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He also had been wearing a dress shirt under a very sharply-styled fitted vest. Unlike the stretched-out, stained T-shirt and the mud-splattered jeans he currently wore.
Honestly, if I hadn’t been a huge fan of his, I might have never recognized him. Now I wish I hadn’t. Like the other day, disappointment filled me when it came to the author I previously held in such high regard.
I would’ve killed for him to be my mentor. Now I just leaned toward smothering him with a pillow to put him out of his misery. Especially since he was determined to spread that misery to everyone around him.
“So… that moat that you’ve dug around yourself… Just how deep is it?”
“Deep enough to drown.” He twisted his head toward me and immediately I saw how tight his jaw was under the growth of whiskers. “So, here’s some advice… it’s best to stay out of it.”
“I’m a damn good swimmer.”
“It’s not the water you have to worry about.”
Apparently.
There came a time in every battle where you had to admit defeat. I had reached it. However, I wasn’t finished fighting the war.
Why I felt the need to make the guy open up to me, I didn’t know.
He was hurting and I had this crazy urge to help him. But I wouldn’t know how to do that unless he gave me more than he currently was.
He was either protecting himself or a secret. Or both.
Since he was now a resident of Eagle’s Landing, I had plenty of time to keep chipping away at him. Eventually he’d crumble, it was just a matter of time.
I could wait.
But in the meantime… “Are you here to trade in the books you bought?”
“No.”
I waited patiently, not saying anything else but not leaving, either. I’m sure that annoyed him, too.
He sighed and gave me the side-eye. “If you must know, I’m here to buy more.”
“More of the Dexter Peabody series?”
“Yes.”
“You liked them?” I desperately tried not to squeal like a five-year-old girl. One of my favorite… correction… former favorite authors liked my books enough to keep reading them!
“I’m only partway through the third book but since the writing is as consistent and engaging as the first two books, I’m going to say yes.”
That had to be painful for him to say, but… Be still my heart.
He frowned. “Are you surprised?”
I shouldn’t be, but what author didn’t suffer from imposter syndrome?
I had since the day I sat down to write the words “Chapter One” in my first book. I thought writing would be a hobby, a way to express myself creatively, instead it turned into a lucrative career.
Could I live off my royalties in New York City? No. But here in Eagle’s Landing I could pay for everything I needed and even put a little aside. Plus, support a bookstore that would be in the red otherwise.
“Have you read them?”
I quickly pulled a blank mask down over my face. “Uh… Yes. All of them.”
“Then you’d agree.”
Of course, I thought they were good. No, not good, freaking great. Others must agree with me since they had stellar reviews and the royalties I made on them were enough to pay my expenses.
Holy shit. Chase Jones might be a dick, but at least he had good taste.
Even better, the great C.J. Anson had complimented my writing instead of ripping it apart.
However tempting it might be to blurt out that I was the author of those books, I kept that bottled up since I was afraid if Chase found out it was me who wrote them, he wouldn’t read the rest of the series.
And I desperately wanted him to read the rest. Because once he was done, I planned on rubbing it in his face that I wrote them. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
I smothered my grin.
“Since you insist on helping me…” He shoved a book at me.
I automatically grabbed it and he began removing all of his books from the shelves and I took them as fast as he handed them to me. “What are you doing?”
“Buying these.”
“All of them?” I winced when my question ended with a high-pitched squeak.
“Are you allergic to money?”
Are you allergic to people? “Of course I like money but…” I was now struggling to hold a stack of twenty books and he wasn’t done yet.
He removed all his books from the second shelf, too. This time he didn’t give them to me, he piled them in his own arms.
Once both shelves were stripped bare, he pushed past me and I reluctantly followed him up to the register where he dropped them all on the counter.
I did the same and stared at him. I made sure my mouth wasn’t hanging open. “Why would you buy them all?”
“Do you always question your customers on their purchases?”
“I would if I thought they lost their minds.”
