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“Drive me back to the condo,” I said quietly. “That’s all you’re here to do, Mel. To drive. Don’t forget it.”





Chapter 29


HANNAH


I was on my fifth glass of champagne when I saw Seth.

I don’t know why I hit the bubbly so hard that night. Maybe it was because Pam kept calling me her assistant. I thought of myself as a lot more than Pam’s assistant. Sure, I’d only worked at the agency for nine months, but I was already responding to queries, vetoing manuscripts, overseeing contract negotiations—doing the work of an associate agent, at least.

“This is my assistant,” Pam said to a group of distinguished-looking ladies, and their eyes slid over me like a hand clears dust.

Assistant. Helper. Definitely not the future partner of Pamela Wing and Laura Granite.

And seriously, there was nothing to do at the party. No door prizes. No trivia. No reading. Just a bunch of literary types milling and getting toasted.

I let the crowd pinball me around. I caught snatches of gossip.

Seven figures, someone said.

Thought she was a shoo-in, said another.

James Frey waiting to happen. Short stories. No, they aren’t on speaking terms.

No one was talking about Matt or The Surrogate. In fact, except for a table displaying the book and a picture of Matt, this could hardly be called his book event. More like Pam and Laura’s excuse to hold a literary soiree.

Meanwhile, the man himself was hiding in my condo.

And I missed him. I should have stayed with him. Sweet, strange, broody Matt …

I found myself staring down at oysters on a bed of ice. The slippery-looking, discolored meat made me feel ill. The other snacks on the table were dwindling—toasted brioche with salmon, caprese canapés, focaccia cake, and a variety of tartlets.

“I wouldn’t eat seafood in Colorado,” said a voice too close to my ear.

I downed my drink and turned to face him. Seth.

My head spun—or the room spun. Oof … too much champagne.

I backed into the table. Seth caught me by the shoulder.

“Hannah, are you all right?”

“Get … away from me,” I mumbled. “You are sick and perverted and third time’s a … three strikes…” I set my glass on the table.

Three strikes and you’re out, is what I was getting at. Seth had tried to kiss me in New Jersey. He had tried to dry-hump me at the mall. I wasn’t giving him a chance for strike three.

“Just go away.” I gestured.

“It was an accident,” he said, his face pulling into a grieved expression. “I’m sorry…”

My vision focused and Seth loomed. For once, he looked elegant in a fitted dark suit. Alarm bells went off in my heart. Run away. Danger. His silky hair hung loose around his face, and I felt the most infuriating urge to run my fingers through it.

Seth wore the wild-child look too well …

“Whoa there,” I slurred. “Fancying it up.”

“Why are you drunk? Is someone bothering you?”

“Just you.” I pointed at him and accidentally dug my finger into his chest. I lurched back. Seth caught me before I took down the hors d’oeuvres table.

“I think you need to go home, Hannah. Did you drive?”

“Oh no, you don’t.” I stumbled on my heels. The alcohol seemed to hit me all at once. “Is this where you suavely offer to drive me home? Sketchbag.” I snickered at my new word. Sketchball + douche bag?

“I’ll call you a cab, if that’s what you want. I won’t let you drive like this.”

“Miss Catalano. Fancy meeting you here.”

I turned to see Aaron Snow approaching, his black hair and pale face unmistakable. The faintest scar showed where Seth had split his lip.

“Just the other most person I wanted to see,” I mumbled.

Okay, Seth was right. I needed to get home. The reporter was here, and I could barely speak straight.

Aaron offered his hand. I shook it loosely.

At the cemetery, with his camera and his flailing, Aaron Snow had looked like a weasel. Tonight he looked more formidable. His suit matched Seth’s in cut and color. He was clean, sober, and super alert.

“Back up, pal,” Seth growled.

Aaron flicked a glance at Seth.

“I apologize for the scene at the memorial, Miss Catalano. I acted unspeakably.”

I nodded numbly. All I could think was, This serves me right for not checking the guest list. Seth Sky and Aaron Snow were invited to the release party? Fucking hell …

“I decked you once, Snow. I’d love to do it again.” Seth moved between Aaron and me.

“Would you please stop being … barbaric?” I said. “Mr. Snow, what do you want?”

“I want to share a theory with you. I’m putting together a new article for my paper.”

“No Stone Unturned?” I laughed. “Not quite a paper yet, is it?”

“We have a print edition. You’re right, though. Mostly we operate online.”

“Must have a massive staff.” My hand flew to my mouth. Wow, I was being an *.

“Can we talk in another room?” Aaron said.

“All ri—”

“No,” Seth said.