Lana
“Alright, people, keep in line!” I shout to the crowd gathering around Abby’s table, but they don’t even register my words. They’re like zombies, except instead of wanting brains they want Abby’s autograph.
Even though security is cordoning off the area and trying to keep the crowd in check, I feel that we’re going to get mobbed sometime soon. More than a writer, Abby is like a rock star. And no wonder, she single handedly changed the industry with her books.
“Okay, you go now,” I wave at an elderly lady and she moves toward Abby, clutching a hardback copy of 12 Inches to her chest. She has kind eyes and long white hair, and the wrinkles in her face tell me that she had her 70th birthday a long time ago. You’d think that 12 Inches would play better with the younger crowd, but Abby’s book drew the interest of pretty much everyone. Even men are crazy about 12 Inches… but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about that, with the steamy sex and all.
“Calm down, everyone!” I cry out again, watching as a few women try to cut the line, causing the people ahead of them to start muttering. Thinking it best to get from behind the desk and coordinate everything closer to the line, I start walking around the desk.
I’m about to reach the place where the line ends, when I feel emptiness under my right foot—you see, I completely forgot that we set up Abby’s desk on top of a small dais, and now I’m going to pay for that gap in my memory with a humiliating fall. “Fu--” I start to say as the floor seems to reach toward me, but then I feel one arm around my waist and, next thing I know, I’m back on both of my feet.
“Watch out,” I hear a man say, and I turn on my heels to watch my savior. The moment my eyes land on him, I go into a momentary coma. I mean, where do I even start to describe the delicious human being standing in front of me? If I told you he looks better than Michelangelo's David, I’d be just grazing the surface.
You know who I’m talking about don’t you? That guy from the last convention, Anders Carter.
More than a head taller than me, he looks like he has just stepped out of a movie set. His smart gentle eyes, combined with the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, give him a rugged appearance; but, at the same time, his full lips balance all that ruggedness. And, Jesus, he looks stylish as hell, even though he’s just wearing jeans and a button up shirt under a dark sweater, he looks roguish and effortlessly cool.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks me, snapping his fingers right in front of my eyes.
“Oh, yeah. I’m okay, sure,” I start to say, or should I say mumble? I can’t even think straight with how hot this guy looks!
“You looked like you were spacing out,” he chuckles, and then smiles. My eyes drink up the way his mouth moves, and I feel my heart skip a beat. “So, this is crazy, huh? Working with Abby Cleveland must be insane.”
“It is,” I nod, running one hand through my hair and praying to the Gods that I don’t look too stunned. “Did you come to talk to her?”
“No, I came because of you, Lana,” he tells me, and it’s as if my heart has just exploded inside my chest. Oh. My. God. Did I hear it right? Am I having the kind of dream where a hot man shows up out of nowhere, ready to relive 12 Inches' hottest moments?
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” I ask him, my heart beating so fast it’s about to rip its way out of my chest.
“Lana Hartley,” he repeats, this time pronouncing my name slower. Yup, this is really happening. “That’s you, right?” he continues with one amused smile.
“Yup, that’s… that’s me. I’m Lana,” I stammer, not really knowing how to handle this situation and feeling completely stupid. We’ve met before, and here I am introducing myself again. But I just can’t help but be this stunned: why is a man like him looking for me? God, I hope he’s not an undercover IRS agent or something like that. Although, with the luck I have, that’s probably what this is about.
“Nice meeting you again, Lana,” he chuckles, his smart eyes never looking at mine. “I came here looking for you and you fell straight into my arms. How’s that for a coincidence?”
“You came here looking for me…” I repeat after him, still feeling shell-shocked.
“Yeah. Your manuscript, The Virgin Market, I just finished it and… I was blown away, Lana. I really was. I'm guessing you didn't get my email?”
“No, I never got it—and get out of here. You’re joking. Is this a prank?” I ask him as I take one step back, looking around as if I expected TV cameras to pop out of nowhere to record my dumb face.
“No, not at all. I loved it and --” There’s a ringing sound coming from his pocket, and that stops him mid-sentence. He takes his phone out, looks at the screen and then turns his gaze toward me. “Look, your manuscript got me thinking, and I have ideas floating around in my head… But you’re busy right now,” he waves with one hand at the out-of-control crowd behind me, “so what do you say we meet for dinner? Back in New York, I mean. I really want to discuss The Virgin Market with you.”
“Sure,” I reply, having no idea what else to say. There’s a knot in my throat, and even my mind is in complete disarray.
“Does Friday sound good? At Per Se?”
“Yeah, Per Se sounds good,” I continue, still not believing that this is really happening. Like, one of the hottest models in the industry comes out of the woodwork to tell me he loves my writing? And now he wants to meet me for dinner to talk about my book? Please, tell me, did I win the lottery or something? Because this sure as hell is my lucky day.
“Great, we’ll talk then,” he says and then reaches for my hand and shakes it, his long fingers brushing against the palm of my hand. I feel a shiver going up my spine at his touch, and I can’t help but bite down on my lower lip. “Until then, Lana. Can’t wait.”
“Until then… I can’t wait either,” I repeat his words and, the moment they leave my lips, I feel warm blood rushing to my cheeks. Oh God, why am I blushing like a teenage girl?
“See ya,” he says, flashing me his delicious smile and turning around to leave.
“Anders Carter,” I mutter under my breath as I watch him leave, my eyes stuck to the back of his head.
Somehow, I have the feeling that my life’s about to change for good.