Rewritten (The Bound Series Book 7) Page 4

  “Will you please send me copies of those?” she asked John.

  “Anything for the woman who made Colette this happy.”

  They laughed, and Colette hugged Eliza. “Seriously, thank you. This was amazing.” She turned to Angus and extended her hand. “And thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

  He grinned and opened his arms. “I think we’re past the handshake stage, yeah?”

  Colette hugged him as John snapped a few more pictures on his phone and Eliza smiled. Angus couldn’t help but wonder what else he’d be tempted to do just to see that open, unguarded expression on her face again. He mentally shook himself. He needed to get a fucking grip.

  After the others left, she asked, “Did you make plans for lunch?

  He shook his head. “You?”

  “Nope.” She studied him for a moment. “You did a great job this morning. But I’m guessing you’re about done people-ing for the moment.”

  A wry grin twisted his lips.

  “Why don’t you let me know what you’d like to eat, and I’ll bring it up to your room? You can take a little break before your next panel.”

  “Or we could both take a break and just get room service.” When she hesitated, he added, “Terra’s paying.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “I could use a rest from people-ing for a bit, too.”

  He followed her as she wound her way through the crowd and toward the exit. Dodging the crowds on the sidewalk, she darted through the revolving doors of the hotel and headed toward the nearest lift bank. He wasn’t trying to be a complete letch, but he couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from dropping to her sweetly rounded bottom. Luckily, he’d managed to raise his eyes before she turned around. The lift was packed, and they ended up with several incarnations of Princess Leia and at least one Jyn Erso between them.

  He and Eliza left the lift and walked down the hall to their rooms. He paused awkwardly as she opened her door then turned and looked at him.

  “Would you mind opening the adjoining door so I can get into my room and get my keycard?”

  She snorted. “I forgot about that.”

  “I’m not what you’d call a morning person.”

  She briefly pressed her lips together as if she were trying not to laugh. “That was...apparent.” She pushed open the door, and he followed her into her room.

  The clothes she’d worn last night were carefully draped over the back of the desk chair, the faintest hint of her perfume lingering in the room. She opened the door between their rooms. He ducked through the doorway and pocketed his keycard after setting his computer bag on his desk.

  “What do you feel like eating?” she asked from the doorway, paging through the room service menu. Her hair fell forward, partially obscuring her face. He had the sudden urge to push it back behind her ear so he could see her eyes. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. The last thing he needed to do was find himself on the wrong end of a sexual harassment suit.

  She glanced up to find him staring at her, and he quickly cleared his throat. He’d been here a week already, he should have the damn menu memorized, but caught in the hold of her hypnotic eyes, he couldn’t seem to remember a thing. “I guess...a hamburger and chips—er...fries. Medium, please. Oh, and a ginger.”

  “They don’t have ginger ale.”

  He shook his head. Christ, what was it about her that made him forget simple common words. “Um...a fizzy drink—whatever they have.”

  “Coke? Sprite? Dr Pepper?”

  “Coke will do.”

  Nodding, she disappeared into her room, and he heard her quietly placing their order. He sighed and shook his head. He really needed to get some work done instead of hovering by her room, hoping she’d smile at him again. Christ, he was a dobber.

  Settling in the desk chair, he pulled his laptop from his bag and powered it on. If he was going to get Escape Velocity turned in by the end of the year, he needed to get his arse in gear. As soon as the computer booted, he opened his document, scrolled to where he’d left off and sat and stared. He’d veered so far away from his original vision that he wasn’t sure how the saga ended, anymore.

  He was still staring when Eliza wandered in sometime later carrying a tray with two covered plates and a couple of Cokes. She set his food and drink on the desk next to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “No prob.” She turned and took a few steps toward her room. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “You’re not staying to eat?” The words had flown from his mouth before he’d had a chance to think better of them.

  She paused and looked at him. “You’re trying to work. I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to get very far before tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m usually still sleeping at this time of day. Since we got off to such a rough start last night, I thought maybe we could talk a little more about this assignment of yours.”

  She seemed a little wary, and he wondered how many men had assumed that “author assistant” meant “open to propositions”.

  “Sure,” she finally said, as she set her bag on the floor and settled at the edge of the chair across from him—resting the tray across the wooden arms. “What do you want to know?”

  “What’s coming up next? Not tonight, but the next few weeks. I know Barbara mentioned that I’d be at a different con every other week for the next six weeks or so.”

  Lifting the lid from her meal, she immediately seemed to relax, and he knew he’d been right about other people she’d worked with. She reached down and plucked her planner from her bag and opened it.

  “After we’re finished in Phoenix, you’re headed to L.A. for a week of writing before the next con. I’ll join you shortly before the event starts, but if you need anything before I arrive, just contact me, and I’ll see what I can do to get out there sooner.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Back at the office.” She took a swallow of her fizzy drink then turned the page and added, “After L.A., we’ll both be headed to London.”

  There was a definite note of trepidation in her voice.

  “Not a fan of London?”

  She frowned. “I have an ex who lives there. At least, he used to. Anyway,” she said, shutting the book and further discussion, “you won’t have an entire week to write. We’ll be leaving on Sunday night, and the event starts on the following Thursday.”

  He took another bite of his burger then grimaced. “Well, that sounds like nothing short of hellish.”

  She nodded. “I feel like we’ll both need to sleep for a year when this is done. After that, you’ve got a month of downtime before you’re due back in the States. Barbara thought you might want to go home for a bit or you can stay in London—your choice.”

  “And you’ll be headed back to the office?”

  She shrugged. “I’m supposed to be getting some time off. I thought about taking the ferry to Ireland, but more than likely, I’ll get called back to work.” She dipped a couple fries in what looked like ranch dressing then popped them in her mouth.

  “Okay, I have to know,” he began. “Who did you piss off?”

  Chapter Seven

  Eliza blinked at him. “What?”

  “Did you fuck up with some other author?”

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he was getting at. “Noooooo.”

  “Are you a new hire, and they’re baptizing you by fire by assigning you to me?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been with Terra for almost two years.”

  He looked confused. “I assumed you’d been assigned to me as some sort of punishment.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her. “Although, after I met you last night, I did wonder if I’d annoyed Barbara, and she was getting me back for something.”

  He grinned, and it was an unexpected flash of beauty that nearly stole her breath. He sobered just as quickly. “I owe you an apology. I was a complete knob last n
ight.” After the briefest of pauses, he added, “And this morning.”

  She shrugged. “I get it. You weren’t prepared for my arrival. I’m sure it was a big shock. But, I think we’re on better footing now. At least, I hope so.”

  “I am sorry, though. You were doing your job, and I overreacted. It’s not like Barbara sent you here keep tabs on me and send her notes on my progress.”

  Unease slithered through her. He hadn’t read Barbara’s latest email. He couldn’t have. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. This tentative truce they’d achieved was going to be blown out of the water as soon as he got around to reading the message. And if he hadn’t mentioned anything by the time he was finished with his afternoon panels, she was going to have to point it out to him. Or worse, she’d have to tell him what it said. Suddenly, she didn’t have much of an appetite left.

  She blinked, realizing that he’d been talking. “I’m sorry, I zoned for a second. What was that?”

  “I just asked what you did before Terra.”

  Her hands went instantly clammy, and her stomach lurched. Yep. She was definitely done eating. She busied herself by setting her tray aside, and took a few steadying breaths while her head was turned. When she glanced back at him, her practiced smile had been glued in place.

  “After I graduated, I took a position interning with a small publishing house in London. From there, I moved into editorial. After—” She noticed his eyes pinned on her as he leaned forward on his elbows. Her carefully rehearsed explanation crumbled. How many people had she relayed this to over the years? But one look from him, and it all fell apart. She fell apart.

  “After?” he prodded.

  She shook her head and forced a smile she was nowhere near feeling. “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. Anyway, after a few years there, I came back to the States.”

  She didn’t add that when she’d returned home, she’d found that Nigel—the ex in question—had utterly destroyed her life, and she’d basically gone into hiding for the better part of two and a half years.

  “I was just curious. Other than your name on Terra’s website, I couldn’t find any trace of you at all.”

  Ice water dripped down her spine, but she forced herself to stay calm. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I was nosy, and I wanted to find out more about you since Barbara basically dumped you in my lap.”

  Eliza didn’t respond. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  “So, you don’t have any social media accounts?”

  She stared at him, still unable to make a sound.

  “I’m not really a fan of Facebook or Twitter or anything,” he said. “I mean, it’s a necessary evil in this business, but it was just so odd to see that you didn’t have any at all.”

  “Are you saying that you...”

  “Usually, my google-fu is pretty good, but I couldn’t find anything on you.”

  Panic gripped her, beating like frantic wings against the walls of her chest, but she swallowed it down. She regularly searched all the variations of her name—her current one, anyway—and so far, she’d remained invisible. It was unlikely that her ex knew how to find her anymore. He’d likely lost interest when she’d vanished. Not that he hadn’t managed to obliterate her life before then.

  She forced air in and out of her lungs, trying to keep her breathing slow and measured, but it stalled in her chest when she heard Angus ask, “So, what’s up with that? How come you don’t have any social media accounts?”

  “Privacy,” she bit out. “I would have thought that in your line of work, you’d understand that.” Pushing to her feet, she grabbed her tray and bag then walked to the adjoining doors. “We both have work to do before the next session. Please be ready to leave by two-thirty.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she pushed the door shut behind her and immediately threw the deadbolt. Hands shaking, she set down the tray of food before she managed to upend it on the floor.

  How fucking dare he search for information about her? If there was something he wanted to know, he could fucking well ask her.

  A knock at the inside door startled her, sending her pulse racing through her veins again. Not that it had slowed down all that much.

  When she didn’t respond, Angus knocked again. “Eliza?”

  She stood, frozen, waiting for a third knock. When it didn’t come, relief washed through her like a wave. She couldn’t talk to him now. Maybe later, when she was calmer. She knew that perusing other people’s Facebook and Instagram accounts was something that almost everyone did as shorthand when getting to know someone—or seeing if they wanted to. But the idea of anyone searching for information about her—especially someone she had a professional relationship with—made her want to vomit. Being attracted to him made it even worse.

  Pulling out her phone, she inputted her name into several search engines, just to make sure nothing had changed between now and the last time she’d checked. The Terra Ink entry was still the only one connected to her. The relief she usually felt was more pronounced than usual, and she sank onto her bed, too emotionally exhausted and stressed to do anything else. She had the presence of mind to set her alarm before she closed her eyes and attempted to practice the relaxation techniques her therapist had taught her. When she woke to her alarm, an hour and a half later, she had just enough time to use the bathroom and run a brush through her hair before opening the door to find Angus outside her room, leaning against the opposite wall.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and a little flare of panic pulsed in her gut as she paused in the doorway.

  He cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology.” He lifted his hand as if he’d reach out for her, then just as quickly dropped it to his side again. “I never considered how invasive it would feel for a person to find out someone had been trying to ferret out information about them via social media—especially someone who doesn’t have a job that requires interacting with the public. I’m very sorry.”

  Swallowing hard, she nodded. “I appreciate that...your understanding, I mean. If there’s something you want to know, just ask. If I’m comfortable sharing it, I will.”

  “Thank you.” He straightened. “We should get back to the convention center.”

  “Right.” She pulled her door shut behind her and fell into step beside him.

  “I’m still not entirely clear on what an author assistant is supposed to do, but I’m hoping that I can convince you to hit a couple of booths and pick up a few things for me.”

  His discomfort was still evident, but he seemed to be attempting to move beyond the awkward, so hopefully, she could, too. “Sure. Give me a list and a budget, and I’ll get on it.”

  He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to her then texted her the list of items he wanted.

  “There should be enough for everything. If not, just let me know.”

  “I can always cover it, and you can pay me back.”

  “That would be perfect. And if there’s anything left over, get yourself something.”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Trying to buy forgiveness with gifts?”

  He shrugged. “Would that work? I feel like a complete knob.”

  They waited for the elevator doors to open. “Just remember, if there’s something you want to know, ask.”

  “Got it.”

  Several hours and over four hundred dollars later, Eliza had gotten everything on Angus’ list and waited while he finished taking selfies with readers and signing their books. When the last person had left his side, he approached her, and she handed back the rest of the cash he’d given her.

  He looked at the money then peeked in her bags. There were a couple shirts, a hoodie, and several collectibles. “This is great. Thanks!”

  “Unless you’re going for that Captain American-wearing-child-sized-t-shirts look, I’m guessing the shirts are gifts?”

  His laugh surprised her, and she couldn’t help b
ut smile at the way his dark eyes sparkled when he grinned at her.

  “They’re all gifts. Want to help me deliver them?”

  “Sure...?”

  He sobered. “They’re for Sarah. I contacted her mom, and she invited us over this evening. I didn’t want to go empty-handed.”

  “I get that.”

  He looked a little lost, but he said, “You don’t have to go if you’d rather not—or if you’re not comfortable.”

  She wasn’t comfortable. Not really. But to be fair, he didn’t look any more at ease than she felt. She was being paid to assist him. It wouldn’t kill her to go with him. After all, he was trying to be especially kind to a reader. She wondered if those stories were the same kind of lifeline for Sarah as they had been for her. If so, seeing Angus would probably do Sarah a lot of good.

  “Yeah. Of course. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “I thought it might be best to go tonight. Chemo is usually worse the next day or two after treatment.” For a moment, he looked miles away, but he seemed to snap out of it just as quickly. “And we won’t stay long. She’ll need to get her rest, and we’ll need to recover from today’s aggressive people-ing schedule.”

  And we’ll also need to schedule time for me to piss you off when I tell you to read Barbara’s email.

  Chapter Eight

  The visit with Sarah had been far harder than Angus had anticipated. Too many memories triggered by the antiseptic smell of the hospital or medical center or wherever she’d gone have the treatment, adhering to her skin and clothes. For almost two years, his younger brother had smelled like that. And, to be fair, so had Angus.

  He’d spent hours with Ewan at the hospital and cancer center. The stench clung to everything—clothes, bedding, furniture, their skin, hair, and even to the insides of his nostrils. In the end, the treatment hadn’t done what it was meant to do. It hadn’t saved Ewan. Angus hadn’t saved Ewan, and Ewan, for his part, had ridden Angus’ arse about finishing the series, practically to his last breath. He’d ridden him harder than even Barbara had.