Then she wanted to smack herself again, because she sounded too interested. But no, it was only logical that she should ask.
Troy smiled the same smile that had made the store clerk stutter. “Alice was a delight. I liked her a lot. She’s a wonderful conversationalist. And she’s so accomplished. She was everything you advertised.”
Michaela wanted to scream as he held forth on Alice Fletcher’s amazing qualities.
Her thoughts literally whirling, she had to bite the tip of her tongue not to ask all the questions buzzing in her brain. Did you touch her? Did you kiss her? Did you sleep with her? Are you going to marry her? How many children will you have? Her mind had taken her ten years down the road.
She had to rein herself in, but her smile felt brittle. “That’s so nice.”
She was sure he’d at least kissed the woman. She looked down at his hands. He’d probably touched her too.
The sane voice in her head—which didn’t even sound like her own—shouted, Stop, stop, stop!
It was only that command that allowed her to hear what Troy was saying. “But the truth is, we didn’t click.” He used air quotes to get his meaning across. And with that bone-melting smile, he added, “So you still need to keep looking for someone great for Alice. She deserves the best.”
Michaela was torn between wondering who else to set up Alice with and jumping up and down for joy.
Until he asked, “Do you have anyone else in mind for me?”
The twinkle in his eye made her wonder if he was stringing her along, trying to make her jealous. But that was ridiculous. Why would he do that? Why would he even think he could?
She did not let a single inflection touch her voice. “I haven’t looked yet. I was waiting to hear how it went with Alice.” Then she tapped her head. “But I’ll certainly look through all the potential names on my list.”
Fernsby, whom she’d almost forgotten, studied her as if he could hear her molars grinding.
Then the doors opened. The line behind them suddenly moved. It was a crush, and only Troy’s hand on her arm kept her on her feet. With the surge of the crowd, they were carried into the bookstore as if they rode the crest of a wave.
It would have been frightening if not for Troy’s steadying hand and Fernsby on her other side keeping her upright between them. The bookstore certainly wasn’t large enough to handle the entire mob, what with tables stacked with books sitting on either side of the front door, filled bookshelves rising up the walls, and the checkout counter off to the right. At the back of the store, two rolling shelves had been pushed out of the way to make room for Mathilda Sullivan.
Michaela was close to losing her breath. The author had always seemed larger than life. But she was almost petite, at least from what Michaela could see behind the table, her hair an elegant swirl of silvery curls. Stands filled with several of her hardcover books surrounded her. The throng pushed Michaela forward down the central aisle that had been cleared to reach the table. A superfan, she’d loved all of Mathilda Sullivan’s books. She’d joined the author’s newsletter and followed her on Amazon and Goodreads, eagerly awaiting each new release.
Now she was here, right before Mathilda. On her left, Fernsby said, “You may go first, my dear.”
Michaela eyed him as if he’d lost his mind. “But you’ve been in line all afternoon.”
“As I said, I was saving that place for you.” Then he gave her a little shove. “Go talk to her.”
She whispered, “Thank you.”
Mathilda Sullivan had a beautiful smile and spoke with the refined tones of the late Queen of England. “Hello, my dear. I would love to sign your book if you would like.”
Michaela realized she’d been clutching the book to her chest like she’d never let it go.
The assistants outside had given everyone sticky notes to write their names on so that Mathilda would know how to spell each one.
Michaela had never considered herself starstruck, especially since she represented celebrities as well as billionaires. But Mathilda Sullivan made her feel like a spellbound teenager, and her voice came out as an embarrassing squeak at first. “Thank you so much for signing it for me.”
She slid the book across the table, opened to the title page with her sticky note on it. And then she couldn’t help gushing, “I want to thank you for what you do. When times were tough, I could turn to one of your books and feel good for a while. Justice is always served, and they were exactly what I needed to escape from real life sometimes. I started reading them as a teenager, and they’ve always made me feel better.”
Mathilda reached out to touch her hand. “Thank you so much for telling me that, my dear. Every writer wants to know that what they’ve written has touched people.” She picked up her pen and signed with a flourish.
Michaela had to gasp. “That’s the same pen Camilla Fernsby always uses.”
Mathilda laughed, a sparkling sound in the crowded bookstore. “It’s our favorite writing implement.”
As she handed back the book, Mathilda put her hand over Michaela’s. “I can’t tell you how special you’ve made this book signing for me. Thank you so much.”
Michaela could have talked with her all night, but there were at least five hundred people waiting behind her. Michaela couldn’t help but move out of the way, saying again, “Thank you.”
