Page 2 of Claim to Fame

“If people knew the guy who ran the small-town vineyard also narrated sexy audiobooks?”

“My parents will leave behind this amazing story, one I’m proud to tell to every person who comes through the vineyard. Someday it’s going to be my daughter, my granddaughter, telling that story.”

“And you’re not sure if you want them to tell the story of you narrating dragon shifter pleasure Doms from the old toolshed.”

“More or less.”

Angie considered this as she took a sip of her wine. “I don’t think your problem is the dragon shifters.”

“No? Then what’s my problem?” he asked, grinning around his beer.

“Maybe you really are afraid of people finding out about your British alter ego and it affecting the vineyard. There’s a reason I write under a pen name, so I can’t judge you for that. But you’re full of secrets, Ethan Hart. I have to wonder, does anyone really know you?”

He didn’t know what to say. Slade Hardcastle was a mystery man with a gritty voice and a British accent, an enigma in the audiobook world since he didn’t have a social media presence and only narrated for one author. He was a figment of Ethan’s imagination, a cardboard cutout to conceal his true identity.

But he was also defined by the scandalous words he read, just as Ethan had been defined for much of his life by the scandals of his youth. More than that, his teenage indiscretions had been the only thing anyone in Aster Bay associated with his family for years. While he didn’t regret his decisions for a second, the last thing he wanted to do was have his private choices blow back on the people he loved...again. The last time Aster Bay sank its teeth into his private life, he’d lost everything. It was too big of a risk.

“Double your fee. Think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, his voice inexplicably hoarse.

She tilted her head at him, the move so like the girl she’d been when they were kids growing up in their small Rhode Island town. “Why do you always want to meet here?”

“I don’t—”

“Every time you come to Boston, you want to meet in the same hotel bar. There’s a whole city out there, but it’s always here.”

Ethan pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes at Angie and her too-shrewd stare. Her gaze flickered over him, and he knew she was taking in the exact same sight she’d seen each time he’d met her. The same craft beer, the same suit that always made him feel a little ridiculous, the same hotel bar with yet another Red Sox game playing on the television mounted on the wall.

“It’s tradition,” he finally said.

It was true. It was all part of the ritual. Talk a little business, pretend he didn’t narrate the books as much for his own enjoyment as to help out an old friend, sip his beer and act like he gave a shit about the outcome of whatever game was on the screen, ignore the way his pulse jumped every time he heard heels clicking behind him on the parquet floors.

Because Angie wasn’t the only person he came to Boston to see.

Three years.

Eight meetings.

And his heart still raced at the mere idea of seeingheragain—Hannah, therealreason he was in Boston.

The first time had been an accident. Or fate, depending on how you looked at it. He’d been in town to meet Angie and discuss the very first audiobook he recorded for her. He hadn’t intended to meet another woman—a woman who’d crawl under his skin like the heroines in the romances he narrated, entire clans of highlanders worshipping at their feet.

“You and your traditions,” Angie said with a shake of her head. “Is that why Michael and I can never convince you to join us on Martha’s Vineyard?”

Ethan smiled, some of the tension easing from their shoulders. “No, that’s because your husband snores so loud it shakes the whole cottage. And Martha’s Vineyard is overrated.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“About his snoring? Go ahead.”

“No, about the Vineyard.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the bartender said, setting another beer in front of Ethan. “From the woman at the end of the bar.” He tilted his head towards the woman in question and Ethan’s heart hammered in his chest. How had he missed her coming in? “She said to give you this.”

Ethan accepted the small envelope from the bartender, the kind of miniature stationery used to house gift cards and the notes that came with pricey floral arrangements. He lifted the flap to reveal a black plastic key card to a room in the hotel, the number 714 scrawled across the back of the envelope in a familiar hand.

Angie leaned around the bartender, trying to get a good look at the woman in question. But Ethan knew she wouldn’t find her.

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