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She’d noticed it during her tour yesterday. It was one of those super-expensive machines that usually required a barista. It made all kinds of hot drinks.
Quaid took a sip from his own cup while Luna munched down. “I am not smart enough to work that thing. Cindy hadit brought in, and I can’t even get it to make regular old coffee.”
“Well, then it’s good for you that I worked at a Stirbucks for three years while I was in college, and yes, you heard me right. It was Stirbucks, and yes, it had a slightly different logo from Starbucks. The owners had found an old Starbucks sign, and they put a patch over the mermaid’s eye. It was one of the first court cases I ever helped on. We totally lost that one, but I did learn how to make a killer latte. I’m sure I can figure it out.” The owners had also had a Duking Donuts store they claimed was nothing like the national chain because their donuts all had a fighting theme. Upper Cut Crullers, Knock-Out Old Fashioneds.
Yeah, she’d lost that one, too.
“I look forward to it. You’re staying, then?” Quaid asked.
She hadn’t thought much about it the night before. She’d been too busy reading. “I’m staying at least until I’ve read the other four books. Are there only five?”
He frowned. “Five books?”
“Yeah.” This was the part where he might get mad, but she wasn’t going to hide it. She’d done the potential crime. She wanted to know if she would be doing any time. “Armand Landry. I needed a distraction last night so I readThe Man in the Black Hat.”
His jaw actually dropped. “You read my book?”
Yeah, that didn’t sound good. The night before it had seemed like a good idea, and she’d liked the book, but now she could see where it might be a slight invasion of privacy. “You told me I could use whatever I needed, and since you weren’t around to distract me with what would have been the start of an ill-advised sexual relationship, I had to settle for a good book.”
“Those are private,” Quaid said, his expression going blank.
“They were on your bookshelf, not like hidden in your office or anything.” She pointed to the shelves. “They’re right there. In the open. With all the other books that I would assume people are allowed to read.”
“Jayna, you had to know that... You said it was good?” Quaid asked.
Thank god. The writer’s ego was totally going to save her and keep the nice hot man from kicking her to the curb, where she would have to live because she was pretty sure her car had died in the parking lot the night before. She gave him what she hoped was her brightest smile. “It was so good. I did not figure out that it was the jock. I was shocked when I found out he killed the cheerleader because she’d figured out that he’d purposefully thrown the state championship all those years ago to get his father out of trouble with the mob.”
In the book, the ex-cheerleader had threatened to go public with her evidence and the now-big-time NFL player had strangled her to death rather than trying to survive the scandal.
“Really?” Quaid got the sweetest, goofiest grin on his face. “I was worried it might be too obvious.”
“Not at all. I was absolutely certain it was the nerdy science guy who became a billionaire.” He’d been hiding the secret that he’d stolen the idea for his groundbreaking invention from his lab partner in high school and given the partner no credit.
Quaid nodded. “Yeah, I thought that was a pretty good red herring.”
Was he blushing? “It was good, Quaid. I couldn’t put it down. Is there a reason you haven’t published it yet?”
He was definitely blushing, and now he groaned. “I’m glad you liked it. No one else does. I’ve been trying to getthose published for almost seven years now. I have over fifty lovely rejection letters downstairs in my office.”
“Why?” She wasn’t joking. She’d genuinely enjoyed the book and the setting. Quaid had done an excellent job writing what he knew—Southern Louisiana and quirky characters. “What reason do they give you? I read a lot, and that was a fun, well-thought-out mystery.”
“No one wants to take a chance on a new guy, I suspect. I’ve gotten a lot of ‘This isn’t what we’re looking for at this time.’ A lot of acquiring editors have told me they’re looking for something a little darker.”
“The humor was why I liked it so much.” Mysteries often had very dark tones, and Quaid’s lighter touch had been a welcome change.
“And some others wanted me to pump up the potential romance in order to draw in women readers,” he explained. “But I don’t think I should do that. I think I should concentrate on the mystery.”
That’s where he was wrong. “Armand is so into the police detective it hurts.”
“He is not.”
“Yes, he is. Their chemistry flies off the page, and that is the one criticism I have. It feels like you’re holding those characters back. It’s very clear they’re attracted to each other.”
“They’re professionals,” Quaid insisted. “If anything, he’s annoyed with her stubborn nature. He’s certainly not attracted to someone who annoys him.”
She stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t being very self-aware.
“You don’t annoy me that much.”
