Page 46 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Forty-Five

CYRUS

There’s not a single eye ball that isn’t locked in a fixed position on my woman. Man, I’ll never get sick of saying it…

My woman.

I admire her as she stands brave and tall up on the entry stairway while the host announces her to the fellow authors, publishers, and narrators alike down below.

I keep enough distance as to not look so obvious that I’m so desperately, and hopelessly in love with her, though I’m certain it’s very clear.

Part of me— a whole lot of me, actually— wants to cave these people’s noses in for having the audacity to drift their retinas upon her.

I won’t, obviously, I’m not an idiot. Some look like they’re even salivating at the mouth, as if they might have just in fact pictured her sitting on their dicks later tonight.

Come to think of it, their gaze might have something to do with the fact that she looks just fucked, if that was a describable feature: slightly static sex hair with cheeks the color of a freshly slapped ass.

Then there’s the women. Simply staring, drawing in her beauty, and probably wishing they could pull off wearing a dress like that, or have her natural tan, or could manage to have hair that sits around her face the way it does.

I’m no woman, but I can only assume that they’d compare themselves to others like that.

My sisters did it all the time growing up.

God, I miss them.

I haven’t seen them since dad’s funeral. We lost touch after the estate was given to me. It’s why I can’t bear to get rid of their belongings that take up space inside, because it’d mean getting rid of memories.

I quietly clear my throat, looking away from Holly while she is announced as my assistant and editor under Riverton House Publishing.

I hate this. I hate not being able to stand beside her.

It’s a kick in the guts, and my reminder that I can never truly publicly treat her the way I want to… the way she deserves .

I want to scream from the rooftops that she is my woman .

Show her off to the world. Put it in headliners.

Make it damn fucking clear that I love her more than my lungs need air, dammit.

My fists clench under frustration and disappointment, then a gentle applause welcomes Holly, pulling me back into focus as she sways down the stairs.

I’m up next, and the last for that matter.

Don’t look at her ass.

Don’t look at her ass, Stone…

Dammit , I cuss internally, because I did just in fact look at her backside. I make a quick recovery, adjusting my glasses, and give them a brief wipe down with the handkerchief…

The Holly-climax-stained handkerchief.

How am I going to manage the entire night not looking at her like this?

Today was hard enough, but now? She is diabolically stunning.

Fuck, I couldn’t even leave our room tonight without making her cum for me first. Had I left it until we got back I’d probably not be able to resist the urge to fuck her on the dance floor.

A subtle flare of a brow from the host is my queue to get into position. “Please welcome, award winning and bestselling author C.M Stone,” the woman speaks into her mic and I glance over the faces I’ve grown familiar with. Some I’ve come to love and admire, nodding, and smiling at them.

My jaw tightens as I watch Quinn plant his dirty old mitt at the small of Holly’s back, pecking one side of her cheek, then the other.

Careful. Holly is mine, old man .

When Holly looks back at me, her hand strokes down her neck, right along the delicate area I previously had my fingers pressed against, and I just know for certain that she’s teasing me with her thoughts.

A chuckle breaks free from my nose, humored by the delicious fact that Quinn has no idea of the things I’ve done to Holly.

I’m so glad that I didn’t leave any marks around her neck from gripping it so tight.

And god fucking damn, had I known she would be into breath play I would have offered it to her sooner.

The host continues my introduction. “Local to the cozy town of Banff, Stone is known for his international bestselling novel In The Shadows . A dark, erotic, stalker romance with… many … happy endings. Stone is striving for the glory of becoming a New York Times bestseller. On days that he isn’t writing, you may find him deep within a book himself or tucked in the basement whittling away, carving decadent art that can be found in many eccentric homes all around the world or at events. A round of applause for C.M Stone.”

But I barely hear the cheer that follows, for my concentration is focused… somewhere else.

Holly .

My phone vibrates against my thigh. I don’t usually pull my phone out while mid conversation, but since I’m being bored to my grave by Bentley—an old pops telling me the same damn story for the umpteenth time from his bestselling veteran war novel—I peek the screen half way out of my left pocket.

It’s a message from Holly.

Miss Holly Cate:

You look so…

She’s sitting a few people down from me, why would she be messag ? —

Miss Holly Cate:

Fuckable in that suit.

Oh .

As if it wasn’t satisfied moments ago, my dick wakes instantly.

And then I think my brain must start short circuiting because the series of noises that fly out of my mouth are those that no sane person would perform—I begin coughing on my champagne like I’ve just attempted to drown myself in it, dropping my phone to the floor in the process.

Message side up.

We can’t have anyone seeing that! Especially Quinn, who’s sitting on the right of me, and a few others from the company. My eyes begin to water from the fit of coughs, and despite the frog in my throat worsening, I try to reach for my phone to no avail.

Bentley all of a sudden jolts upright, cloaks me from behind, launches me from my own seat and begins some kind of ritual in a forwards and backwards motion very aggressively.

The Heimlich.

Is he…

Is he trying to…

Revive me?

I don’t know how he’s even lifting my feet from the ground if I’m honest. I’m well over six foot and two hundred forty pounds the last time I checked. The old man is half my size and a fucking fossil—a dirty, smelly, old dug up, prehistoric fossil .

The commotion causes a scene, and a few people leap off their chairs to aid me, others gather from nearby tables…

including the event photographer. Which I didn’t need.

News flash, I’m not actually choking! But I might just die if they see my phone face up on the floor by my feet with a text message from my employee about my fuckable appearance.

Quinn stands, throwing his hands over his mouth, then the vein bulges from his neck yelling God only knows what to Bentley. None of it makes sense in the form of verbal words, but I can imagine what they might be: Nooo, not my bestseller! The money! If he dies I’ll be broke, again!

“I’m good, man. I’m good,” I repeat the sentence a few times with a random cough in between, but he doesn’t hear me so I just accept my fate being locked in a bear hug.

While I’m being swept across the floor, my eyes find Holly, who looks as if she doesn’t know whether to laugh at the shituation or cry with shame.

I eventually stop being revived , and Bentley slaps me on the shoulder. “Are you okay now?”

I mean, yeah. I wasn’t dying.

Through a very withdrawn smirk, I say triumphantly, “Yes, thank God you were here to… save me.” I tap him on the back in the most sincere way that it’s almost too sarcastic. “Thank you, dear friend.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I’ve saved a few folk in my time. Back in the War of?—”

Oh, here we go again.

I tune him out, and now that everyone is looking at me I clear my throat, resuming my seated position.

Even though Bentley was already talking, not that he noticed, Quinn then addresses me with haste.

I kick my phone under the table to finally hide the still very clear, very obvious Holly Cate message blown up on my screen, which had another message being composed.

“What the f?—”

He pans the room, lowering his head shamefully, but not his eyes as they stay on mine.

Shit. He saw it, didn’t he? He knows I’m fucking my employee… his employee. Shit. Fuck. Oh, I’m so screwed.

“What the fuck happened, Stone? Are you alright?”

My stomach flips, turning the champagne into a bubble bath. I can’t take this anymore. The hiding is worse than a full time job, and it’s only been a day. I hate it. I fucking hate it. “Bubbles went down the wrong hole is all,” I brush him off, almost emotionless. In shock, maybe?

Please don’t ding, phone. Please don’t ding.

“Good. I thought you were a goner,” he grumbles, scowling but relieved.

“So did everyone else, apparently.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Stone?” Holly steps in, standing closer to Quinn than me, for good reason. Her eyes tear from mine to the phone before meeting mine again and glowing with a playful spark, but only in a way that I’d know. Little miss clumsy is all of a sudden professional poker face.

I give her a you know what you did look, and her twinkle intensifies, once again making my cock hound the zipper of my pants.

You cheeky little brat.

“Yes, Miss Cate.” God, I wish I was saying angel. My precious angel. “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong hole.”

“You know, for someone who writes books for a liv?—”

“Miss Cate,” Quinn cuts her off, again, completely unaware that someone was speaking. “Did you get my last email?”

Really? Here? Now?

Holly’s eyes instantly lose the shine, turning her attention to Quinn. “About the signing in February?”

“Yes, the Valentine’s Day one.”

A signing?

Valentine’s Day?

On the most important day of the year, other than April fourteen— her birthday— and I can’t touch her? No. We’re not going.

“I did. I thought I responded, I’m sorry. I booked a few rooms, including your wife, too.”

“Don’t be sorry, Cyrus has been keeping you busy with this book. It’s done so that’s all that matters. Thank you, Miss Cate.”

…Yeah. I’ve been keeping her busy alright.

“Please, call me Holly.”

“A Valentine’s Day signing?” I ask Quinn rather than Holly to keep the suspicions at bay. I don’t remember her telling me about it, unless I’ve forgotten.

“Yes, I spoke to Holly about it a while back.”

“I’m sorry I must have slipped telling you.

I’ve been to a few back in Aus, so I made the suggestion to Quinn.

They usually do pretty well because everyone is swooning, and feeling quite nice, and gooey.

” She laughs, her grin wrinkling her eyes.

Jesus she looks good when she smiles like that.

“I know I’ve spent a fair bit at them on V Day. ”

“Valentine’s Day,” I repeat, my voice low and unintentionally defeated. I don’t want to go to that book signing. I have better plans for us. I wanted to finally take her to the Northern Lights, and spend the evening with her wrapped up in my arms. “Sounds… perfect,” I add.

“Good, then,” Quinn says. “Better take a seat, dinner shan’t be far off.”

Holly nods, returning to her original seat with her name on it, and I blow out a heap of air from my lungs. While he yarns to the waiter, I pick up my phone from under the table and pocket it.

Thank fuck that’s over.

What a conundrum.