Page 46 of Trip Me Up

18

SAM

My fingers ached.My signature—the fake one—had turned into an unrecognizable squiggle, the S and the C the only legible letters. But I was trying. Some of these people had waited in line for over an hour. They didn’t know the book had been written by an A.I. and its author was more fake than the wood-grained surface of the laminated table.

It helped that Qiana was there. She worked the bookstore’s line and printed the names on a sticky note. I gave each person a quick smile, copied the name from Qiana’s note, and then scrawledSam Case.Ten seconds. Fifteen if the person wanted to say something like, “I loved your book” or “It’s great to meet you.” No selfies, please and thank you.

Niall’s line moved a lot more slowly.

When my last person walked away, clutching fifteen dollars’ worth of newly inscribed bound paper, Qiana sank into the hard wooden chair next to me.

“Not bad for a Sunday afternoon.”

From the grin on Qiana’s face, not only was it “not bad,” but it was pretty good.

“Is the publisher happy with the results from the tour so far?” We needed sales data to show how successful the world’s first A.I.-generated novel had been.With the data, surely Martell would approve my dissertation.

“Happy? The Troll is ecstatic. Niall’s book is selling well; he’ll make the lists next week. But your sales are also creeping up. You’re getting great word-of-mouth.”

“Getting what?”

“Word of mouth. People are telling their friends how great your book is, and they’re buying it.”

I made a fist and stretched out my aching fingers. Sales were what Martell wanted to prove CASE’s success. Talking to all those strangers, public speaking, even my sore hands were all worth it if I’d come out the other end with my Ph.D. My heart gave a hopeful skip.

“Are you having fun on the tour?” Qiana asked, gathering up the pens scattered across the table.

“Um.” I glanced at Niall, but he was busy chatting up a fan. He’d tried to pretend things between us weren’t weird. His words had been the same as before:Good morningandHow did you sleep?andWhat did Bilbo think of the park?But his smiles had been the camera-ready ones, and he hadn’t so much as brushed my shoulder with his in the car.

Qiana chuckled. “I know, it’s a hard slog, especially as tight as this one’s scheduled. Have you had any time to yourself to kick back, watch Netflix, paint your nails?”

In the Jones-Hayes household, painting one’s nails involved a trip to the spa and preceded the torture of a social event with scratchy lace or slippery satin. And the argument with Mother that black nail polish should be appropriate for a black-tie event, which I never won. “Bilbo Baggins and I went to the park this morning.”

“Aw. Little Bilbo.” Qiana stared off at the nearby display of cookbooks. “How about you come over to my apartment after? It’s not far from here. And there’s an Indian takeout place next door. It’s amazing.”

I’d been looking forward to snuggling with Bilbo Baggins in bed back at the hotel. I wasn’t looking forward to my other task: deceptive texts. I owed one to Mother to tell her the “road trip” was going well. Jackson had texted, but I hadn’t read it yet. I hated lying to him the most. At least I could be honest in my text to Dr. Martell. He already knew how little I wanted to be on the tour, and he wasn’t expecting me to lie and tell him I was enjoying it.

I opened my mouth to refuse her invitation—politely, of course—but under Qiana’s red lipstick, her smile was irresistible. It didn’t seem like a perfunctoryI-can’t-figure-out-how-to-end-this-interactioninvitation but like an overture of genuine…friendship? Was Qiana serious about wanting to be my friend?

Only because she thought I was something I wasn’t.

I shook my head. “No, I—”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll chill.” And she gave me puppy-dog eyes and a pout as if she actually wanted me to come.

I needed some chill. Especially after that almost-kiss last night. Having a built-in excuse to avoid Niall would be perfect. “Okay.”

Qiana clapped her hands. “Fantastic! I have a baby coral color that’s too light for me but is going to look great on your nails. We can go as soon as I check in with Niall.”

A woman stood next to Niall, so close she must’ve violated his personal germ buffer. I frowned. Sure, he hugged his fans, shook their hands, posed for pictures with them, but there was something easy between Niall and this woman. And she looked familiar. Long, dark hair curling over her shoulders. A magenta suit that somehow looked fun and casual instead of stiff and constricting. Curves for days. Her sharp brown eyes belied her bright, relaxed smile.

Qiana knew her. “Gabriela!” She walked toward her, her arms open, and hugged the woman. Niall towered over them, beaming.

A friend, then. A girlfriend? My insides prickled. Shit, no wonder he’d backed away from me last night.

“Sam. Come meet Gabi,” Niall called.

My boots wanted to remain stuck to the floor, but I couldn’t resist Niall’s and Qiana’s beckoning grins. I forced myself to smile, approach, extend my hand. “I’m Sam.”

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