Miles smiled politely as a majority of the audience stood and applauded. He pushed back the urge to fidget under the intense gaze of the crowd and waited for the applause to die down before he asked, “Are there any questions?”

  Immediately hands shot up around the room. Miles noticed there were a few of the individuals with press badges, though there were definitely others around the room looking to ask questions.

  Miles’s agent managed the audience, starting with fans’ and aspiring writers’ questions. They were usually much easier than press questions. Miles answered on autopilot. He and Ben worked together on scripted responses for a variety of expected questions for these events, and he rehearsed them over and over before the conference. Responding took nearly no thought at this point. It seemed like questions came in a circular manner, and Miles answered several of the same questions when he attended each conference. At least it made this part easy. He turned to face the next person asking a question.

  “Mr. Bennett, can you please tell us the inspiration behind your main character in the Bloody Ashes Chronicles?”

  Miles turned toward the speaker, a fake smile firmly positioned on his face. One of Inkwell Insights Daily’s representatives held a recorder in hand, waiting patiently for Miles to respond. Between them, Prose Pulse, and Bookish Beacons, Miles was hounded about his latest book news. Each of the papers was trying to be the first to get the latest and greatest news and to provide the best and most insightful look at older bookish news. Thankfully, only members of Inkwell Insights Daily were invited to this particular conference, so he wouldn’t have to deal with it from all three venues.

  “As I talked about it in my interview with Prose Pulse,” Miles started. He hid the grin at the wince from the reporter. They hated it when he mentioned the other outlets while talking to them. “As a twin myself, I wanted to represent my background and use a lot of my experiences in the main male characters I created.”

  “Would your twin be available for an interview as well?” the journalist asked.

  “Unfortunately, he’s out of town,” Miles said with a shake of his head. He didn’t feel bad for lying, not when it came to protecting his twin from the bloodthirsty press after a story. Mason has his own press to deal with in the sports world. Mason had come to Denver the other day to watch the Denver Nuggets game. They hadn’t talked much, but Miles knew Mason planned to stay for the conference weekend and possibly pop in if Miles needed some support at one of his busiest events of the year.

  Miles turned toward another person as they asked a question. He kept his one-hundred-watt smile in place and recited the information he’d practiced in advance for just this moment, though in his head he was a thousand miles away.

  He kept replaying his conversation with Emily, thinking about the way her eyes lit up as she joked with him and the way her arms flung wide in exaggeration. His mind was spinning with ways to get her to laugh like she did earlier. What could he write that would cause her eyes to alight?

  Miles turned his focus back to the journalists when a question he wasn’t expecting was asked. “Pardon, could you repeat the question one more time?”

  “Of course,” the tiny woman said. “Could you tell us what you think of the surging popularity of contemporary romance, romantic comedies, and romantasy fiction in the mainstream reading community and on the best-sellers lists?”

  Miles opened his mouth to respond, but closed it, set on taking a moment to actually think. The response that first came to mind is one he’d had for a while. He’d say that romance writing wasn’t real writing, that it was formulaic and predictable, and that anyone could do it. He’d say people who read that drivel weren’t real readers, and unfortunately there are more of those, so that’s why they end up on the best-sellers list. But how could he say that after this morning with Emily? How could he alienate a whole group of fans and authors? He’d better rephrase his response.

  “There are several factors to consider,” Miles finally said after another pause. “I once would’ve been very scathing on this topic, and I apologize to romance readers and writers for those sentiments now that my thoughts have changed. I’d say anything that gets people reading or writing is great, and even people who want intrigue and nuance need something light and happy to cleanse their palate once in a while.”

  “Is there anything in particular that caused this change of heart? Just last month you gave a fairly negative interview about this very topic.”

  “Just some discussions I’ve had with some intelligent colleagues of mine,” Miles said, though Emily’s face was flashing before his eyes. Miles missed the surprised gape Ben’s mouth and the flurry of writing that accompanied his response, too caught up in his own thoughts.

  Wheels were already starting to spin even if he wasn’t aware of it. Emily might be influencing him more than he wanted . . . and it was only the beginning.

  Chapter 11

  Emily remained seated long after Miles left for an event and long after the coffee soaking her clothing had cooled—the second time in two days this happened, unfortunately. She allowed herself to enjoy the silence and solitude for a moment and read in peace. That was what this conference should be about, after all.

  She stared at the door where Miles exited, then forced herself to stand. She was still covered in sticky coffee and needed to get cleaned up so she could attend some panels and events for the day. She didn’t want to miss out on a single thing. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get to come to a conference again.

  Emily went into the bathroom and turned the shower knob, smiling as steaming water came from the showerhead. Hot showers were a luxury she always appreciated. At home, their water heater was starting to go out, so she was lucky if she got a solid seven minutes of warmth especially since three adults shared the space and the hot water heater. It didn’t help that she loved when the water was positively scalding hot.

  Emily stepped under the streaming water and felt herself melt into the heat. She closed her eyes and stayed there much longer than she probably should. Her fingers and toes would resemble prunes by the end.

  She exited the shower and blanched. There were only two towels, and both were wet, soaked, on the floor. Emily grimaced and grabbed a smaller hand towel, using it to sop off the water soaking her skin. She grabbed the hair dryer and dried her hair before throwing it up into a bun.

  Emily grimaced again when she realized she hadn’t brought any clothing to the bathroom. She walked over to the door and peeked her head out.

  “Are you out here, Miles?” she called.

  The room remained silent, no shuffling and movement, no speaking. She pushed the door open and walked over to her suitcase, crouched down, and started shifting through the selection available, having to figure out what to wear now that her planned outfit was destroyed.

  She decided to go the leggings and sweater route. She wanted to dress fancier on this trip, but fashion was definitely not her strength, and she felt most comfortable in the giant knit sweaters that dwarfed her. As she stood up with her clothing in hand a choked gasp startled her, causing her to spin toward the door and drop her bundle.

  Standing at the entrance, eyes wide, and mouth slightly open was Miles, Starbucks in each hand and his laptop bag hanging over his shoulder. Emily squeaked. She dropped to the ground and fumbled for the dropped clothing. It took several long seconds before she grasped the articles in hand. She used the newly acquired sweater and leggings to cover her breasts and as much of the rest of the body as she could but was only partially successful.

  “What are you doing?” he stuttered before finally turning back to face the door, giving Emily a bit of privacy. Emily sprinted to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her without answering him. There was absolutely no time for small talk. She leaned against the door, her heart pounding in her chest, and felt blood rush to her cheeks. She looked in the mirror and confirmed her face was flushed bright cherry red.

  Emily allowed herself a moment to catch her breath before she called out through the door, “I forgot my clothes when I went to shower, and there were no clean towels since we both used them this morning. I called out for you but you didn’t answer so I thought it was safe to grab my clothes.” Getting dressed took much less time than she’d hoped. She waited several long moments after dressing before she decided she couldn’t spend any more time hiding in the bathroom.

  She hesitantly stepped out into the room. Miles was sitting in the chair at the table, apparently waiting for her. Emily looked down, willing her blush to fade, though that was a pipe dream.

  “So it looks like we might need several more towels,” Miles started off. Emily nodded her head. She brought her fingers up and started picking at the sleeve of her sweater.

  “I’ll call room service before I head to my next event today,” Miles said. “Then we won’t have to worry about something like this happening again. I’m sorry for walking in on you. If I’d had any idea that you were in that state of undress, I wouldn’t have entered.”

  Emily shrugged, “It wasn’t your fault. You had no way of knowing that would happen. It’s your room too, so you need to be able to access it any time.”

  “Be that as it may, I like my women to be naked for me willingly, not through some freak accident,” Miles said with a wink. Emily’s head flew up and she looked at him. Her heart thumped in her chest and her stomach fluttered when she saw the smirk on his face. Rooming with this man was going to be the death of her.

  Chapter 12

  Emily stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

  “Wild night?”

  “What?” she asked, turning toward the voice.

  “Last night. Sounds like you had a wild ride.” Emily stared wide-eyed at the woman in front of her, who was stepping out of the room next door. She wriggled her eyebrows up and down and smirked back at Emily. Realization dawned that she thought that Emily and Miles must’ve been having sex last night.

  “Oh no, that’s not . . . You have it wrong,” Emily stuttered. Her face flushed bright red.

  “I mean, we are at a book conference. Feeling a little lusty is to be expected,“ she said with a shrug. She winked over her shoulder and started down the hallway.

  Emily opened and closed her mouth, shocked that the woman would say any of that.

  Another door opened behind her and Emily jumped when a loud whistle echoed through the hallway. Emily spun on her heel and faced the person who made the sound.

  “You and Mr. Hottie break a bed together last night?”

  “No!” Emily exclaimed, staring at what seemed to be the owner to the other neighboring room, another young woman. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “I wish I had that kind of misunderstanding last night,” she murmured. She patted Emily’s shoulder as she passed then hurried down the hall. Emily flushed and then bustled in the opposite direction. She’d take the stairs. She didn’t want to stay here and get more comments, but she didn’t think she could handle an elevator ride full of teasing about wild sex she never had.

  It took wandering down three hallways before she found the stairs. She made her way down to the first floor, a bit chagrined by how out of breath she felt after hurrying down the steps. She wandered through the halls, looking for the conference welcome room. Unfortunately she wasn’t successful in that endeavor, so she ended up back at the lobby for directions. Thankfully, Kat wasn’t working because a young man with the world’s whitest smile stood in her place. With her newfound knowledge, Emily stood in line, waiting to receive her welcome bag and conference check-in information.

  Her eyes wandered around the room, glancing at the art on the walls and the other people around her. Emily blinked and turned her attention toward the person in front of her. She tilted her head when she realized that something wasn’t quite right. There was a mass of black fuzz on the man’s shoulder. Emily stood on the tip of her toes and tried to get a better view. She jumped and squeaked when that black mass moved and a little black cat stared back at her through bright yellow eyes.

  “Shadow says hello,” the man said with a smile that shone from his eyes. He reached a hand up to his shoulder and rubbed it along the cat’s head before he nuzzled a finger under its chin. Shadow tilted his head and started purring loud enough for Emily to easily make out the sound.

  “Your cat sits on your shoulder in a harness?” Emily asked, still shocked to see an animal there, and such a well-behaved one at that.

  “He’s my service cat,” the man responded. “He’s been trained to alert me to my medical conditions, so I’ve had to train him to stay with me and chill in a harness.”

  “That’s amazing,” Emily breathed, staring at the little cat in awe. “I didn’t realize service cats were a thing. I’ve only heard of service dogs.”

  “Cats can definitely be hard to train so you have to find one with the right temperament, but I’m allergic to dogs, so I had some extra motivation to make this happen,” he said with a chuckle and a shrug. Shadow hissed then settled around his neck, draping his body so his legs fell on either side.

  “Such a noble service animal,” Emily responded. “Doing good work and looking good while doing it.”

  “He’s a total diva,” the man agreed with a chuckle. He rested a hand on Shadow’s back and the cat continued to purr, eyes closed in contentment. Emily fought the urge to reach up and pat the kitten. It was adorable, but she’d read an article that most people don’t want strangers petting their service animals because that distracts the animal from their important job. She didn’t know what job Shadow was doing, but it was important enough that this man went through at least some effort harness-training and service-training a cat.

  Emily chatted with him until he was called to one of the tables to get help. Emily continued to wait, now in silence, though she didn’t mind.

  It wasn’t long before it was Emily’s turn and she was standing in front of one of the perky workers running this part of the conference. Emily was given a tote bag full of goodies, a pocketful of itineraries, schedules, and more. “Thank you so much!” Emily said, as she accepted the tote bag. Before she left, the woman asked for her wrist and wrapped a bracelet that would be her ticket into each event. As the winner of the competition, Emily’s bracelet gave her access to all but the most exclusive components of the conference, like one-on-one services.

  Emily slung the straps of the tote around her shoulder, adding it to the computer bag already hanging there. She made her way out of the room and down the hall toward the conference rooms where some morning panels were taking place. The worker who got Emily settled in told her about the panels available that morning, and there was one Emily absolutely couldn’t miss.

  When the sign became visible, she dashed across the hall and approached the space. The sign on the door was written in beautiful calligraphy proclaiming Poetry in the Modern World with gorgeous flowers painted in watercolor around two opposing corners.

  One of Emily’s favorite poets, Rupi Kaur, would be leading this session, and Emily felt like she’d died and gone to heaven just by being in the same room as this poetry legend.

  She found a seat at one of the circular tables as close to the front as she could get, considering how packed the room already was. She set her conference tote and laptop bag beside her, then adjusted her conference bracelet, making sure it was tight enough that it wouldn’t accidentally slip off. She’d be devastated if she missed conference events out of her own negligence.

  Emily organized the conference information packet, placed it in the front of one of her notebooks, flipped her notebook to a clean page, and grabbed a pen to take notes. She tilted to the side to see around some of the other attendees and get a glimpse of Rupi at the front of the room.

  Rupi made a striking image, her Indian heritage displayed in the rich tone of her brown skin, and her long thick black hair styled in a thick braid hanging loosely over one shoulder. She was wearing a stunning green dress with a matching long-sleeved, wide-shouldered jacket, black heels, and large golden hoops. Her lips were painted a bright shade of fuchsia.

  Behind Rupi was a projector, the current image on the screen one of her poems with the simple line drawing associated with the poem. Emily smiled when she realized this was one she’d annotated in her own worn copy in her bag. She brushed her fingers along her bag, feeling the leather against her skin.

  Emily was filled with anticipation and jumped as the doors of the conference room closed. This was the first poetry event of the conference, though not the last she was planning to attend, and excited to make the most of this all-inclusive trip.

  “Welcome all, I’m so glad to see so many poetry fans with me today.” Emily turned her attention toward Rupi standing with a microphone in hand and a welcoming grin on her face.

  “I have a loose agenda for our time together. I know the title of this session is Poetry in the Modern World, but it would be more apt to name it Rupi’s vision of poetry in the modern world, because everyone has a different idea of what that would entail. I’ll go over my specific process, working through writer’s block and several other components. This will be a casual session where you can stop me and ask questions at any time. I hope we have time to brainstorm and work together at the end, because I’d love to help some aspiring poetry writers with their craft.”

  Emily stared forward, entranced as the session progressed. Her pen flew across the page, taking down every ounce of information she could from this session. She was too shy to ask questions, but she was so grateful for others who had no qualms. She was excited to get back to the room and get some writing done tonight. She was already inspired and having thoughts that maybe, just maybe, someday she could be called a published author.

  Chapter 13

 

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