Page 16 of Smoke and Fire
Her gaze tapered. “You’re a guy. Writing romance. That’s . . .”
“That’s what?” I asked.
Her teeth clacked together as she fell deeper in thought, then gestured to me with a sweep of one hand, clearly dismissing that topic.
“Never mind. Let’s just . . . I . . . back to the main point. What does writing romance and launching a new book while you’re on a fire assignment have to do with me?”
I straightened.
“Let’s not ignore anything because thisisthe main point. I don’t want to continue if my being a male author in the romance genre is a problem for you.”
Her eyes widened, and I realized a defensive edge had come to my tone. My chest expanded in a deep breath. I let it back out.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She held out a hand. “I should be the one apologizing. As far as responses go, that wasn’t my best. It was . . . presumptive and wrong. I’m sorry. I’m more curious than anything and I’m sorry if I came across as sexist. Please.” She nodded. “I’d love to hear more.”
The sincerity in her tone spoke to me. If nothing else, she clearly had a professional side, which only raised more questions about her. I sent the questions away.
“The novels I write are under a female pen name. I’ve never used an image, a detail, or anything in my pen name that would lead back to me in real life. No one knows the truth except my agent, which makes it easier to maintain my privacy. Before this year, it wasn’t a big deal. Recently, my popularity has grown. The launch of my latest novel could explode that even further. But . . . I need to be available to respond to emails, social media questions, and interviews. That sort of thing. If I go radio silent during this launch, it will stir up more questions. It will stunt the launch.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
“I need someone to become me. I mean . . . my author pen name.”
Her brow furrowed into grooves. “What does that mean?”
“I want someone to be her. To show up for interviews and act like they’re the ones writing these books.”
Her lips turned down. “You want me to pretend to be a female author? Like at interviews and stuff?”
I hesitated. Priyanka had warned me that this was a bad idea over email, but I hadn’t listened. Dahlia’s open air had suddenly shunted to something far more suspicious.
“Well, maybe. Maybe not.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I just . . . this career can’t die yet. I need to give more to it, but I can’t. I don’t want to sacrifice my privacy and reveal who I am, but I also need the income that such a big launch would bring in. My publisher takes a cut and so does my agent, which means the royalties don’t go quite as far. I have very strong reasons to make as much money as I can.”
“You need money, okay. But . . . you want me tobeyou? That’s a lie. I’m no actress. I can’t just . . . what if my family saw? What if Jak—”
She leaned back, pushing away from the table. Panic coursed through me, but I kept myself from reaching for her.
“Then not that,” I said quickly. “If you didn’t want to act like her, then you could run my behind-the-scenes PR, basically. It’s all online, all text. Answer emails, watch social media, that kind of thing. No personal appearances anywhere.”
Her body relaxed back against the seat. I drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t bolted. That meant something.
“You want me to help you respond to emails and social media?”
“Yes. Even that would be so much better. Right now it’s all just a building disaster. I’ve been ignoring it for too long.”
She waved a hand in front of her.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re bright and bubbly and funny andhere.”
“We said maybe fifty words to each other before you proposed this. Clearly, you thought this out last night after meeting me for the first time. How could you even know who or what I am?”
“I stand by what I said.”
