Page 7 of The Write Place

“Ah, Mackenzie! Thank you so much for accommodating this last-minute meeting. Please, have a seat.” He indicates the seat next to his guest. I come further into the room and sit in the empty chair. I look over to the man who I can see is, indeed, wearing a crisp navy suit and clean brown leather shoes. His ankle is crossed over his knee, and his suit jacket is open, showing a pristine white shirt and pink-and-gray striped tie.

When the man shifts to face me, I’m glad I haven’t started talking because his face would have stopped me short. I feel my cheeks burning as I meet the same sparkling gray-blue eyes that had me so enthralled on Friday night. It’s Evan. Here. In Ken’s office.

There is a flicker of surprise on his face, but it’s gone in a heartbeat and replaced with an utterly neutral expression. So, he’s going to play this like we haven’t already met. Sure, I can do that. He extends a hand.

“Mackenzie Milcrest, I presume? Ken has been telling me all about you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Evans.” His voice is so incredibly smooth in a way that is completely professional and not at all the familiar tone he used with me a few nights ago. I shake his hand, and for a second, I’m gaslighting myself into thinking this couldn’t possibly be the same guy. Maybe he has a twin or something. But no, these are definitely the same, soft hands that were wrapped around my waist, and that is definitely a glimmer of recognition in his eyes along with… is that amusement? Is he amused by this?

It takes me a second to register a few things, namely that I’m probably not supposed to be thinking about his hands on my body and I probably am supposed to be saying something and… did he say Daniel Evans? I let go of his hand. “Daniel Evans?” I spit out, my words clipped. I could swear apology flashes over his expression, but it’s gone too quickly to be sure.

Ken takes this opportunity to jump in. I’m extremely grateful for the save and hopeful he doesn’t notice anything off. “Yes, Mackenzie, this is Daniel Evans, the author. We are so excited to have him here, as he is presenting us with a unique opportunity.” And that is when it clicks—why I thought he seemed so familiar when I met him on Friday night. I had read, no, devoured his latest novel, Bones of Me, when it first came out last year. I couldn’t put it down. I can see his picture on the dust jacket of the book as it laid, discarded, on my kitchen table while I read, and it takes all of my effort not to outright groan at how oblivious I had been at Tony’s.

As if he can read my mind, Evan—no, Daniel—smirks at me, and I’m almost floored by his audacity. “Yes, I came here with a rather strange request.” At this, he uncrosses his leg and leans forward, elbows on his knees and palms pressed together between them. “I’m working on a new novel, and it centers around a public high school. More specifically, a group of teachers. I approached my publisher with the idea that it would make the novel more…” he searches for a word, “realistic, I think, if I could shadow a teacher for a little while to get a feel for the profession. Incidentally, Ken used to work at a subsidiary of the publishing house I’m contracted with, so they contacted him with this request. Ken was hopeful that you would agree to let me shadow you.”

Both men have their eyebrows raised slightly, clearly hoping I’ll agree to this. His speech is so smooth and practiced that I’m suddenly angry to be the only person in the room who is off balance. I can’t help myself; I tilt my head, looking directly at Daniel and say sweetly, “And how long would you want to shadow me? Somewhere around six weeks, maybe?” Daniel winces.

“How astute, Mackenzie! Yes, that is exactly how long Mr. Evans has requested to be in the building. And, in return, the publishing house is offering our school a set of novels of our choosing for each grade level, as well as access to preprint textbooks for some of our classes. It really is a wonderful opportunity for our school. And imagine having such an influence on great, contemporary literature. It really is a no-lose situation, and we are hoping you’ll be on board.” Ken’s eyes are wide with hope. Our district is financially stable, but getting money for books in the digital age has been a chore that I know keeps Ken up at night. I understand exactly what this would mean to our school and to my classes. There’s no possible way I can say no to this offer.

Next to me, Daniel speaks up. “One might say fate has brought this opportunity right to your doorstep.” One side of his mouth tilts up into a wry grin, and I narrow my eyes at him ever so slightly.

I look between Ken and Daniel and nod once, taking in a fortifying breath. “Okay. But,” I put up a finger and start before either of them can say anything, “I get first choice of novels for my classes once this is over.” Ken claps his hands again in excitement, dislodging some of the magazines on his desk. He pays them no mind as he stands to shake our hands, his beard quivering with excitement.

“Wonderful! Thank you, Mackenzie, from the bottom of my heart. Well, then, Mr. Evans, I’ll let Mackenzie show you her classroom and answer any initial questions you might have. Tomorrow, we’ll get you set up with keys and identification, and we should be good to go from there. But please do reach out if you need anything.”

I leave the office, my charge in tow. We start the walk in silence, neither of us knowing exactly what to say in this moment. I can feel the tension rising in my shoulders, but I welcome it. I like Ken a lot, but I know this entire meeting was a power play; he asked me into his office last minute because he knew I couldn’t say no to his face, and he knew I wouldn’t say no to a guest. And he absolutely knew I wouldn’t say no to new novels, or anything great for the school, for that matter. They backed me into this whether I wanted it or not.

And Daniel. Was this some kind of joke? Did he go to that bar thinking he might pick up a little fling and never see me again? Did he know he’d be shadowing me last night at the bar? I use the silence to quickly run through everything I know about him from his author bio, frantically trying to get ahead of the situation. He was born and raised in New York City, and he is from a very wealthy family. He wrote his first book, Letting Go—an instant bestseller—at the ripe, young age of eighteen. He was still in high school, which I remember because I was just a few years younger than that at the time, and I read it immediately when it was released. I wasn’t the only one; it was a total runaway hit, and he has published five or six books since then. His latest—Bones of Me—was a complete success, winning the National Book Award for Fiction and shortlisted for the Booker Prize. I read somewhere that it had remained on the New York Times Bestseller list for a ridiculously long time, but I can’t be sure how long. This guy has had resources beyond my teacher-salaried dreams at his fingertips for his entire life. Something isn’t adding up for me about his presence here, halfway across the country from where he calls home. He could literally pay a research assistant to do this for him and probably not even notice a dip in his bank account. Or, if he had to see a real school, why not one in New York, where he lives? This has to be some kind of sick joke. There’s no other explanation.

“I can practically see the waves of anger steaming off of you.” Daniel’s quiet voice is closer to my ear than I expect. I jump at the sound and practically growl at him. He looks amused, which only stokes my anger further. I quickly turn the corner and open the door to my classroom. I hold it open for him, following and shutting the door over-carefully. I take a deep breath before I whirl around to find him holding up his hands in surrender.

“Evan?!” I hiss, trying not to raise my voice too high in case anyone happens to walk by.

“I wouldn’t throw stones there, ‘Mac,’” he says my name as if he’s putting air quotes around it. I put my hands on my hips.

“Literally everyone in the entire world calls me Mac except for Ken. Mac is actually my name.”

“Well, if we’re getting technical, Evan is actually my name.” He winces as if he knows I won’t buy it, which I don’t.

“Evans is your name,” I say, emphasizing the S. “Daniel Evans, the award-winning author whom I would have known immediately had you just told me the truth.”

“And that’s exactly why I gave you the name I did. It’s something I do when I meet new people. I don’t want them to know me before they know me, if that makes sense.” It does make perfect sense. I wouldn’t want to be known solely by my accomplishments either, not that they are as numerous as his. But I am not about to be placated by my own empathy.

“You said you wanted to see me again! Didn’t you think this would ever come up?” I ask exasperatedly.

He tilts his head all the way up to look at the ceiling as if he can’t even believe what’s going to come out of his mouth next, and I notice the strong, long line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows audibly. I take a deep, silent breath, willing the warmth in my core to go away. I had no idea an Adam’s apple could do these things to me, but here we are.

“I thought it would be a cute story once I told you.” His eyes shift back to me with that same sheepish look he gave me after telling me he wanted to kiss me, and my heartbeat starts to quicken. I just frown at him in silence, crossing my arms in front of my chest. He sighs. “I introduced myself as Evan, like I always do. I had no idea you’d be willing to talk to me, let alone be so much fun to talk to. When you said you wouldn’t tell me anything personal, I thought it would be fun to see how long we could play it out.“ He takes a small step toward me, his eyes holding mine, and my breath catches completely against my will. I take a small step back and am startled when I brush against the wall next to the door, mentally cursing my small classroom. “But I can promise you one thing, Mac.” He says my name as if he had been holding it close since we met on Friday, and I have to order my body not to shudder at the sound of it. “I was telling the truth about every other thing I said to you that night.”

For a second, I’m stunned into silence. He is staring at me with such intensity that I’m not actually sure I’m breathing until my door squeaks open next to me, and the spell is broken. I whirl around to find Jenny standing in the doorway, her eyes darting between the two of us before her expression morphs into one of complete mischief. I stifle a groan as she leans against the wall, letting the door close behind her. She flashes a winning smile.

“I ran into Ken in the hallway,” she says a touch too sweetly. “He was absolutely bursting with excitement about the prospect of having a famous author in the school. Told me I should pop in here and introduce myself, but I can see we’ve already met.” At this, she flicks her eyes to Daniel, crossing her arms. She drags her gaze up and down his entire body as she purses her lips, unimpressed. She narrows her eyes as if she’s going to tell him he doesn’t look as good in daylight as he did at the bar, and I cringe inwardly at her bold appraisal of him. His stance is the picture of casual assurance despite her scrutiny: one hand in his pocket and his head cocked to the side. He looks strikingly like he is posing for a photoshoot as he gives her a charming smile that does not meet his eyes.

“Jenny. How lovely to see you again,” he says sardonically. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye the other night. You were otherwise engaged.”

“Mmm,” she considers, lifting an unimpressed eyebrow and pushing herself off the doorframe. For a second, I’m worried she’ll chastise him for the borderline slut-shaming, but she doesn’t. “Yes, well, I can see that I’ve interrupted something here and since introductions are no longer necessary…” she trails off and waves a hand dismissively. She faces me, making sure her back is completely to Daniel. “Call me later?” She gives me an overly suggestive raise of her eyebrows, and I try very hard not to grimace as she opens the door and leaves.

Daniel, who has perched himself on the edge of a student desk, just mumbles ruefully, “This is definitely off to a good start.”

I sigh deeply yet again, like maybe if I can get enough oxygen to my brain, some of this will start to make sense. “Look,” I start, trying to figure out how to be honest without being rude. I’d be happy to be a complete asshole to him for the entirety of his six-week visit, but I’m not trying to jeopardize anything he could do for the school. “This is less than ideal on a number of levels. What happened Friday aside, I have a lot to get in order now before tomorrow. I’m guessing based on the sole fact that you’re here,” I make a motion encompassing the classroom, “that you don’t have much working knowledge of teachers, so I’ll tell you that we don’t love having observers in our classrooms. It changes the whole dynamic of the class and knowing that you’re going to be writing about all of this is even more daunting. I don’t even think you realize what a huge ask this is. I agreed to it for the good of the school and I’ll make it work, but you have to understand that not everyone is going to welcome you just because you won some awards and are charming.”