“Okay, but to get female readers, you need to include emotion. They’re not really into the mysteries just for the banging. They need an emotional connection, so you have to build up the main characters on that level.”
“But… why?” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s so boring.”
I’d come across plenty of people with that mindset over the years. I had long since given up arguing on behalf of my genre. He didn’t get it. More importantly, he didn’twantto get it. That meant I didn’t want to take the time to explain it to him because it would be a waste.
“I could use another drink.” I moved to stand, but he wasn’t ready to end the conversation.
“The server should come around.” He reached out to touch my hand, but I smoothly evaded him.
“I need to stretch my legs,” I lied.
The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized the aisle between tables was being closed off by a different individual. If I thought Andrew was boring—which I did—I still would have taken ten of him over one of the man looking back at me with a mocking smile. He reminded me of a smug serial killer from a Lifetime movie.
Joey. He was here again. My heart sank.
“Hello,” he drawled in a raspy voice. It sounded unnatural, making me wonder if he’d watched some bad porn and thought that was what women fell for.
“Hello,” I replied warily.
“Long time no see.”
His eyes were bright, but there was something predatory there. He wasn’t overt when looking at me. He didn’t focus on my chest … or lower. He did puff himself out to the point where there was no way I could get around him without risking an accidental grazing.
“You seem to love these events,” I commented to buy myself time.
My phone was on the table. I could text Hayley for help. How would that make me look, though? Technically, Joey wasn’t doing anything other than trying to talk to me. These events had been designed for that. He wasn’t touching me. He wasn’t making crude comments. He was just staring and making me uncomfortable.
“Andrew Fisher,” the romance hater announced, extending his hand to Joey. “Are you an author?”
Joey seemed caught off guard by the introduction. After a moment’s hesitation, he took Andrew’s hand and shook it. Hedid not provide his name. Instead, he merely smiled. “I’m a reader. Actually, I think I might be Bree’s biggest fan.”
“Really?” Ever dry, Andrew nodded. “What do you think about the alligator shifters with the scales?”
Joey’s forehead crease would have made me laugh if I hadn’t felt like a caged animal. The only way out of my current predicament was to climb over the booth seat at Hayley’s table and escape down a second aisle. Hayley was currently up at the bar with three of her readers, lost in her own little world. There was no stopping Joey from moving to that aisle to block my way if I opted for that route. If he did that, odds were I would panic. That was not a look I wanted to put on display at an event like this.
I was still debating my options, one ear trained on the stilted conversation between an annoyed Joey and an oblivious Andrew, when someone appeared on the other side of Hayley’s table. Brody, his cheeks flushed with … something, snagged gazes with me.
“Hey,” he said warmly. “I wondered where you went. There are readers waiting to talk to you about that trilogy you’re planning.”
It was a very specific comment, and I had no idea what he was talking about. Then he held out his hand to me.
“Come on.” He urged me to climb over the booth, as I’d been considering. “They want to talk to both of us.”
In that moment, I recognized exactly what he was doing. I didn’t need a hero. I wasn’t a book character. Or if I was a character, I was the sort who could save herself. I didn’t write damsels in distress. I wrote self-rescuing princesses. And Brody was still trying to save me.
I could have pitched a fit or pushed past Joey, but something inside warned me that was a terrible idea. He was a short-fuseguy. How did I know that? I wasn’t certain. It felt true, and that was enough for me.
I made up my mind on the spot and took Brody’s hand. He steadied me as I made the climb, and once I was on the other side of the table—my body pressed against Brody’s because he hadn’t moved away when I landed—I felt infinitely better.
His hands moved over my arms to bolster me, his gaze searching. The fear I’d felt only moments before, the bone-deep anxiety that had spiked out of nowhere, was gone. He didn’t ask me if I was okay. That would have been an obvious slap at Joey, and he was clearly trying to avoid that. There was a question in his eyes, though.
“I was just heading over,” I assured him. “I need another drink, then we’ll do the thing.” His excuse to claim me had been weak, but I was committed to the lie now.
He smiled. “Right. Let’s get you a drink.” He put his hand to the small of my back and ushered me toward the bar.
Joey called out to stop us. “I came over here to talk to Bree.” He sounded like a petulant child.
Brody’s gaze skimmed over Joey, lingered on Andrew a beat longer, then moved away from both of them. “We’ll be up at the bar.” His tone was flat and dismissive. He didn’t look over his shoulder as he led me away.
