Page 2 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

T he set was arranged like a café, with a love seat and chair to the left and a little breakfast counter to the right.

When Ashley had led Gemma in, Gemma had eyed the love seat longingly, only to be directed to one of the ridiculously high stools at the counter.

As she waited for the show to begin, she perched on the stool, keenly aware of how her legs swung like a toddler’s.

She went to cross her legs, only to feel her skirt ride up.

Do not flash the audience, Gem.

Might sell more books.

Mmm, no, that’s not really your target audience.

Focus on her target audience. Women like her, a lifelong romance novel reader. What would convince her to pick up A Highland Fling ?

The hot guy in a kilt.

Except the hot guy… She glanced at the cover filling the floor-to-ceiling screen.

When she’d completed the publisher form, she’d thought her description of Laird Argyle was vague enough.

Dark, wavy hair. Square face. Wide forehead.

Strong jawline. Rough looking, as if he knew his way around a bar brawl.

An average face but with a body that meant your gaze never rose above his neck.

Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. Perfectly defined pecs and abs. All that… in a kilt.

She hadn’t specified eye color, let alone mentioned dark beard scruff and a nose that’d been broken a few times. Maybe the last part seemed obvious to the cover designer. It was a romance trope after all—hot bruisers always had crooked noses.

The designer took all that and… Gemma glanced at the cover again. Damn. It really did look like Mason Moretti.

The only reason Gemma saw it was that she knew who the inspiration had been. No one else would spot any resemblance between a Scottish Highland laird and a Canadian hockey player.

The camera operator counted down as Ashley hopped onto the adjoining stool. Not only did her feet touch the ground, but wearing jeans meant she could cross her legs.

Gemma focused on keeping her knees closed and prayed she didn’t get carried off by nervous enthusiasm and start swinging her feet. Although that might win her the pity vote. She’d totally buy a book from any author who made a fool of themselves on live television.

She should have asked her publicist about that. As marketing strategies went, how many sales could she win by making a total fool—

“Happy Tuesday!” Ashley trilled as the cameras rolled.

“We have such a treat for you today. Get ready for a morning jam- packed with goodies. Later, I’ll introduce you to a man who trains capuchin monkeys as seeing-eye pets.

Monkeys! They are the cutest things ever!

And I promised to share that recipe for nonfat sugar-free caramel corn.

First, though, local author Gemma Stanton’s debut novel came out today. ”

Ashley spokesmodel-waved. Gemma straightened, ready to say hello, when she realized Ashley was indicating the screen instead. They’d taken down the book cover during the intro. Now, out of the corner of her eye, Gemma saw it return. And when it did, peals of laughter rang out from the crew.

Gemma froze.

Romance covers had always been a source of mockery, but this wasn’t one of those old-school clinch covers with the heroine practically humping the hero’s leg. Sure, Laird Argyle had apparently lost his shirt in battle, but it happened.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s the right one.” Ashley’s voice took on a tee-hee singsong. “Someone in the art department seems to have done a little facial reconstruction.”

Oh, shit. Gemma turned to the screen… and saw Mason Moretti’s face over the cover model’s. And just to clarify who Mason was, they’d replaced Laird Argyle’s sword with a hockey stick.

“Hmm,” Ashley said, with a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Let’s see the real cover.”

Both versions appeared side by side.

“That is a striking similarity,” Ashley said. “Now, I should mention that Gemma and I went to high school together… the same high school as a certain local star player.”

The blood drained out of Gemma as the temperature in the room plummeted.

Play along. Just play along.

Gemma forced a laugh. “I guess that does look a little like Mason. I’d love to take credit for giving our old classmate a shout-out, but authors don’t design their covers or pick their cover models.”

“But they do write the book, and that looks an awful lot like the guy you describe.”

Ashley picked up the novel and started to read, her words drowned out by the crashing in Gemma’s ears.

She’d been set up.

Was she actually shocked? In school, Ashley and Gemma had always sparred—the polished cheerleader and the smart-mouthed valedictorian, circling each other. Now Ashley was mocking Gemma on live TV? What a surprise.

But they weren’t teenagers anymore. Gemma hadn’t seen Ashley in over a decade. Why would she do this?

Because she could. Because some girls never get past high school.

Ashley closed the book and wagged her finger at Gemma. “Sounds to me like someone had a crush.”

Gemma opened her mouth to laugh it off, to say something, anything, salvage this—

“Oh!” Ashley gracefully hopped from her chair. “Look who just walked into the studio.”

Ashley threw open her arms, and Gemma turned slowly as the piped-in hockey announcer’s gravelly voice rolled out a familiar intro.

“And here he is, folks, the one, the only, the Growlers’ not-so-secret weapon. Give it up for… the Mace!”

Gemma patiently waited for the nightmare to end. It was fine. Just fine. A bad dream, that was all. A bad dream where Ashley invited Mason Moretti himself to join them, plunking him and Gemma both down on that cozy little love seat, with his arm around her shoulders and that grin on his face.

Gemma hated that grin. Always had. She’d even told him so, after his English teacher said he could earn a passing grade by volunteering for the school paper, where the editor would write his articles for him.

Except the editor was Gemma, who sure as hell was not writing Mason’s articles for him.

He’d shown up at the tiny newspaper office an hour before he was due to deliver his first article and said his computer ate it, while giving Gemma that ridiculous grin.

“Does that usually work?” she’d said.

“Does what usually work?”

“That smile.”

“What smile?” he’d said, managing to keep grinning while saying it.

She’d sighed. “That is not your real smile, Mason.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Still grinning.

“I’ve known you since kindergarten, Moretti.

That is the smile you use to get what you want, and what you want is for me to write your article.

I’m not. I know you’re failing English. I know you’re dyslexic.

I also know that only means you need some accommodations, which I am willing to give.

The problem isn’t your dyslexia. It’s that no one makes you do shit because you’re a star. ”

She’d leaned over her editor’s desk. “You are capable of writing that article, so you’ll have it to me by morning. Got it?”

Now, as the interview rolled on, Mason had that smile firmly in place.

He also had his arm around her shoulders.

Well, not exactly around them. It would look that way to the viewer, but his arm was resting against the love seat back, with his fingertips not quite touching her.

Seemed he remembered her well enough to know that he risked losing any fingers that made contact without permission.

This wasn’t a nightmare, was it?

This was actually Mason Moretti sitting beside her with his shit-eating grin, certain that she’d based her romantic lead off him because he was such an amazing guy and she’d never gotten over him.

That one kiss they shared had obviously been seared into her brain.

As for the utter humiliation that came after it, well, that was water under the bridge.

Didn’t stop little Gemma Stanton from secretly pining for him, writing smutty scenes about the two of them—

Oh God, she was going to puke.

That’s what he’d think, wasn’t it? That’s what everyone would think.

That she’d published a sex fantasy featuring herself with her high school hockey star crush.

It wouldn’t matter that her heroine bore no resemblance to Gemma—in appearance or personality—and was just a character she’d created who seemed a good match for someone like Moretti, a starry-eyed simpering girl who took his bullshit and told herself she was special when he stopped aiming his assholery her way.

“So what do you think, Mason?” Ashley waved at the screen. “You’re on a romance cover.”

He gave a hearty laugh that Gemma knew was also fake. “I’m flattered. Kinda makes me want to run out and buy a kilt.”

Tittering laughter from Ashley, who continued with “And you’re a romance hero between the covers, too.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Ashley slapped her hand to her mouth, eyes widening, just in case anyone missed the double entendre.

Ashley reached out to rap Mason’s arm. “You are so bad.”

Was Gemma really sure this wasn’t an actual nightmare, with her trapped as Ashley flirted with Mason on live TV?

“But seriously, Mason,” Ashley said. “Gemma based her romance-novel hero on you. What does that feel like?”

“Great. How else would it feel?” He aimed that inane grin Gemma’s way. “It’s really flattering.”

“Yes, but Gemma isn’t just a random author writing you as a hero. We knew each other in high school. Seems someone had a secret crush.”

Gemma stiffened. She was very aware of how she must look right now, frozen under the studio lights, unable to flee the locomotive bearing down on her.

“Speaking of high school,” Mason said. “Gemma was always a great writer. Editor of the school newspaper.”

“But she obviously had a crush—” Ashley pushed.

“And you did the video announcements, right?” he said to Ashley. “So we all ended up where we were heading. Me with hockey, you with TV, Gem with writing. That’s cool.” He turned to Gemma. “When did you start the novel?”

Her brain spun, frantically searching for the trap. This must be a trap. But it wasn’t. Mason might be an ass, but he wasn’t Ashley. He’d never been vicious or mean-spirited. He didn’t need to be.

Gemma realized what he was doing. Throwing her a life preserver. Acting like a decent guy. Because he could be one, when he wanted to. The problem was when you started believing he was a decent guy and lowered your defenses, and then he reminded you what he really was, what he’d been all along.

Not a slithering snake, but king of the jungle, master of all he surveyed. Even a king could be magnanimous now and then.

She found her own fake smile. “I stopped writing after university, but I got back into it a couple of years ago and remembered how much I loved it.”

Ashley opened her mouth, but Mason plowed on.

“So you’re making up for lost time now?” he asked.

“I am. I’m working on book two, which is due out next year.”

He asked what it was about, and she relaxed and joked that it was a secret, and they continued on like that, Mason taking over the interview and Gemma gratefully letting him.