“—people are going to go crazy for this.Mr.Murder, Dash.And we’re not only talking about a TV show.We want you to write books to goalongwith the show, you know, tie-ins—”
“Excuse me.”He was a florid man with hair that looked like it had been superglued into place, and he was dry-washing his hands.“Are you Dashiell Dawson Dane?”
My social anxiety was trying to claw its way up my throat into a full scream—dideverybodyat the conference know me on sight?But somehow, I managed to say, “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he said, the words partially directed toward Julian—but he undermined them by gliding forward to interpose himself.Seizing my hand, he continued, “I lovedA Work in Progress.”
“Thank you—”
“I mean, Ilovedit.How did you come up with Will Gower?He’s the most original character I’ve ever met.And the plot!I never saw that twist coming—which one?”He brayed laughter.“I never sawanyof them coming.And do I detect a future romance with his secretary?Don’t tell me!”One hand came up like he might have to stop me physically.“But it’s a mystery, right?That’s what’s most important.This is amystery.I hope it’s not going to turn into a romance.”
And then he stopped.
Like that had been some sort of question.
Julian was watching me with those dark, ultra-intense eyes.
“Uh, right,” I said, “it’s a mystery.I mean, thereisa romantic subplot, but it’s primarily a mystery.”
(In theory, anyway.If I ever managed to write the rest of it.)
“Thank God,” the man said, still clutching my hand.“Do you know what my favorite part was?It was when Will Gower was trying to find who took his favorite pen.And Ilovedwhen he got locked in the basement of that abandoned building.It.Was.Terrifying.But who am I kidding?Every part is my favorite.”
“Wow,” I said.(Which even to me seemed like a sad understatement.) And then I stopped because I literally had no idea what to say.
With a hint of a smile, Julian said to the man, “Excuse me, but would you be willing to let me interview you?I’m working on a secret project for Mr.Dane, and getting feedback from readers on some key points would be tremendously helpful.”
“Oh, I don’t know—” the florid man said.
To me, eyebrows arched, Julian added, “If you don’t mind continuing our conversation later?Maybe I could buy you a drink tonight?”
“Yes,” I said—and barely managed to avoid adding,Thank you.
“I’ll shoot you an email,” Julian said wryly.
“I promise I won’t send it to spam.”
“Let’s find somewhere to sit down,” Julian told the florid man.“I’d love to pick your brain about Mr.Dane’s book.”
They moved down the gallery, Julian with one hand on the man’s shoulder.The man twisted around to look back at me.I gave him the weirdest little wave and smiled.He didn’t smile back.If anything, his brows tightened, and what appeared to be genuine anger flashed across his face.
“You’ll want to be careful of that one,” a woman said behind me.“Readers like that can go rabid rather quickly.”
If you’ve ever had a scare—a real one—you know what it feels like: a gap, a space of nothing—because you’re still trying to process it, or you don’t quite believe it.And then a buzzsaw starts up in your chest, and your feet can’t find the floor, and the world starts to drift away.
But somehow, I turned around.
Vivienne Carver stood there, smiling at me.
The Vivienne Carver who had tried to kill me.
The Vivienne Carver I had put in prison.Where she was still supposed to be.
She smiled.“Hello, Dashiell.”
Chapter 2
I stared at Vivienne.
