Reservation (Preservation Series) (6 page)

Sam had understood all this the day I came to the shop asking for the tattoos.

I sighed again, ready to answer her.

“Fine. Her name’s Kate.”

At that, she dropped what she was doing and pulled up a stool, giving me her full attention. “Ah, a classic name. I like her already. Spill.”

I eyed her cautiously. “Don’t judge.”

“When do I ever?”

“She was a student of mine.”

“Surprise, surprise.” She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

“Hey, I said no judging!”

“Excuse
me
, Romeo, but I never did approve of you turning all Man Whore on your students when Jamie left. It was so...extreme for you. Not to mention
wrong
.”

I tipped my head back against the chair, exhaling loudly.

“Hey,” I felt her fingers tug at my forearm, which was now gripping the armrest, “I still blame that jackass Ian for sending you down that path. That wasn’t you.”

“What?” My head snapped up, my eyes finding hers again. “How is that Ian’s fault?”

“He was a bad influence.”

“He was only doing what you were doing, telling me to move on and forget Jamie.”

She huffed, her sarcasm running deep. “Um, yeah, okay, I said
forget
Jamie, not sleep with half of the student population, dude.” She crossed her arms smugly and cocked a brow. “It was Ian’s bright idea to take a sledge hammer to your moral code. I simply wanted you to get over the bitch. You know, prove to yourself that any woman would be thrilled to get their hands on a fine piece of ass like you. You could’ve gone about that waaayyyy differently.”

I laughed. The woman had a point. Ian, my best friend from college, watched me devote myself to Jamie and was the first one to give me the “I told you so” spiel the second she cheated on me. Then he made it his life’s mission to take me out and get me plastered until I took someone home, and insisted I start taking my students up on their offers. He was all for Amy Mercer and her kinky ways. Finally, when I did start taking his advice, whenever we went out together, he acted like a complete douche when he wasn’t the one getting any action. He was equally cranky when Amy didn’t invite him to play with us. He pitched a fit like a three-year-old boy.

I stopped hanging out with him after that.

Okay, in retrospect, maybe he wasn’t that great of a friend. But for a while, he was all I really had in the way of guy friends. Most of my close friends from college moved out of state after graduation, and then there was the typical plague that wiped out any friendships associated with the person I broke up with. Of course, Jamie’s friends took her side, and that left me alone. I can’t say I minded it, though. It was nice for once to not have to put my energy into high-maintenance friendships—the last thing I wanted after Jamie cheated. I just didn’t have the energy, not to mention the focus, for it.

“Alright, there might be some truth to that,” I said, loosening my grip on the armrest, “but come on, Sam, it was all my doing. I chose to do that shit all on my own. Ian just...encouraged me.”

“How is the little punk, anyway?”

“Don’t know.” I shrugged. “We went our separate ways after he threw a fucking hissy fit over something ridiculous.” I loved Sam to death, but I wouldn’t be telling her exactly what that ridiculousness was. No need to share the gory details about my threesomes with Amy and lower her opinion of me any further.

“Ah, friends come and go. He’ll get over it. Maybe you guys will kiss and make up some day.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“Anyway, back to Kate. So she was just another student—”

“No,” I replied quickly, my jaw tensing. “She’s nothing like the others.” I felt a defensive ball form in my gut, Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. She straightened and her face grew serious. “She’s fucking rare, Sam. A fine wine. Elegant, down to earth, smart...I can’t even...” My eyes wandered aimlessly around the shop, searching for the words, jaw still tight.

“Oh, brother, you’ve got it bad.”

My eyes met hers, softer now, my body relaxing. A crooked grin returned to my lips. “I proposed.”

“Holy shit!” She startled me, flying up from the stool and locking me in a bear hug, her squeals deafening my ears. “When do I meet this woman? I need to meet her, like right fucking now, dude. Bring her over for dinner. I’ll cook. Come on, baby, don’t hold out on me.”

I grunted from the impact of her tackle, my breath stirring her jet-black hair. “She’s in St. Lucia right now. She’ll be home in three weeks to go dress shopping. Can we bring two of her friends? You have to meet these guys, too, Sam. They’re a riot.”

“Hell, yes! Of course Ry, anything for you and Kate. I just know I’m gonna love this chick. She’s rockin’ my world already and I haven’t even met her.” Pulling back to rest on the stool again, her hand clenched my forearm, her smile so wide it broke me in two. Her eyes glistened.

“Samantha Gardenia, are you crying on me over here?” I leaned forward to rest my arms on my knees, holding her hand.

“You deserve this, Ryan.” Her lips thinned as she worked the tears back. “I saw how that bitch changed you. I didn’t like that Ryan—whoever he was—I’ll be honest. But
this
one,” she scanned me from head to toe with a fond grin, “he looks good on you, baby.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I squeezed her hand, in awe of how fucking lucky I was to have a friend like her. She was the real kind. The kind I could go not seeing for months and months, and when I did see her again, we just picked up again right where we left off. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

“That makes two of us.” She clapped in resolution. “Okay, so let’s get you inked and you can tell me all about this rad chick, starting with why she’s in St. Lucia right now.”

I straightened in my seat and started rattling off a recap about the past month’s events, tensing at the first touch of the needle on my chest. The only thing that actually felt better than the sting of the needle was being inside Kate.

And that was something I was counting down the days to feel again.

***

Chez Danyele was bustling when I arrived, full of businessmen gabbing over brandy and couples enjoying a romantic evening out. I spotted a pale woman in a black cocktail dress, and watched as she accepted a spoonful of ème brûlée from her male companion. I whispered Kate’s name aloud, as if I could somehow will her to be the woman in the black dress. It was the exact kind of dress Kate would wear, and she’d look ten times better in it.

“Ryan Campbell?” A voice greeted me the moment the waiter escorted me to a booth in the corner. “Neda’s told me great things about you.”

“That’d be me,” I said with a smile, holding out my hand. “Neda’s fantastic.”

“Danny. Great to meet you. And I agree. I’m a lucky man.” He stood and shook my hand firmly, then sat back down, straightening his tie. He must’ve been mid-forties, with red hair and traces of a goatee dusting his face.

“Likewise. So Bob tells me you’re my new PR king?” I sat and opened the menu.

“Well, talk about pressure,” he laughed, waving the waiter over. “I can only hope I live up to that label.”

“The duck confit, please,” I told the waiter, handing him my menu. Danny ordered the same and we dove right into business. “So, I’m a little taken aback by all this ‘celebrity’ mumbo-jumbo. Bob said something about you throwing me into the limelight?”

“Ah, so he filled you in.”

“Briefly, yeah. Said this was your and Neda’s area of expertise and that you guys would have to elaborate.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t like it. Being in the spotlight, I mean. It’s not at all what I pictured when I decided to sign on with Bob. I’m a writer, not an actor.”

“What I’m proposing we do with your image is a bit unconventional, I admit. Neda will be involved, though, and from what I understand, you feel good about the direction she’s taken your career so far.”

There was that word again—
image
. Writers didn’t have images. They were supposed to craft their stories in the shadows, curled up in a reclusive hole somewhere. Then they sent their work out into the world, for people to interpret as they pleased. Breath of life brought to art. Live, create, release. Job done. The end. So what the hell did images have to do with writers, and why did I have to have one?

Danny continued. “But I don’t doubt my approach will work to your benefit and make your boss—who is also my boss—very happy. It’s a win-win situation.”

“So I’ve been told,” I mumbled, taking a sip of water. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this Danny guy quite yet. He seemed easy going and friendly enough, but his cool indifference about turning me into a dancing bear and his ‘how does it make you feel’ approach wasn’t making me feel warm and fuzzy. Underneath the surface, there was still a pitch.

And I hadn’t taken the bait yet.

“So level with me,” I crossed my arms in front of me on the table and deadpanned him, “what are we talking here?”

He leaned forward, folding his hands. “You said you’re a writer, not an actor. How are the two really different? Think about it. You’re writing about fictional characters. You might not be portraying them physically, but you’re still painting their canvas visually. It’s the same thing when it comes to the public eye. You’re the image behind the characters you create, and your readers only see the image you choose to present. You shake hands at signings, you do interviews and talk about your inspirations and whatnot, and you encourage people to buy your work. In essence, that’s a salesman’s job. And how is being a salesman any different than playing actor?”

“That’s not what this is,” I said, waving between the two of us. “This is you being employed to manipulate my image to sell books. Not me manipulating my own image.”

“We can’t do anything without your consent, Ryan. That’s what contracts are for. That’s what verbal agreements are for—we’ll go over everything with you before we ask you to do anything. You’ll always have a choice, and I’m merely your publicist. Neda will still maintain most of the control where your appearances and events are concerned.” He gave me an amused side glance, pausing for a moment. “What is it you’re worried about, exactly? I’m not quite clear on that...whatever it is. You seem a bit apprehensive.”

“I like my privacy. I intend to keep it.”

“You’ll have your privacy. You’ll just be expected to make public appearances. They just happen to be...rather significant public appearances.”

“Like?”

“Conferences, award ceremonies, after parties, those sorts of things. Things that my wife will no doubt discuss with you in length during your next meeting with Bob. Basically, whatever will help the public form an opinion of you. Most guys your age would love that—the glamorous life.” He shrugged.

I sat back and folded my hands on my lap, feeling my body shift into a defensive posture. Strike one for Mr. PR King, trying to label me and lump me in with Most Guys. “Don’t do that, man.”

“Come again?” That amused smile crept up again, and it was mocking me.

Strike two.

“Manipulate me. Look,” I leaned in with a resigned sigh, “I know you’re just here to do your job and I get that making these appearances will be a part of the deal. I’m grateful for the opportunity and I don’t have to prove that to anyone—let alone you, a stranger I just met—but I’m willing to jump through a few hoops and cooperate with you and Bob. But while we’re talking expectations, my first expectation is that you don’t—not now, not ever—bullshit me. Tell me what I’m walking into straight up, whenever you assign me a
role.
And number two, the second this shit interferes with my privacy in any way, I’m done. We clear on all that?”

Much to my irritation, Danny’s amusement grew. He sat back and kept his gaze on mine. “There will be paparazzi as the hype spreads. Not a thing I can do about that.”

“I can deal with that.”

“Bob said you might be difficult. Neda told me not to worry. Should I be worried?”

“I just won’t be a pawn. If you’re looking for the next airhead hungry for fifteen minutes of fame who is willing to sell his soul, then you’ve got the wrong guy. That’s not what I’m signing up for here, and I want that on the table, before game time. My dignity and my work are far more important to me.” I crossed my arms and held his stare. If there was anything I wanted out of this publishing deal, it was a fresh start. A chance to make a name for myself—a good one.

Unlike the blemished name I’d be leaving behind at the university.

“And I respect the hell out of that, Ryan. I do. It’ll make my job and yours much easier if we’re honest with each other, believe me. Look, I’ve worked with athletes, radio show hosts, musicians, you name it. I’ve seen it all and I know being thrust into this lifestyle can be overwhelming, if not incredibly intrusive. So consider my cards on the table now as well.” He straightened his shoulders. “My job is first and foremost to win over the public—to get them interested in you—and then to do whatever it takes to keep them talking about you. To advise you and make suggestions regarding what you should and should not involve yourself in. It’s a gradual process. I will do my job and keep the public interested in you and your work, because that’s what I’m paid to do. I’m not paid to coddle you. That’s one thing I will
not
bullshit you about. I’ll do everything I can to make sure things run smoothly, but I’ll need you to trust my judgment. I’m not here to make your life more difficult, Ryan. I’m here to craft your image and make you money.”