Well Written

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Marcus

" I need you to cancel my call with Simeon," I say to Janelle, promptly after stepping out of my ride. She cocks a brow, but immediately pulls her work phone from her back pocket, taps the screen, and presses it to her ear.

"Hi Simeon," she greets sweetly. Nellie has this innate ability to transform into the most angelic, wholesome persona when making business calls. It comes in handy when she has to repeatedly break inconvenient news to people, like letting my agent know that I am, once again, cancelling our meeting. "No, Marcus isn't going to be able to make it again today."

Her pretty brown eyes glance up at me, and a smile that only I know is fake sweeps over her soft, brown cheeks. "Yeah, unfortunately that isn't going to work. He's incredibly sick right now. We might have to cancel the party tomorrow, but I've got some Pedialyte and Tylenol, and am making him rest. Okay, I'll let him know. You too, Simeon." She hangs up, sliding the phone back into her pocket. "God, he's annoying. Do you know how many times I've had to make that call this month?"

Her right hand props against her hip, and her eyes narrow at me disapprovingly.

"You can't avoid him forever, Marc. Either tell him the project isn't working out for you, or figure out how to make it work. But if I have to call him to postpone one more time, I'm quitting."

I quirk a skeptical brow at her, and she rolls her eyes defeatedly.

"Okay, fine, I'm not quitting. But I will Facetime him, and tie you to a chair." She takes my coat off as we step inside the hotel lobby, draping it over her arm.

"What did he want you to tell me?" I ask, rubbing my temples with my fingers. Even hearing Simeon's name gives me an instant headache, and I have no doubts that she would, in fact, tie me to a chair if I don't solve this issue soon.

Simeon has been asking for the first ten chapters of my next release, which wouldn't be a problem if I had them. I don't exactly know how to explain that the novel I've been working on for six months consists of a total of 93 words. I've tried to tell myself that it's not a lost cause, but lately, I can't think of anything I want less than to write this damn book.

"Oh, yeah." Janelle brushes her hair over one shoulder, waving her index finger in the air. "He wanted me to let you know to stop avoiding him. "

I groan, tossing my head backward and staring briefly at the lobby ceiling. It's painted with fish, and seashells, and anyone else from the city would call it tacky, but to me, it's the perfect, whimsical welcome.

"I can't do this right now," I mutter, shaking my head as if that will make all my problems disappear, like a mental Etch-A-Sketch.

"You good, Marc?" Janelle places a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I let out a sigh that's louder than I intended. She starts patting me, like she's consoling an eight-year-old who just lost the spelling bee. "You'll get those pages done, I'm sure of it. I can help you if—"

"It's not that," I cut in quickly. "Well, it is , but also…" An even louder exhale escapes my lips, and I look down at the floor, completely and utterly defeated.

"Damn. What the hell happened at that bookstore?"

A sad laugh slips from my lips. "You don't want to know."

We stand there in silence for a minute, taking up space in the hotel lobby like we're the only ones in the world to exist. Then, after a lingering moment, the familiar tingling sensation of acrylic nails scrapes against the top of my shoulder.

"You know what you need?" Janelle asks peppily. I look up at her, ready to mindlessly follow whatever her suggestion may be. I would really love the opportunity to remove my brain from my body right now. To not have to think about deadlines, and book tours, and ex-lovers. "You need a gin and tonic."

Janelle and I don't go to our rooms to freshen up. Instead, she marches me straight to the hotel bar, and sits me down on a worn wooden stool.

"A gin and tonic for him, and a margarita for me. On the rocks, extra salt please." Her gaze falls onto mine as she pulls out her card to pay. "It's on me," she smiles. I look down at the rectangular piece of plastic gripped between her fingers, and furrow my brows.

"That's your business card," I say flatly, though I can feel the corners of my lips defying gravity. Janelle sucks her lips into her mouth, then pops them loudly.

"Right. So its on me, on you. " She smiles sheepishly, and I roll my eyes.

"You're lucky you're a good assistant so I let you get away with this shit."

Her arm shoves playfully into mine.

" You're lucky I'm a good assistant so I don't let you get away with shit."

I nod silently in agreement, and milliseconds after the bartender sets my drink in front of me, I begin to suck it down. Janelle, on the other hand, carefully slides the stem of her glass between her fingers and twirls it slowly. When I reach the bottom of the cup, and the obnoxious sound of straw-sucking-ice greets us, she sets her heavy glass back onto the bar.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice behind me utters. "Mr. Lovett?"

For a moment, my stomach turns into a solid mass, gravity pulling it straight to the floor. I've always tried to keep at least a small sense of anonymity, so I'm not accustomed to being recognized in public. Sure, I get occasionally identified by those who have met me at signings, but I don't think I've done an event within a 500-mile radius of this place. Janelle is on edge too, her gaze shooting to the person behind me and her body stiffening. I turn around quickly, before she goes all "body guard", and a wave of relief washes over my body when my eyes land on him.

"Hey! Umh…" I pause, trying to remember the Uber driver's name. He smiles.

"EJ," he answers, then places his palm on the back of the stool next to me.

Please don't sit down.

With a concerned look still planted on her face, Janelle shoots me a wide-eyed glance. I nod inconspicuously to ease her anxieties that we've been stalked by some murderous super-fan. Though, I'm confident her ill-considered fears are due to a massive miscommunication.

It seems, sometimes, that Janelle believes my desire to fly under the radar is because I'm scared of being stalked, or in the public eye. And while I enjoy my privacy, that couldn't be further from the truth. However, since I'm not one to divulge personal information, Janelle stands by her original assessment.

"It's like Selena or something, y'know?" she said once. "You never know who could be putting a target on your head."

"Didn't her employee kill her?" I asked, not looking up from my computer. Janelle pondered it for a second, before turning back to her manuscript.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Do you mind if I sit here?" EJ asks, his thin fingers dancing over the top of the stool. I turn to look at him, and offer him a smile that I pray looks real.

"Sure."

EJ seats himself beside me, waving the bartender down. "Whiskey, neat," he says deeply. Then his thumb points to me. "And whatever he's having."

My face flushes, and I wait for the burning sensation in my cheeks to subside before turning back to EJ.

"Oh, you don't have to do tha—"

"I looked you up," he cuts in. "Right after you hopped out of my car."

I swallow, a dry lump forming in the base of my throat. I have no idea why I feel nervous.

"Y-You did?"

He nods. "And I started reading one of your books."

I glance over at Nellie, who wriggles her eyebrows at me.

"Which one?" I ask, my voice cracking uncomfortably. EJ's hand creeps over to my stool's backrest, the heat from his arm burning into my spine.

I wasn't sure at first, but that definitely confirmed it. This man is hitting on me.

"The Jones Diary," he answers lowly.

Fuck me . Out of all the books he could have chosen, of course it happens to be the most raunchy, and poorly-written one of them all. The deadline for that was six months , and if I remember correctly, I was coping with a lot of sexual frustration at the time. Now, it's my turn to shoot Nellie an anxious glance.

"I have to admit," he continues, leaning closer to me so that his arm grazes against my back. "I was surprised to see how quickly you got down to it. I mean really, the first page? But it's good stuff, Carsen. Really good. "

Normally, I'd be flattered. A little put off, sure, but flattered. EJ is an attractive guy, and I'm not above turning down casual sex, even with a fan. But somehow, for what seems to be the first time ever, I am simply uninterested. Annoyed, even, though I'd never show it. I look over at Nellie, who seems to be completely sucked into her phone.

Great.

"It was really great seeing you again, EJ," I say, forcing an uncomfortable smile. "But I actually need to have a conversation with my assistant here." At her mention, Nellie's head shoots up, and she quickly tucks her phone into her lap. EJ nods, his thick dark brows weaving together in a disappointed fashion. "But I'll see you tomorrow at the signing, yeah?"

EJ smiles, then pats my back roughly as he slides his stool backwards.

"Of course," he says, reaching for his drink. He tips it in my direction, then winks. "Sorry for interrupting."

His eyes don't stop staring at me as he walks around to the other end of the bar, finding a seat amongst a group of people I can only assume he knows well. When his gaze finally breaks from mine, I look over at Janelle, overwhelmingly unamused. Her dark brown eyes bore into mine as she takes a long, uninterrupted swig of her drink.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I need to play twenty questions?" she asks with a sigh. My brows furrow, and I scoot the drink EJ purchased for me to the side.

"To what are you referring?" I ask, feigning ignorance. Nellie rolls her eyes so intensely, I'm scared for a moment, that they're going to get stuck.

"Don't pull that shit with me, Marcus. You just turned down a man— no— very hot man, who was clearly hitting on you." She grabs my sleeve, and her brow cocks, completely skeptical. "You have never turned down sex with a hot man. Hell, you rarely turn down sex with ugly ones."

"Janelle!" I exclaim embarrassedly through clenched teeth. "Could you not? "

Janelle waves a dismissive hand in the air.

"Oh please. You write smut for a living. It's fine, Marcus. It's research. Nobody cares."

I drag EJ's rejected drink in front of me, the glass emitting a smooth sound against the sleek bar-top. Janelle, again, starts pushing.

"Is it Simeon?" she asks. "Because if it's about Simeon, I can—"

"It's not Simeon."

"Okay…" She drags the word out, until it falls away. We sit in silence, the background noise of the bar filling in the space around us, until Janelle clears her throat, and the tiny thread holding my jaw shut snaps.

"There was this guy," I blurt out quickly, before even realizing the words are mine. Nellie's body language finally loosens, a silent gesture to show she's listening. I shake my head, but continue anyway. "Not a guy." I correct. " Kane. His name was Kane." I stare into my glass, watching the miniscule bubbles float to the top.

"Okay," she says comfortingly. "Tell me about Kane."

I laugh, running a hand through my hair. I don't even know who Kane is . Truly, he's a stranger to me. Just some man I knew, for one summer, twenty years ago. A man I fell in love with, sure. But he's not the same person now, and neither am I. Everyone changes as time goes on. I know nothing about the Kane alive today, so I have nothing to say. But memories from that summer flood my mind, filling my senses. I can almost smell the coconut cologne he wore, and hear the deep tones of his somber voice trickling over me. It's like I'm breathing in the taste of his lips, sea salt and pineapple tingling my tastebuds.

But if there's one thing I remember the most, it's that Kane is one giant contradiction. He's like dancing in a thunderstorm. Like tea gone cold, but so sweet you add ice instead of tossing it. He's the last day of summer, when it's too cold to swim, but you lay on the beach anyway to soak in the last rays of the sun.

"Do you remember when you asked if I ever actually date ?" I ask, fidgeting with the thin black straw in my fizzy drink. Janelle nods.

"Yeah. You said you only ever dated—" She gasps. "Oh my god! He's the one! Is he the one?"

I suck my lips into my mouth, biting down on them as I nod.

"Yeah."

After I hired Janelle, it didn't take long for us to begin confiding in one another. Or, rather, her prying my own private information out of me, then dumping her own on top for added pleasure. Her pleasure, of course. A few months into having her by my side, she picked up on my hookup routine, and tried to set me up on a real date. She refused to cancel it unless I explained why I don't "do relationships", so reluctantly, I did.

I went into every detail. I told her about Chance, dragging me into Well Written Books after a summer swim, bumping me right into Kane like a scene from a romance novel. I told her about how irritated he was that a wet dog was in the store, and how he became much more irritated when I asked if they were hiring. I told her about our first kiss, and the night we made love in the lighthouse. And of course, then, I told her, about how I fucked it all up. How when people found out about us, no matter how hard I tried to hide it, word got back to my parents. And worst of all, how I up and moved across the country, without ever seeing Kane again.

I don't date, because I had love, and I ran from it. And while I may be unmemorable, what we had, that feeling we shared? It could never truly be forgotten.

"Here." Nellie shoves the untouched gin and tonic across the bar. "You need something stronger than that." Her gaze flicks up to the bartender, and she slaps her palms together. "Four shots of tequila, please!"