"Meet me in my office when this is all over," Warren murmured, coming up to stand close beside me.
He wore a tailored, charcoal gray suit tonight, looking every inch the sophisticated literary tycoon. In spite of my distasteful opinion of a man who cheated on his wife of thirty years with a much younger employee, I still had to acknowledge a certain amount of physical charm and allure to him. After everything that had happened today, though, I was not in the mood to be sprawled across his desk when the store closed.
"I can't," I answered back softly, still watching the signing. "I'm busy afterwards."
"No you aren't. It's not a dancing night."
"No," I agreed. "But I'm doing something else."
"Like what?"
"I have a date." The lie came easily to my lips.
"You do not."
"I do."
"You never date, so don't try that line now. The only appointment you have is with me, back in my office, preferably on your knees." He took a step closer, speaking into my ear so that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. "Jesus, Georgina. You're so fucking hot tonight, I could take you right now. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me in that outfit?"
"'Doing to you?' I'm not 'doing' anything. It's attitudes like that that result in women being veiled around the world, you know. It's blaming the victim."
He chuckled. "You crack me up, you know that? Do you have any panties on under that?"
"Kincaid? Can you come help us over here?"
I turned and saw Doug frowning at us. It would figure. He wanted my help, now that he saw Warren hitting on me. Who said there was no chivalry left in this world? Doug was one of the few who knew what passed between Warren and me, and he didn't approve. Yet, I wanted the escape, belated or no, and thus temporarily evaded Warren's lust as I walked over to assist with the book sale.
It took almost two hours to shuffle customers through the signing line, and by then, the store was fifteen minutes from closing. Seth Mortensen looked a little tired but seemed to be in good spirits. My stomach flip-flopped inside me when Paige beckoned those of us not involved with closing to come over and talk to him.
She introduced us matter-of-factly. "Warren Lloyd, store owner. Doug Sato, assistant manager. Bruce Newton, cafe manager. Andy Kraus, sales. And you already know Georgina Kincaid, our other assistant manager."
Seth nodded politely, shaking everyone's hand. When he reached me, I averted my eyes, waiting for him to just move on. When he did not, I mentally cringed, bracing myself for some comment about our previous encounters. Instead, all he said was, "G.K."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"G.K.," he repeated, as though those letters made perfect sense. When my idiotic expression persisted, he gave a swift head jerk toward one of the promotional flyers for tonight's event. It read:
If you haven't heard of Seth Mortensen, then you obviously haven't been living on this planet for the last eight years. He's only the hottest thing to hit the mystery/contemporary fiction market, making the competition look like scribbles in a child's picture book. With several bestselling titles to his name, the illustrious Mr. Mortensen writes both self-standing novels and continual installments in the stunningly popular Cady & O'Neill series. The Glasgow Pact continues the adventures of these intrepid investigators as they travel abroad this time, continuing to unravel archaeological mysteries and engage in the persistent witty, sexual banter we've come to love them for. Guys, if you can't find your girlfriends tonight, they're here with The Glasgow Pact, wishing you were as suave as O'Neill.
-G.K.
"You're G.K. You wrote the bio."
He looked to me for confirmation, but I couldn't speak, wouldn't utter the clever acknowledgment about to spring from my lips. I was too afraid. After my earlier mishaps, I feared saying the wrong thing.
Finally, confused by my silence, he asked haltingly, "Are you a writer? It's really good."
"No."
"Ah." A few moments passed in cool silence. "Well. I guess some people write the stories, and others live them."
That sounded like a dig of sorts, but I bit my lip on any response, still playing my new ice-bitch role, wanting to defuse the earlier flirtation.
Paige, not understanding the tension between Seth and me, still felt it and tried to allay it. "Georgina's one of your biggest fans. She was absolutely ecstatic when she found out you were coming here."
"Yeah," added Doug wickedly. "She's practically a slave to your books. Ask her how many times she's read The Glasgow Pact."
I shot him a murderous look, but Seth's attention focused back on me, genuinely curious. He's trying to bring back our earlier rapport, I realized sadly. I couldn't let that happen now.