Page 130 of Smoke and Fire
“$30 an hour.”
Her eyes widened for half a moment, then returned. “Acceptable,” she said, slightly strangled.
What did she make at the coffee shop? I’d probably shot too high, but I’d be paying her for more than just social media responses and email coordination. This woman held my privacy in her hands.
“Being an author isn’t an endgame for me. It’s the means to an end,” I said, feeling shaky. “I need this to work. Honestly, if no one ever knew that I was Jess, then I’d die a happy man. She’s going to stop writing books at the end of this thirty-book series anyway, if all goes according to plan. And if things work the way I want, this launch is what will make my outside goals happen. Then I won’t be a slave to my computer for the rest of my life.”
As I spoke the words, I felt the cowardice in them all the way to my bones. They weren’t true. Maybe parts of themweretrue, but put together like that? Not at all true.
Writing was one of the only things I’d ever been fully honest with myself about. I loved it. It thrilled me. The quiet of a room and the clack of keys made everything fit.
Dahlia had gone oddly pale. Too late, I’d realized my slip.
“Did you say Jess?” she whispered.
Hesitantly, I nodded. “Yes. My pen name is Jess.”
“One name, Jess?”
“Yes.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “TheJessof the book I was reading when you came in last night?”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Yes.”
“And this morning?”
Several moments of shocked silence passed. Clearly, the reality of what I’d just said began to click in her mind. By the time her brain caught up, she glowered. Why it was so much worse knowing my pen name, I had no idea.
“You’re not joking?”
“Do I seem like the type to kid around?” I asked calmly.
“No, not at all. You are Jess? Jess . . .” She trailed away, voice faint. “The originator of Rodrigo and Rashaad and . . .”
Hearing their names on her lips sent a weird feeling through me, like a shot of lightning. Did she like that? Did I care if she liked them?
I did.
My pride certainly gained some power from her adoration of Jess when I strolled in. Now, it worked against me. Dahlia shot to her feet. Her fingers trembled as she shoved hair back behind her ear, then swallowed hard. Her throat bobbed.
Why so nervous?
So . . . panicked?
“Listen,” she said, “you’ve created a super tough situation for yourself and I get that you need help. But this is . . . I can’t do this.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve got the wrong girl.” She stepped back. “Lizbeth Bailey is down the canyon. She’s already read all your books and if you want someone to step into the shoes of a romance author and live it to the fullest, that’s your girl. Not me. I don’t even . . . it’s not . . .”
With that, she turned and strode out of sight.
5
DAHLIA
