“You look lovely.” I placed myself between him and the mirror, his arch nemesis. I unfastened the top button of his freshly ironed shirt and leaned in to brush my lips against his clavicle. “If you get any more handsome, no one will pay any attention to me. Are you trying to upstage me?”
He scowled. “I could never pull off literary darling.”
“Of course, you could. You can do anything you put your mind to, even graduate college.”
“Not this again,” he grumbled.
“You wouldn’t have to go back full-time. Just a class here and there.” I thought I was demonstrating my faith in Arden’s abilities where his own confidence sometimes faltered. I didn’t realize how overbearing I was being, how like my father.
“I really think this book is going to hit number one,” Arden said, distracting me from my lecture. He’d finished readingThicker Than Watera couple of weeks ago and, as the ultimate compliment to the author, had begun rereading the entire series.
“We’ll see.” I didn’t want to make any predictions in case they fell short. It was hard to gauge readers’ reactions to any of my books, though I was able to determine that they really didn’t like cliffhangers. At least, not when the next one in the series hadn’t yet been published.
Arden reached over to fiddle with my hair. “Are you nervous?”
“A little. I’m far less interesting in person than I am on the page.”
“You write about murder, so that’s probably a good thing,” he said with a smile, then glanced at his phone. “Our driver will be here soon. Kiss me.”
With pleasure.He tasted like mint toothpaste. Earlier today he’d tasted like honeydew from the frozen melon balls he was eating on the fire escape, wearing only his skimpy gym shorts because of the heat. He’d been reading one of my books while I worked. Or tried to, since Arden had a way of distracting me. At one point he’d looked up to find me watching him and exclaimed, “Isn’t the weather just gorgeous today?” It had been hot and humid with only a hint of breeze, but it was the type of climate Arden preferred, and so I’d said, “Yes, it is a beautiful day.”
Shortly thereafter, one of the construction workers had aimed a wolf whistle in our direction, so Arden gave them a show by sitting on my lap and kissing me until I forgot myself completely. His skin was smooth as buttermilk, his mouth both cold and sweet.
“Daydreaming, Michael?” he asked when he pulled away. My face flushed. He always knew when he’d caught me in a steamy fantasy.
“Thinking about earlier today,” I admitted.
“In the bedroom?”
“No, on the fire escape.”
“Ah,” he said with a wicked smile. “Something for your diary?”
“You’ve given me a lot of material.” I should write a romance and dedicate it to him.
Arden rubbed against me, not so subtly, and said, “We’d better go now or we’re going to be late.”
I vocalized my thwarted desires to no avail. On our way out the door, I asked him if he had our cigarettes, and he patted his coat pocket. “Just in case.”
The launch was being held in the penthouse of a building near my dad’s office, one of their regular event spaces, this one a little larger than the last because they were predicting a bigger turnout. I knew from past attendance that its interior was extremely white and minimalistic, decorated with large, oddly shaped sculptures bearing Norwegian names.
We entered into the lobby, where I was grateful to be out of the stifling late afternoon heat. I made a move toward the elevators, and Arden told me he’d meet me upstairs.
“It’s ten floors,” I said, a fact already known to him.
“I don’t mind.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll race you.”
I considered going with him, but we were, in fact, running late, and I didn’t think it fashionable to keep guests waiting at a party in my own honor, so I boarded the elevator and resolved to rejoin him upstairs.
Upon my arrival, I was immediately greeted by Bitzy who’d texted me no less than five times already to inquire about my whereabouts. She’d already staked out the room and had a lineup of introductions ready. It was a comfort to have Bitzy by my side. She would take care of any awkward silences and my habit of drifting off midsentence.Space cadet, my father used to call me.
Bitzy introduced me to aNew York Timesbook reviewer who said their staff were scouting some easy beach reads to review for their upcoming summer editions. I assured him my work was not too mentally taxing, though it might be more rewarding if he were to read the other installments before reviewing the last. Bitzy said she’d have the publisher send a complete set to his office.
“Who says you don’t know how to market yourself?” she said.
We then chatted for a few minutes with a librarian at the New York Public Library who’d madeCold Lake Chroniclespart of their summer reading series. Unlike the reviewer we’d spoken to, she seemed sincerely excited for my newest release and wanted to know if I might make an appearance at their book club meeting. I said I’d be delighted and gave the woman my card.
By this time, Bitzy had secured me a glass of wine and flagged down a caterer to supply us with tiny toasts topped with an olive tapenade and caviar and creamed chive tartlets. I scouted the room for Arden and caught sight of his glossy brown head and the broad back of the peacock blue suit he’d stressed over. He was speaking to a man I didn’t recognize. I’d intended to excuse myself from present company and collect him when Bitzy pointed out my editor. I had to thank her for the countless hours she’d spent sharpening my prose, not only on my most recent release, but also the two books that came before it.
