Almost Perfect (Fool's Gold #2)(77)

“Yes, there’s plenty of time to come back later.”

“You’re here,” Montana said, rushing up to greet her. “I think we should start a little early. The lines are so long. Hey, Abby.” She hugged Liz, then the girl and introduced herself to Peggy. “I have water and pens. We’re going to take turns holding the books open for you to speed things along.”

Liz couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the book boxes. “Don’t you think you got a little ambitious with the ordering?”

Montana laughed. “Trust me, Liz. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ve never sold that many copies in a single signing before. Not even close.”

“Then we’re going to break a record, aren’t we?” She patted Liz’s arm, then turned to Abby. “Want to take the first shift with holding open the books? I’ll show you how.”

“Okay,” Abby agreed cheerfully.

They walked toward the booth. The people in line began to clap and call out to her. Liz eyed the crowd and felt a little better. There had to be at least sixty people waiting. If they each bought a book, maybe she wouldn’t embarrass herself with poor sales. But someone had to have a serious talk with Montana. Optimism was great, but one had to be practical, too.

“I OWE YOU AN APOLOGY,” LIZ said, nearly five hours later as she approached the end of the signing. Her right arm ached, her fingers had cramped two hundred books ago and she was exhausted.

Montana laughed. “Never doubt the power of positive thinking.”

“Or great advertising.”

They’d gone through box after box of books and the crowd had never seemed to get smaller. Liz hadn’t had the hour break in the schedule, instead she’d signed straight through, talking to fans, posing for pictures and answering questions about various story lines.

“Has it occurred to you that people love your books?” Montana asked.

“Not this much. I need to ask for more money.”

Montana laughed, then turned to the next person in line.

Liz sipped water, then threw herself into author mode, focusing on the reader. Each one mattered. She wanted to know what they thought of her stories, what moved them the most. They were the reason she wrote.

A half hour later, the line had dwindled. She could actually see the end of it, which was great because she was close to running out of books. She’d half expected Ethan to bring Tyler by but she hadn’t seen either of them. As she glanced up to scan the crowd, she noticed a tall, thin man waiting at the end of the line.

What caught her attention was his intense gaze. He stared at her with a focused expression that made her uncomfortable. After a few seconds, she looked away.

She shook off her uneasiness and smiled at the woman next in line. The signing continued. It was well after six when Montana murmured, “Here’s the last one.”

“Hello, Liz.”

She looked up and saw the thin man who had creeped her out earlier. He had medium brown hair and watery blue eyes. His skin was pale and there was something about his expression that made her uncomfortable.

“Hi,” she greeted, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “I hope you weren’t standing in line too long.”

“Not at all. I wanted to see you. To talk to you. I would have waited forever.”

Talk about icky, she thought, grateful she wasn’t alone with the guy.

“Thank you,” she said. “So, can I sign a book for you?”

“I already have all your books.” He eased closer. “I thought we could end the day together.” His voice lingered on the last word, as if making a point. “Would you like that?”

Liz glanced around for Montana but her friend had been pulled aside by one of the volunteers. No one else seemed to be paying attention to what was happening.

Which was fine, she told herself. Every writer had a few crazy fans. The important thing was not to overreact to the situation.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have plans,” she answered smoothly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sign a book?”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger. No, that wasn’t right. It went beyond anger.

“How about a picture?” he asked.

“Sure.”

She rose, then hesitated. Normally she walked around the booth to stand next to the fan, but this time that didn’t feel right.

“You’re going to take one of me by myself,” she said, more command than question.

“Sure.”

But instead of pulling out a camera, he grabbed her arm. The action was so unexpected, she didn’t even react. She simply stared at his hand closing over her skin.

“We’re going to be together,” he told her. “Forever.”

In the nanosecond it took the words to sink in, her brain finally reacted.

“Get the hell away from me,” she screamed as loud as she could and wrenched free of his grip.

He grabbed for her again, lunging toward her. She picked up one of her last hardcovers and struck him.

“Get away!” she yelled again, hitting his shoulder, his hands, his head. “Stop it.”

He plowed into her and knocked her down. “Shut up,” he hissed, slamming her head onto the grass. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

Suddenly there were people everywhere. Dark shapes flew at her, then the air was thick and she couldn’t breathe. The man let go of her. Coughing and gagging, she sat up, shifting so she was on her hands and knees, desperately trying to suck in air. Her throat burned, as did her eyes.