His Secretary:Undone(16)

I haven't heard anything from Adrian since yesterday afternoon, but I've  already checked out the conference schedule and I know where and when I  need to report for the signing. If he doesn't want to show up, then he  doesn't have to. I'll just improvise.

I stop by the mirror on my way out the door. Yeah, I look pretty damn  good. Professional, but imaginative. Perfect. Every part of my outfit is  absolutely flawless. I wouldn't change a thing.

When I leave my room and start walking down the hallway, a problem becomes immediately apparent.

There's one thing I didn't realize about silky underwear.

Veterans of the silky underwear experience will almost certainly be aware of this, but I'm a virgin. Metaphorically speaking.

Ten steps into the hotel hallway, and I can feel them slipping. Oh,  shit. Unlike the plain cotton variety I'm used to, these don't really  stay where they're put.

But I'm fully committed. I brought nothing but silky underwear for this trip, and I'm going full speed ahead, damn it.

I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that I'm alone in the elevator, so I  can discreetly adjust them. They've slipped so far down that they're  practically garters. Shimmying a little, I pull them up so they're  sitting more securely on my waist.

There. That'll do.

Halfway to the main convention hall, I've transitioned into some kind of  weird shuffle-step to keep them from falling around my ankles.

Well, this is just great. I slip into the ladies' room and survey the  situation a little better. They're practically brand new, for God's  sake. The elastic is still … elastic-y. What am I doing wrong?

I know the answer, I just don't want to admit it to myself. The softness  of my belly and thighs doesn't give them anything to grip onto. This is  not a skinny girl's problem.

Frustrated, I consider my options. I could ditch the underwear entirely,  and pray that I don't step near any air vents. I could keep trying to  make them work. Or, I could try to find the nearest Walmart and grab a  three dollar pack of cotton briefs.

Fuck no. You're Natalie Fucking McBride. You make these panties your bitch.

Determined, I re-situate them on my hips and return to the main hall.  Already, I can feel them working their way down, but I can deal with it.  I'll be sitting down for most of the day, anyway.

I know what quadrant of the room I'll be in, so I start heading that direction, walking as carefully as I can.

Before I reach the tables, I have to pinch the waistband to hold them in  place. I grab a handful of my skirt along with them, and pretend like  I'm holding it down against some imaginary breeze.

A woman with long, silky dark hair and an accommodating smile comes over to shake my hand. Her name tag says Siobhan.

"Welcome, Natalie," she says. "We're so glad to have you here. Your  editor's already here, he's been helping us set everything up the way  you like."

So he is. I see him now, in the crowd, and he narrows his eyes as I  approach. Probably because I'm holding the side of my skirt again, to  cover up for the fact that I'm actually holding my panties. Whether or  not he's clued in to the impending wardrobe malfunction, he knows  something is wrong. But there's no way in hell I'm confiding in him  about my panty problems.

I sit down quickly, hitching them up as I do, hoping it's not noticeable.

"There's already a line forming around the entire hall," Siobhan beams. "Most of them are here for you."

A terrifying prospect, to be sure.

"Don't worry, we'll manage the lines and make sure that no one hassles  you. Take breaks whenever you need them. You'll be talking a lot, so  it's not uncommon to start losing your voice by the end of the day. I  got you some Halls, but I recommend hot tea with lots of lemon and honey  before bed tonight."         

     



 

I nod, trying to take it all in. I haven't even considered the  possibility of losing my voice - that might get in the way of my panel  tomorrow.

"Most importantly, have fun!" She's practically squealing. "You're going to love this, Natalie. I'm so glad you came."

I force a smile, hoping that my awkwardness comes across as … well,  awkwardness. Not deception. The last thing I want to do is fuck up this  thing. Adrian's already boring holes in me with his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he mutters, as Siobhan runs off to settle someone else in.

"Nothing," I tell him, rolling my shoulders back and cracking my knuckles. "Why would something be wrong?"

"First of all, you shouldn't wear a skirt that short if you're going to  act like you're afraid it's going to fly up." His voice is low and  captivating, even though he's trying to tell me off. Or maybe that's why  it's captivating. "It's like wearing a strapless dress and constantly  tugging on it. Looks amateur. You don't want to look amateur."

"Who pissed in your Cheerios?" I mutter, even though I'm pretty sure I  know the answer. Kara's nowhere to be found. They must've had some kind  of disagreement that's led to his enchanting mood this morning.

"Secondly," he says, ignoring me, "I had no idea where you were this morning. You didn't even text."

"Uh, neither did you." Are we really having this conversation? "I read  the schedule, I read the emails, I knew where I had to go."

"I shouldn't have to check in," he hisses. "You're here working for me. Don't forget it."

Oh my God, he's acting like a child. But at least this version of Adrian, I know how to deal with.

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind." I test out one of my pens.

A bubbly, smiling blonde takes her seat at the table a few feet from  mine. Her name tag says Isabella Duncan, Paranormal Romance.

"Hey!" She sticks out her hand to me. "Natalie McBride, wow. It's so  great to meet you! I'm Izzy. I'm actually moderating your panel  tomorrow."

"Call me Nat," I tell her, almost solely because I feel like it'll annoy Adrian. "That's great - it's nice to meet you."

"Is this your first rodeo?" she asks me.

"Kind of. I did one signing before. A small one. Not like this." I can  already hear the echo of many voices as the line starts to get  rambunctious.

"Oh, you're gonna love it. Everyone's just so happy to see you. But don't let it go to your head." She winks at me.

Oh, if only you knew.





***

I think my hand might be permanently cramped into a claw.

The crowds have dissipated, and I'm trying to forcibly remind myself  that I am Not. Natalie. McBride. In spite of everything, Izzy was right  to warn me. It's hard to see that many people so excited to meet you,  without letting it go to your head a little bit.

Adrian's stepped away to mutter on his phone to someone, most likely  Kara, so I turn back to Izzy with a rueful smile. "Well, we survived."

"See? Wasn't it great?" She's shaking some feeling back into her hand. "So are you going to the party tonight?"

"There's a party?"

She nods vigorously. "Oh, yeah. My publisher's sponsoring it, but it's  open to everybody. There's going to be some cover models there taking  pictures, and you can even get custom poses done. Super hot guys, free  booze, it's a win all around. Everybody's gonna be there."

"Um, I don't know." I clear my throat, and reach for one of the cough drops Siobhan left for me. "I do have that panel … "

"Not until the afternoon." She rolls her eyes. "Come on, you can have a few drinks."

"Okay. I guess."

"Great!" She bounces to her feet. "I'll see you there. I gotta run - I have to meet someone for lunch."

Adrian's missed all this conversation, which I'm grateful for. I know,  without having to ask, he'll have some choice words if he finds out that  I'm planning on attending. It's none of his business, really, I'm doing  everything he's told me to do, and I'm doing it well. But he's already  irritated over something else, so this is almost guaranteed to become a  thing.

Just once, I want to have a little fun without Adrian somehow ruining it. Is that too much to ask?         

     



 





***

The last panel session of the day has just ended. It's not quite  dinnertime, so I'm having wine and tapas with Adrian, at the overcrowded  hotel bar that seems incredibly ill-prepared for this event, like  someone just reminded them about it yesterday. We haven't managed to get  table service once, but Adrian doesn't seem to mind going up and  flirting with the bartender to get things. Doesn't even have to wave his  wallet around for special treatment, that one. It would be impressive  if it wasn't so disgusting.

I watch Adrian spear an olive on a toothpick and chew it thoughtfully. I  haven't mentioned that I'm going to the party; I keep telling myself  it's not important, but I know that's not the reason why.

We're still talking about a workshop we sat through earlier, with one of  the rare male romance authors who will actually show his face at these  events and own up to his gender. Most of the women swooned over him, but  I found his viewpoints on the genre to be pretty off-base.