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Seriously. What difference does it make?
Just as I’m about to really let loose with the tears, the stairwell door opens behind me. Shit.
I don’t look up. I just keep my head buried in my hands. Hopefully whoever it is will see I need to be alone.
No such luck.
“Amalia?”
I clear my throat. “Yes?” I ask in a croaking voice.
Someone sits down on the step next to me. “Are you okay?”
I glance to the side. Shit. It’s Henry Monroe, Levi’s agent.
“Um, hello, Henry. I’m fine. Thank you.”
I keep my face buried.
“You don’t seem fine, Amalia.”
I sniffle and finally look at him. When he sees what a mess I am, he’ll take off and probably tell his friends what a psycho I am. “You should get back to Levi. He probably needs you.”
He laughs. “He doesn’t need me. He’s done a ton of these signings. I’m just here for the free food.”
That gets a chuckle out of me.
I’ve only ever spoken to Henry a couple times, and while he seems nice enough, I’m sure he’s the same sort of literary snob Levi is. I can only imagine what he thinks of romance and what I do.
But he sure is gorgeous with his slightly too-long surfer-boy hair and preppy khakis. His short-sleeved polo shirt nicely shows off his muscular arms, and now that he’s sitting next to me and I can see his eyes up close and personal, I can’t look away.
He knows this. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Amalia.”
18
HENRY
I’m not gonna lie.
For most of the evening, I’ve been watching Amalia from across the room while Levi, up front behind a podium, has read from his book and answered questions about it. While I am here for my client—and friend—I’ve attended so many of these by now I can practically recite by heart the passages Levi will read, the questions the audience will ask, and what his answers to them will be. And then comes the signing, where his fans join an interminable line and he writes his name over and over on the book’s title page, thanking people for coming tonight.
This shit’s getting boring. But that’s okay. It’s my job.
To get through it, I’ve taken to letting my attention wander a little.
Actually, a lot.
Until recently, I’d hardly thrown more than a passing glance in Amalia’s direction, accompanied by a fewhellosandhow are yous. She’s been the employee at Levi’s publishing house we pass in the hallway and who has occasionally brought us coffee.That’s it—there were no more interactions than that. But now that she’s at the center of the latest drama among the guys and me, my curiosity is piqued.
Sure, I’ve noticed she’s beautiful. How could I not? But now that I am really looking at her, I can see why Wyatt is so smitten. Hell, even Levi tried flirting by telling her she’s pretty.
That was a big fail. She shot him down so hard she practically wiped the floor with him. All without saying a word. I laughed about it for hours afterward, much to his displeasure.
So when I see her face start to contort, and then she bolts for the nearest exit, I ease my way through the crowd toward her, finding her in the stairwell, head in hands, crying.
“Everything’s a mess,” she moans when I press her to tell me what’s up.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Want to talk about it?”
