The other bed was loaded down with boxes of another book. He moved closer, pulled one out. Like the other book, this one featured a woman on the cover. But she was nude—or that was the appearance. The lower curve of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the flair of her hip. She wore a tie, although all the viewer could see of it was the way she held it out from her body, to the side. The tie, oddly enough, had a cartoon character motif.

He ran his finger along the hot pink foil lettering of the title. Exposing the Geek Billionaire.

Aliesha had dared him to write it. For a couple of years, she’d nagged at him—all because he’d complained that he was getting tired of writing stuff that sometimes depressed even him. But he was good at it—it sold well, so he did it.

Then try something else, she’d told him.

L. Forrester had come to life all because of that dare, but this book, in particular, was because of her.

Write me a funny story, baby. Something funny and sexy.

He’d laughed and tried to tease her into bed. Let me just do something sexy instead. She’d smacked him with a copy of the book she’d been reading. The third one he’d published. She’d read it through while he wrote it and while she’d sniffled and brushed at tears as she read it, he’d had more than a few rough spots as he wrote it.

I’m serious. You’ve got a wonderful way with telling a love story, but you always kill one of them. You should write something fun . . . a billionaire, but not some suave guy . . . make him geeky or something. Then give him some classy, controlled girl, and he’s all fumbling around her . . .

He’d fumbled her out of her clothes and into bed, instead.

For two years after Aliesha’s death, he couldn’t write a damn thing—the stories he’d written before no longer worked.

Then one day, he’d lain in bed, that memory circling through his head, over and over again, like it had been on a loop.

He’d sat down at his computer and started to write, almost in a daze. Travis had been there and it was a good thing, because for the next two weeks, he’d barely existed outside that book. It had been this book, although he’d had to rewrite it five times before it felt right.

Two other books had come from L. Forrester before he felt confident enough to try this one, even though it had, technically, been the first.

“You realize everybody thinks you’re a woman, right?”

Trey smiled as he pulled one of the trade paperbacks out. Shrugging, he said, “Yeah. I don’t care.”

He started to sign, ignored the cramping that started up in his hand after the first ten minutes.

Near the end, Sylvia gave him another one and said, “If you can, personalize this one—Max asked you to.”

Trey looked up at her. “Since when does Max read romance?”

“Since never.” She rolled her eyes. “Although I’m still trying. No, he saw them when he was in here signing his and asked if I’d get a copy for a friend of his. She’s a huge fan.”

“Sure.” Trey tightened his hand on the pen. “What’s the name?”

A few seconds later, as he scrawled Ressa’s name inside the cover, he tried yet again to silence the sound of her voice.

We had a nice night . . .

*   *   *

“Heading out soon?”

Distracted, Ressa gave Max a quick glance as she checked to make sure she had everything. Clothes were packed, makeup . . . everything. Why did it feel like she was missing something?

Her heart tugged a little, but she ignored it.

“Yeah. I’m dropping Tori at the airport and then hitting the road. What about you?”

“I don’t fly out until the morning. Taking the night to relax.” He glanced around and then caught her elbow. “I need a minute.”

He caught Tori’s eye. “Would you mind? It won’t take but a second.”

Ressa really didn’t feel like chatting just then. Chatting, talking . . . being around people, even a friend. What she wanted to do was go track down Trey, tell him she was sorry.

And maybe, if that worked, ask him if coffee was still an option.

But she knew that was stupid.

Monumentally stupid.

“What do you need, Max? I’m kind of scattered right now so I hope it doesn’t take brain power.”

“No.” He laughed and turned over a messenger bag, stuffed with books. “Here, just a special thank you. Ah . . . you might want to keep it closed for now.”

Then he winked.

Curious now, she peeked inside and then almost dropped it as she saw the books inside. “Where did you . . .”

“Trade secret.”

Flipping through them, she felt a maniacal grin curling her lips and then, it froze. A cover caught her eye—sucking in a breath, she pulled it out and Max sighed. “Now I told you to wait, young lady.”

She ignored him, practically cradling the book for a few precious seconds before she went to flip through it. Then she stopped.

Her name was scrawled inside.

Ressa,

 

I heard you were a reader. I hope you enjoy.

L. Forrester

Her name jumped out at her, even as she took in the broad scrawl of the handwriting, the quick, almost careless loops and strokes.

“She’s here?” she demanded. Wow. If she could talk to her—

Max laughed and reached out to take the book, slipping it back into the bag. “Oh, don’t go getting any ideas. You’re not going to track the author down—you could hunt night and day and it won’t happen. I asked the publisher to get me a copy. I heard you were a fan.”

She processed that, and then, after tucking the book back into the messenger back, she stared at Max.

“You know her.”

Her accusing tone only elicited a grin from Max. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you tend to know a great many people, Ressa.” He leaned in then, kissed her cheek. “You better go. Your friend is looking this way.”

She glanced back, saw Tori tap her watch.

Swearing, she hitched her bag up. “We’re not done talking about this, Max. I wanna know how you know her.”

“Same way I know you, Ressa. We bumped into each other somewhere along the way.” He nodded at her. “A pleasure, as always.”

A pleasure. She scowled and then rushed back over to Tori.

Tori was glaring at her. “We need to go.”

“I know!”

As they hit the doors, Tori asked, “What did Max want?”

Ressa thought about the book, practically burning a hole through her bag as it rested against her hip. “Just had something he wanted to give me,” she said vaguely. Then, because she didn’t want Tori to ask, she outright lied. “He was also checking up about a con he’s doing in New York, asked if maybe I’d be up there again.”

“That suspense thing? You doing that again?”

“Hell if I know.” Another lie.

“Maybe you oughta look and see if Mr. Hottie will be there.”

They had to jump back out of the way as somebody came speeding in front of them. Tori shouted after the driver, flipping him off for good measure. The interruption gave Ressa time to compose herself and by the time they crossed the street to the parking garage, the heat had faded from her face and she had a curious expression as she eyed Tori. “Mr. Hottie?”

“Yeah. You play all nice and innocent,” Tori said, laughing as she shifted on her seat. “But I saw how you were looking at him. And I saw how he was looking at you. I’m not blind. So, tell me . . . what, did you two jump each other’s bones?”

Ressa felt the blood rush up to stain her face and busied herself with digging her keys free. The rollaway bag she had, had felt so light earlier, and now it seemed to weight a ton.

Tori grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop when Ressa stayed silent. “You did,” Tori said, her eyes rounding. “Oh, man, you did . . . please tell me that he’s as beautiful in bed as he is outside of it.”