Ravi narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“She doesn’t believe me.”
Ravi juts out his chin. Is he actually thinking about how to answer that? The fact that he needs to consider it means D.M. probably isn’t that attractive. “He’s really nice,” Ravi says. “Have you thought about asking him to step in for the writer’s class?”
I bark out a laugh. The one I sold out last month, where the resident writer emailed methis morningto tell me she couldn’t make it. It begins Tuesday. “D.M. is too big for something like this. There’s no way he’d go for it.” Even if it would be a dream come true.
“You could always ask,” Ravi says.
I look at the clock. “Two minutes until go time.”
“True. Might as well begin the store introduction.”
Anxiety and anticipation creep into my limbs. “Is the mic on?”
“Should be.” Natalie claps her hands together. “Let’s go make some money.”
She has no idea how badly we need to do that. I can’t keep bankrolling the store the way I have been. It’s not a sustainable business plan.
I make my way through the surprisingly eclectic line of people. Thrillers entice a broad range of readers, from older men to young single guys to moms. Lots and lots of moms. Women of all ages are talking about their children or subtly bouncing on the balls of their feet despite leaving their babies at home. There are groups of teens and couples. Does any other genre bring in such a wide age range as this?
Maybe mysteries—but those are like a thriller’s sweet stepsister. Most of the women here are somewhere between true crime podcasts and Netflix’s latest killer documentary.
Ask me how I know.
It’s seven now, but D.M. is still somewhere in the back gathering himself. Maybe he has a pre-event routine he needs to tend to. I’m trying not to panic, but this guy notoriously doesn’t like the limelight, and I haven’t even seen him yet.
Guess I need to stall.
“Welcome to Piper’s Books, ladies and gents,” I say loudly into the microphone, then wait for the general din in the room to recede. “We are excited for our event this evening and to welcome the much-anticipated D.M. James to Nashville.”
There’s a wide variety of hollering, whooping, clapping, and even some catcalls. Did those ladies snatch a view of him coming in, too?
Natalie leans against the wall in the back, grinning at me. Fine. I’ll admit that part of this crowd is due to her. If she hadn’t gotten the word out, many of these people wouldn’t have known that the best thriller writer of this day and age would be here tonight.
Hopefully. I mean, I trust Ravi, but I still haven’t gotten a peek at the guest of honor.
Every person who could fit into this building is blinking at me right now, waiting for me to step aside and let the man of the hour say a few words.
Only,where is he?
Over my shoulder, the path to the back storeroom is clear, and the door is still closed. I search for Ravi and find him standing on the romance endcap, bordered by pops of bright colors and couples in questionable poses. I lift my eyebrows, and he seems to read my stress because he immediately scurries between two rows of books toward the back.
While I have a rapt audience who are each paying my store a minimum of $24.99 for D.M.’s new hardcover—the only way they’re allowed in the meet-and-greet line—I think fast and snatch one of the books off the stack on the nearest display table, flipping to the author bio on the inside cover. There’s no picture, which is weird, but his choice.
“University of Tennessee alumnus D.M. James got his start crafting stories at the tender age of seven when he first wrote about dragons discovering a portal into a human world.” I stop, lifting my gaze. “Raise your hand if you want to get your hands onthatone.”
Every arm in the room shoots into the air, mine among them.
“Think we can convince D.M. James to delve into the world of fantasy thrillers? Tonight is our chance.” I turn back to the bio. “A native of Tennessee, #1New York Timesbest-selling author D.M. James is the two-time winner of the Edgar Award, the ITW Thriller Award, and a finalist for theLos Angeles TimesBook Prize.”
What a mouthful. I scoured the U of T alumni page the first time I ever read this bio, but the only people with the surname James were women, and Nat just confirmed this dude is a guy. I sneak a peek over my shoulder, but the back is still empty. Sweat beads on my temples.
“I think we all want to hear from the man of the hour now, but if you’ll bear with me for some light housekeeping, I’d like to remind you that you need to purchase a book from Piper’s Books in order to be in the line. Proof of purchase is required. D.M. will only sign two books per person, so with that ticket, you can have a second purchased book or anything from his backlist you brought from home. Keep the line moving and choose wisely!”
The click of the storeroom door echoes, spreading relief through my entire body. I turn my face slightly and see two menin my peripheral vision. I could kiss Ravi for dragging him out here.
“Without further ado, let’s hear it for the man you’ve all come to see, who happens to be my favorite author and one of the most talented writers of our day. Put your hands together for the incredible D.M. James.” I start clapping as I step back from the mic, but the sound is swallowed by rising applause. My heart thuds in anticipation. I’ve been looking forward to this from the moment D.M.’s publicist contacted me about hosting him. My wheels immediately started turning, recognizing the golden chance that fell in my lap and how I could use it to my advantage. Not only in a personal capacity—favorite author, remember?—but in a professional one as well.
