well since its release last Tuesday that we’re just taking extra precautions.”
I furrow my brow. “What precaut—”
“Talia!” William calls from the doorway, a warm smile on his face as he walks straight to his desk and sits down. “Thank you for coming.”
I instantly straighten. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here, William, but Jared says you’ll enlighten me.”
Shuffling paperwork on his desk, William snaps the papers upright and straightens them. “Due to the increased media interest in Blindside’s release, we’ve received another letter and thought it best to make sure there’s plenty of security during your promo tour this week.”
I quickly set my coffee cup down on the edge of his desk. “I’ve received another threatening letter not to promote the book?”
He nods, but immediately holds up his hand. “Now, the last thing we want you to do is worry.”
“Should we get the police involved?” Why didn’t I realize just how much media attention this book would generate? Considering Tommy’s unsolved murders had started here in New York, I should’ve known better. But I really thought that pitching my book as a fictional story based on true events would keep me out of the media-frenzied spotlight. Apparently that wasn’t the case.
The thing is…I couldn’t not write it. After pitching the one paragraph summary to my editor, before I ever got his feedback, the story just poured out of me. Of course I changed people’s names, and left out Tommy’s connection to my past and the entire romance between Sebastian and myself, but apparently a fictional story based on true events is just as newsworthy as the fact the killer had been revealed and killed.
“We’ve taken care of it,” Jared cuts in as he picks up my coffee and hands it back to me. “Don’t worry.”
“How have you taken care of it?”
William nods and pushes a button on his desk phone. “Cindy, send him in please.”
When Sebastian walks into the room, dressed in a slate gray suit and a deep blue tie, I force my shocked gaze away to address my editor, but William is already on his feet and stepping toward Sebastian, his hand outstretched. “Welcome, Mr. Black. We were just assuring Miss Lone that she’ll be in good hands with your security business for the duration of her book’s promo tour.”
Good hands? That’s what I’m afraid of. “Surely this is overkill.” I set my cup back down and stand, trying to ignore my heart slamming against my chest. I haven’t seen Sebastian since I slipped out of his room at the Hawthorne resort in Martha’s Vineyard six months ago.
When I first got back to New York, he tried to get in touch with me, but I knew that the only way to protect my heart from being completely shredded to bits was to avoid all contact with him. To not let myself get pulled in deeper. Whenever he touches me, he’s like a drug I can’t get enough of, and yet he’d made it perfectly clear he doesn’t do relationships, certainly not anything lasting. Why would I open myself up to that kind of devastating heartache? So I kept my head down and buried myself in my writing deadlines and work for the Tribune instead.
Sebastian shakes William’s hand, then shifts his brilliant blue gaze my way, his tone crisp and to-the-point. “I assure you, my presence isn’t unnecessary, Miss Lone. I’ve read the letters. Someone out there doesn’t want you speaking about this book to the public. I’ve been hired to keep you safe and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
I quickly shake my head. “I think this is way too much. I don’t need a security detail.”
Jared approaches and clasps my tightly clenched hands between his. “Mr. Black is highly trained, Natalia. He will be sure to blend in at the signings, media interviews, and evening events we have planned this week. He won’t stand out as your bodyguard, but he’ll be there, giving Midtown Central Publishing peace of mind.”
“But Mr. Black isn’t even his…” I pause and glance over at Sebastian who raises a dark eyebrow, a mocking challenge in his eyes. Are you really going to say my name isn’t Mr. Black?
Jared releases me as William walks over to rest a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’ll run smoothly, you’ll see. The authors’ event tonight will make a great dry run before Blindside’s promo tour officially kicks off tomorrow. We’ve taken the liberty of booking you a room at the Regent for the evening, since the event will run late. Please make sure to be downstairs in the Imperial ballroom an hour before it starts. I hope you’re ready for all the attention, Miss Lone.” Before I can respond, he squeezes my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go over a few things with Mr. Black.”
“I’d like to see the letters, please.”
William nods to Sebastian. “His company is a security firm. They’re investigating as we speak.”
“Do we know if they’re even from the same person?” I ask, directing my gaze to Sebastian.
He nods. “They are.”
“And?” I raise my eyebrows, frustrated that he’s so non-committal.
“When we have something to share, we will. Just know that more than one veiled threat has been made about the release of Blindside. It’s not extreme to assume you might be specifically targeted.”
I throw my hands up. “This is crazy.”
“Come on, I’ll take you to lunch,” Jared says, clearly trying to calm me down. “I have some PR business to discuss with you anyway.”
Yes, it worries me to think someone might be after me, all because I wrote a book, but what bothers me more at the moment is being kept in the dark. Not to mention, Sebastian’s presence is setting me on edge. I can’t decide how I feel about the fact he’s acting like we barely know each other. Does Midtown Central know he’s Aaron White from my book? I don’t buy for one minute my publisher just happened to pick his company out of the abundance of security firms out there. Straightening my spine, I narrow my gaze on Jared. “I want to see the letters.”
Jared sighs. “I have them scanned on my phone. You can see them during lunch.”
Nodding, I let him escort me out of the room with every intention of grilling him about BLACK Security’s involvement during lunch.
As Jared and I walk into the restaurant, a text pings on my phone.
Unknown: Make sure Ivy League Junior doesn’t get in my way this week. You will follow my instructions, not his. Got it, Natalia?
My face flames with indignant fury. Even though Jared and I haven’t stepped beyond a business relationship, the tone of Sebastian’s text seems to imply there’s more between us. It doesn’t matter that Jared’s been moving toward a romantic relationship the last few business meals we’ve had together. I resist the urge to blast Sebastian with a “mind your own damn business” text while Jared asks the hostess for a table. Instead, I address the bigger issue.
Me: How did you get my number? You’d BETTER not still be tracking my phone.
Unknown: William. Add me to your contacts.
His abrupt order makes me set my jaw. The man doesn’t ask for anything. He demands.
Me: Why?
Unknown: So my stubborn client will know it’s me texting her.
I ignore the unbidden fluttering in my stomach and grudgingly add him to my contacts. I’ve just saved his info on my phone when another message comes through.
PainInMyAss: This isn’t up for negotiation. Is it done?
Smirking, I send him a screenshot of his last text to me.
While the waitress leads us to our table, another text comes through.
PainInMyAss: Begging me already? A blistering shade of red on that sweet ass of yours sounds perfect to me.
The thought of his low, sexy voice whispering that in my ear makes my insides burn. Arrogant ass! I shake my head and shut off my phone, annoyed that he turned my intended dig into some kind of kinky come-on.