As Monroe rattled off the accolades of Dr. Lawrence, I grew more determined than ever to find some time to talk to him and hash out this stupid feud. We were adults now and should be able to sit across the table from one another without anger over a twenty-year-old promise. If he’d forgotten it, then so would I.
Dr. Lawrence stood at the podium, and Monroe had taken a seat to the side, his head cocked, listening intently. His fingertip rested on his face, emphasizing the high, sharp cut of his cheekbones and strong line of his jaw. He’d grown his hair longer than when we were young, and I imagined curling it between my fingers. I could still smell his cologne from our kiss—oranges with a faint cinnamon scent.
Startled, I broke out of my reverie as people clapped around me. I joined them, annoyed I’d once again allowed my personal life to interfere with my professional one. It wasn’t fair to my client, and I vowed that for the rest of the night, which would consist of small talk at the book signing and the reception planned afterward, my sole focus would be on Dr. Lawrence.
The talk over, several people stood in a circle, in an animated discussion with Dr. Lawrence, and I approached to offer congratulations.
“Ezra, nice of you to come.” Her friendly gaze swept over me, and we kissed cheeks.
“I’m always happy to support my clients.”
Her literary agent waited at her elbow. “Joanna, the table for the book signing is this way.”
I walked with her to the table, which was set with her books piled high. “Go ahead. A line is already forming. We’ll talk later.”
For half an hour I watched her converse with people, sign books, and take pictures. I’d no idea authors could generate as much excitement as movie stars, but then I remembered the hoopla overHarry Potterand thought it might be good to wean myself off the models and concentrate more on movie rights for books. I made a note in my phone to talk to Sunny about it. My parents didn’t believe in this side of the business as much as in the high-profile movie stars and models, but I wanted to expand. It was something I’d planned on when I moved out here, away from their influence.
At the reception afterward, I introduced myself to two people I didn’t know, who had remained at Joanna’s side. One was a young doctoral student of hers, and the other a contemporary psychologist studying the effects of poverty on growth in young children.
“Hi, I’m Ezra Green, Dr. Lawrence’s film agent.”
Both women greeted me warmly, then returned to their discussion while I checked my phone. I had invites to a few openings, but at nine in the evening, I wanted nothing more than to take off all my clothes, climb into bed, and go to sleep.
“What are you doing here?” Monroe’s unfriendly voice cut into my musings.
“I don’t even get a hello?”
He frowned, and after checking that the other people had moved out of earshot, presented me with a face that was anything but welcoming. “Do you deserve one?”
“I believe I do. And until you can tell me why you’re so angry with me, I’ll continue to think so.”
“You’re really a piece of work. You disappear for half my life, decide to walk back in, and expect me to fall into your bed like nothing’s changed.”
“Fall into my bed?” I kept my voice to a muted squeak. My astonishment set me to sputtering, and it took all my self-control not to tear into him. Several deep breaths later, I felt safe enough to talk again. “What the hell are you talking about? I was right where I said I was. Where you knew I was.”
“Years ago I might’ve been interested in hearing your bullshit excuses, but not now. I’m too old for games.”
Flabbergasted at the level of his anger, I wasn’t about to get into a verbal sparring match with Monroe when my client stood less than fifty feet away, and yet I couldn’t let him flay me alive with that sharp tongue. I grabbed his arm, and when he tried to shake me off, as I knew he would, I held on tighter. “Do you want to make a scene in front of people?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Let go of me.”
“Only if you promise to talk to me and not run away.”
“That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
Thoroughly exasperated now, I snapped. “Why do you keep saying that? What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed and held my hands up in front of me. “You know what? Go ahead. If you really want to leave and not talk things out, feel free.” I took a step back, but I had to admit that seeing Roe riled up was a bit of a turn-on. His cool demeanor cracked, and his eyes spit fire.Damn.I wanted to grab him right there.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he growled.
“Oh yeah, right. You’re wound so tight, I can hear your teeth crunch like you’re cracking walnut shells.”
His eyes narrowed, and as if to prove my point, he gritted out, “I said I’m fine.”
The fuck he was.“Prove it. Have a drink with me.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to do shots, Roe. One drink isn’t going to kill you.”
