Page 43 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Forty-Two

HOLLY

Incredibly flustered, I stow my phone before things get worse, and opt to check out the other authors. I’ve got to get through tonight yet. Ugh, how? How, when I can barely handle a few text messages?

I meet a new to me author, telling her that I’ll come back to grab a copy of her small town romance.

Some other writers I add to my to be read collection.

I wish I had enough money to buy everyone’s books, but I don’t.

I don’t even have my bookshelves yet which are in a shipping container somewhere on their way to me with the rest of my furniture.

Truth be known, I’d rather own more books than furniture anyway…

Wait, I do own more books than furniture—I don’t have any furniture.

Right, next week once the New Year insanity is over I need to contact that fucker with the beer gut and his greasy fucker minion and ask where my stuff is because they haven’t responded to any of my emails yet.

It’s probably a scam. You probably have no furniture now , my intrusive thoughts crawl under my skin. Imagine if I lost everything. Imagine if I had to start all over. A tear patronizes me but doesn’t fall. No. No way. I am not getting all emotional right now.

It’s been at least ten minutes window shopping pretty books from hundreds of authors and clearing my head so I check our table, spotting a journalist with Quinn and Cyrus. I keep away, strolling down the next row of writers and my eyes freeze instantly to her.

Izzy Wentworth.

Heart pounding, breath halted, and legs paralyzed, I watch as she swishes her red tendrils behind her back, signing a book for a reader with what looks to be a glass calligraphy pen.

She is absolutely stunning. Her eyelids are coated in a metallic shimmer, matching a similar gleam over her fair skin.

Her black dress is fixed so tight around her waist that her bust spills out from the top.

She catches wind of me staring and winks as if she knows who I am, then a lump the size of a golf ball lodges in my throat.

Am I… am I crushing on Izzy Wentworth right now?

I am totally crushing on Izzy Wentworth.

I glance back at Cyrus, only barely able to see the top of his head from this angle. He won’t mind me gone for a moment longer , I coax myself, queuing in line for her behind the four other people. “Izzy, oh my gosh. It’s an honor.” I shake her hand, blushing like a school kid.

“The pleasure is finally all mine.” Finally? “Am I detecting an accent?” she adds.

I chuckle nervously. “Yeah. I’m from Australia,”

“A long way from home. So what brings you all the way up here, then…?” She pauses, waiting for me to fill in my name.

“Holly. And it’s a long story, maybe I could write a novel.” I laugh. “Nah, I’m working for?—

“C.M Stone,” she says in a seductive, playful tone, dancing her brows.

“Yeah… how did you know?”

“Aside from the fact that he mentioned you were coming, he’s barely taken his eyes from you all day.”

Oh, god. We’ve blown it. We’re done for.

Wait, he told her I was coming here?

“Oh, yeah nah… I uhh… H-he…” I stutter. What do I even say back to that? If she’s noticed something then obviously I’m not doing a very good job keeping this a secret, and neither is he. She cackles and I know she can see right through me.

“Oh, gorgeous girl, I’ve been writing romance books for more than fifteen years.” Yeah, I know. I’ve read and own them all, plus I’ve had plane sex thanks to one of your books. “That look only comes once in a lifetime, Holly.”

I say nothing, my body’s only reaction is to swallow.

God damn. I am so in love. And you can’t hide love .

She smiles, then peers over her shoulder to her personal assistant—who I didn’t even notice until now—and gestures something I can’t make sense of.

The girl bends down, reaching for something under the table.

“He wanted me to give you these,” she says, passing me four pink gift bags that probably weigh more than me. My jaw hits the floor, peeking inside of the bags. It’s not just a few of her books—it’s all of them. Signed special editions with foiled covers, sprayed edges, and some merch too.

“You’re joking?”

“Nope,” she smiles, bearing her pearly veneers.

“Mr. Stone did this?” I croak in disbelief, using his surname since his first isn’t publicly known. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem at all concerned that clearly Cyrus and I have a thing.

“He did. He mentioned you’re a big fan of mine. He made sure that you were to own every book I’ve written.”

“I have them all already. Well, only the Kmart copies. You’re my favorite author in the entire world. Every book you write I read the day of release, no ifs or buts. You’re who got me into reading in the first place.”

“You’re a lucky woman, Holly. I hope there’s a shelf big enough for these,” she says playfully.

“I do, actually.” There’s enough room for my thirty-five books to be precise.

Cyrus’s library.

“Sorry, excuse me…” The reporter that was previously with Cyrus politely interrupts. “May I?” she adds, holding her camera and notepad up to Izzy.

“Sorry, I’m holding you up.”

“No, you’re not at all. Did you want to take a photo before you go?” Izzy asks me.

I fumble with my back pocket, reaching for my phone. “Oh, I would love?—”

I catch a glimpse at the text message from Cyrus spread across my screen and I feel my cheeks burn in an instant.

Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:

You look so fucking beautiful when your face lights up like that. Consider them your belated Christmas gift, angel. Love you x

“—I’d love that… uh… please,” I finally speak.

“Allow me, ladies,” Cyrus’s voice creeps up from behind me, taking my phone from my hand. God he looks good in a suit.

“I’ll come back later, sorry,” the reporter whispers, sneaking off.

“Stone. It’s been a while,”

“Trying to steal my P.A. are you, Bella?”

Bella. Izzy must be her nickname, maybe it’s short for Isabella.

“There isn’t a soul on this earth that has the power to do that.”

Cyrus, who’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat at me, nods in agreement, gesturing for me to stand beside Izzy.

She was right: that look only comes once in a lifetime.

“Say cheese, ladies.”

While he takes the photos, looking at me the way he is, I mentally go back to a quote from one of the men in Izzy’s book.

“Our love went from zero to one-hundred, then somehow lasted for an eternity in slow motion.”

Wow.

I really am living a cliché romance…

Mechanical sounds of the entry door’s latch unwind, echoing into the room around me. I’ve been waiting for Cyrus to come back from chatting with Quinn for half an hour, and I can’t help but feel all nervous and giddy.

“There’s my girl.” My skin flares with goosebumps to his words. The way he says it… my girl. It does something to me that I couldn’t fathom words to explain. “I’m so sorry for making you wait, it took me forever to get rid of the old sod without sounding too obvious.”

“I missed you today.”

How silly does that sound? Saying I missed you , yet we’ve spent the entire day together. I haven’t touched the man since eight this morning other than an accidental hand touch, and my body is buzzing like I haven’t seen him in weeks.

“Fuck. I missed you too, angel.” His lips meet mine with a sense of impatience and longing.

Each passing swirl of his tongue around mine feels like an apology.

“I hated today. I hated not looking at you. I hated not touching you. I hated every second of this day. Come, let us wash away this tedious day. I will bathe you and do your hair for tonight, how’s that? ”

My words are barely audible behind the desperation and fragility of his affection. “You want to wash me?”

“Oh, yes.”

Something tells me that neither of us are going to be bathing with the anticipation of getting clean. And we’re definitely going to need a shower after.