“Whatever you need to think to stroke your ego.”
“There’s a signing at the Hilton over in the city this weekend.” He shrugs before polishing off his wine. “You want to go to that one? I’ll show you the ropes, introduce you to some people.”
“Sure.”
He narrows his gaze on me. “I mean, don’t get excited or anything.” I glare at him over the rim of my wine glass as I tip it back. “You may quiet possibly be the first woman that has thrown me for a loop,” he says.
“Well, I’m not a normal girl.”
“No, Marisa, you absolutely are not.”
* * *
Iholdmy head high as we walk through the signing hotel lobby, certain I’ll be the envy of every woman here because Justin looks so perfect in his crisp white shirt, tattered jeans, and Chuck Taylors. “Holy shit,” I say when Justin and I step into the ballroom. The entire room is flooded with tables and banners and people. Women shouting, laughing. A piece of candy lands by my feet and I bend over to grab it from the floor, cocking my brow as I hold the penis shaped lollipop up. “Well…”
Justin snags it, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth. “Mmm. Always figured cock tasted like watermelon,” he says, his eyes rolling back in his head.
I swat at him. “You are such a boy,” I say and he smiles. “How many authors are here?”
“I don’t know, eighty or something like that.”
“Dear God…” I follow Justin through the crowded room as he snakes his way between people and carts and mounds of books. Every woman stares at him. Every single person waves or says hi, and then their eyes dart over to me.They wish they were me.
“Why aren’t you carting any books?” I ask.
“My PA dropped them off.” We stop in front of a table stacked with books and bookmarks and shirts. He pats the table. “See. All done.” Behind his table stands a large banner: Justin Wild#1 New York Times Bestselling Author.
He pulls out a chair for me, then plops down in the other seat and leans back, running his fingers through his brown hair. I sit and watch the other authors scrounging around, fighting with banners, stacking and restacking books, covering their table with candy and pens.
“You gonna help me out today?” he asks with a smile.
“Help you do what?”
“Just, you know,” he grabs one of his books and flips through the pages. “Hand me books and stuff.”
I glare at him, drumming my nails over the table. “Like your assistant?”
“Yeah, sure, something like that.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you invited me here to show me the indie side of the publishing world, not be your assistant.”
“Call it what you want.” Shrugging, he grabs a Sharpie and taps it over the edge of the table before using it to point at a brunette girl across the room…one I recognize from my little perusal of his phone the other night. “I can get her to do it if you don’t want to,” he says.
“It’s fine.” I say without a smile. I can’t help but notice his gaze is still locked on that fucking girl, his eyes tracing over her ass.
Justin is so full of himself. So certain. And it’s when someone’s at their most confident, that they are at their weakest. He glances back at me, grins, then grabs a book and flips through it. I stare at him, study him. I’m one-hundred percent certain he’s a better fuck than most men could ever hope to be…and he thinks he’s going to play his little game of cat and mouse with me, but that’s not how this game is going to go.No, Justin. It is not. You will try to seize me and I’ll escape. Instead of chasing you, I will run. And in the end, you will love me because I think you should.
He smiles. “God, you are beautiful.”
And you are perfect, Justin. You really, really are.“Thanks.”
“And so damn weird.” He laughs.
“Fuck you.”
“God, you keep getting better and better. I love a girl with a filthy mouth.”
The brunette he pointed at a few minutes ago sashays her way over to his table, tits out and all smiles. “Hey, Justin,” she coos—literallycoosat him as she places her palms flat on the table and leans over, her cleavage on full display. “Who’s your…” she cuts her eyes in my direction, “friend.”
