And there at the center was Bet on It with its intense blue cover and cleverly placed white letters with a little tagline that read, Based on a true story. At the bottom was the pen name I’d chosen: Olivia Davies.
I’d wanted to use Natalie Bishop. I’d always envisioned my own name on the book, but this book, this one right here, it wasn’t possible. Not when Penn or his mother or any of his friends could pick it up and see it had pieces of what had happened woven into the pages.
So, I’d used my middle name and my mother’s maiden name. It didn’t feel like me quite yet. Even as Gillian introduced me as Olivia to the rest of the team. She knew me as Natalie because we’d worked together for a year, but it wasn’t widely known, and I wanted to keep it that way.
It was why I wasn’t going out on a book tour for this book, to my publisher’s chagrin. I’d agreed to one book party and one signing—no pictures allowed—while I was in the city. Lord help us all that they didn’t ruin everything.
“Would you mind signing it?” Gillian asked, holding out a Sharpie.
I took it reverently and then signed my name on the inside. I’d practiced signing as Olivia, so I wouldn’t mess it up, and seeing it there like that made me glad that I had.
“Magic,” I whispered.
“It’s perfect! Now, let’s head up to our meeting, and then you’ll be free until dinner.”
I placed the book back on the Bookshelf and then followed Gillian upstairs to the meeting room. I braced myself for questions about what I was working on and the lies I was surely going to tell. I had other books that I’d tried to work on. Plus, I had my road-trip book that I had started writing last year. I’d put it aside to work on Bet on It and was glad I’d done so. Now, I didn’t know how to tell them that I had nothing else. That my muse had vanished as swiftly as I’d finished this story.
I hoped that I wouldn’t have to admit that today.
“The lady of the hour,” Gillian called excitedly as she entered the room, “Olivia Davies.”
I laughed and stepped into the conference room. My heart was in my throat at the splatter of applause from everyone at Warren. They all stood up from their seats and came over to say hello to me. I was just moving up to the head of the room with Gillian to take my seat when a side door opened, and a figure ducked his head into the conference room.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was hell.”
My eyes lifted to meet his as I realized that I recognized that voice. I took in the black suit that molded to his body, the award-winning smile, smooth brown skin, and dark chocolate-brown eyes that I’d been certain I wouldn’t see here. Because he didn’t work for Warren Publishing. He worked with hedge funds. Not the publishing company that was his namesake.
“Lewis?” I gasped.
When he took in my shock, he smirked. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Natalie
2
My stomach dropped out of my body. It was the same sensation as getting to the top of a roller coaster and free-falling into oblivion. Sudden and total paralyzing fear ripped through me.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
No one from last year was supposed to know that I was in New York. I’d been certain that I could get in and out of the city in a matter of days without seeing any of the crew or dealing with any of my emotional baggage. For one of the people who was the cause of all of it to stride right into my meeting, I couldn’t even begin to process it.
And Lewis was definitely one of the causes. Penn’s best friend and one of his crew who had been in on the little bet I was the subject of last year.
Admittedly, Lewis was a Warren. There had always been a chance he’d be here. But I’d thought it was so small as to be infinitesimal. I’d always gotten the impression from him that publishing was almost a hobby for his family of billionaires. A fun pet project but nothing with which to be concerned. They had much more important things to concern themselves with. Lewis had once likened his real family business to putting hotels on Boardwalk.
Except…now, he was here.
In my meeting.
And it couldn’t fucking be a coincidence.
“Olivia, you know…Lewis Warren?” Gillian asked with a mix of shock and apprehension in her normally cheerful voice.
“Olivia,” he drawled. He arched an eyebrow at my pen name.
“No,” I answered at once.
“No?” he asked from those too-perfect lips and that too-handsome face.
“We’re acquainted,” I corrected. “Briefly.”
“Now, that is a story I’d love to hear,” Gillian said.