Page 3 of Duke It Out
Write this book and you’ll be in with the publisher.
Write another book and add some dragons and they’ll be interested.
I run my hands through my hair as I look in the mirror. Long red waves… maybe I could pass for a romantasy writer?
I startle as a girl with pink and green hair emerges fromwhat I thought was an empty cubicle, pushing her Barnes and Noble lanyard out of the way as she leans over to wash her hands.
“I read an early copy of the book,” she says, rinsing the soap off. “I’m not usually one for reading memoirs, but it was really good. Can you imagine? Beautiful and talentedandan amazing writer. Some people are just blessed, hey?”
“Uh-huh,” I manage with a smile.
“Good talking to you,” she says, tossing a paper towel in the recycling bin. “Enjoy the book.”
The door swings closed. I inhale deeply, flip my head upside down to shake out my hair then reapply some red lipstick like a shield before I head back outside. I feel my phone vibrate in my bag and pull it out to check – with her usual perfect timing, there’s a message from Anna, my landlord and flatmate.
Hey babe, sorry to interrupt the big book launch, but your rent payment didn’t arrive
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’d timed this to the minute. I open the banking app, and sure enough, my payment hasn’t gone through, and my bills have taken me into my much-abused overdraft. Charlotte assured me that the final payment for the book would arrive today at the very latest.
I’m on it.
With that, I shove my phone back in my bag, feeling a little bit more deflated than I did already. Anna’s one of those friends who rains on your parade, then casually mentions half an hour later that you could have borrowed her umbrella –if only you’d asked. She’s been edgy of late, so the barbs are even more barbed than usual.
I spy Charlotte as soon as I step out into the room. She gives me a wave and heads my way, pausing for a moment to exchange pleasantries with the good-looking bartender guy. He’s holding a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Loving you and leaving you,” she says, approaching me at her usual breakneck speed. “Marcia will look after you. Annabel is going to be signing for ages yet, so plenty of time to have a drink and something to eat.” She air-kisses upwards in the general direction of my face. “Enjoy your night in New York. And remember, dragons!”
Before I have a second to open my mouth, she’s off like a tiny rocket, heading for the elevator. I head for the bartender and smile at him winningly, taking both glasses from him.
“Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure,” he says, and his dark eyes meet mine. Bloody hell. He’s broad shouldered in his crisp white shirt, with a strong jaw enhanced by a scruff of three-day stubble.
“Actually…” I take a sip. “Do you have any more?”
“I’ve just opened a bottle.” He indicates the bar made of dark stained wood, where several bottles of champagne are resting in buckets of ice. This is the fanciest book launch I’ve ever been to. Usually, it’s cheap white wine in paper cups and maybe some tortilla chips in a bowl.
“Okay, great.” I look at him and lift the two glasses slightly. I need a tray. What I actually need is a whole bloody bottle, but I think that might look a bit suspicious. “Shall I…?”
His mouth twists into a half smile, and he raises a hand to stop me in my tracks. “I’ll get you another. Or two?”
“Please.”
I’d like to say that I didn’t check out his ass as he made his way across the room, but I’d be lying, because I’m only human, and he is objectively hot.
“Can I get you anything else? Some food, perhaps?” His thick brows quirk up, and he cocks his head slightly with the ghost of a smirk.
“No, that’s great, thanks.” I get the feeling he’s got better things to do.
“Happy to be of service,” he says, nodding briefly, before heading back toward the bar.
I manage to scoop up some canapés and head off to the book stacks like an alcoholic squirrel. I lean against a table piled high with discounted books by a disgraced influencer, trying to be inconspicuous, watching as Annabel – seemingly inexhaustible – smiles and chats and signs like the professional she is. Occasionally one of the publishing staff will look over in my direction and give an awkward little half-wave. An old man in a grey raincoat and a purple scarf asks me if I know where the photography books are. It’s not very glamorous, and I feel decidedly surplus to requirements. Maybe I should suck it up and embrace my inner dragon writer, then one day maybe all this could be mine…
Half an hour later, I’m shouldering my bag and am about to sidle unannounced through the magazines section when I feel a hand on my arm.
“Edie, darling!”
I turn, and within seconds, I’m wrapped in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and greeted with kisses on both cheeks.
