“Good girl,” he said with a smile.
“I should tell you not to be a patronizing ass…”
He chuckled. “But good girls don’t say that to people trying to help them.”
Sage laughed and enjoyed the warm feeling that spread through her body. Gabriel Waverly was good company… and he was right. After he escorted her into the hotel, she dialed the DSI’s number and left an apology on his voicemail before focusing on not just getting through, but enjoying the last day. There was a meet the authors’ panel discussion this morning, a buffet lunch, then a book signing session.
“What inspired you to become an author?” asked the first person, receiving several answers.
“I was working on an offering to put before the SEC…” answered Sage. “I was a paralegal in a big, conservative D.C. law firm. I was exhausted and not getting a lot of support from my fiancé. Suddenly, I had this voice inside my head, urging me on and encouraging me to write… thus Roark Samuels was born… and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Sage, do you think you’ll ever write anything but Roark Samuels’ stories… not that I don’t love him, but just kind of wondered.”
“Funny you should ask that. I have an idea about a group of wolf-shifters who have the ability to shift at will and don’t go through some grotesque metamorphosis. One minute the person is human, the next a wolf.”
“Are your stories based upon real-life experiences?” asked an audience member.
“Yes… not all of them mine…” There was general laughter “I think writers write best when they write about things they know, sharing with readers what something feels like, not only in the physical sense, but in the emotional one as well.”
“As a follow-up, what about what I’ve often heard said about Jane Austen not writing about a private conversation between two men because she wasn’t a man and had, therefore, never had one.”
“I think that’s true to some extent, and things were different in Jane Austen’s time. But, unlike Jane, I’ve known a lot of men… some better than others and not all in the biblical sense. I’ve talked to them, overheard conversations, and asked questions. While I can’t speak for others, I can tell you I often run things by those I know who have experienced them before putting them into a book.”
“Roark has been known to burn off energy in a kink club. Have you ever been to one, and are you planning to visit any while you’re in London?” called a person from the back of the room.
“I have been known to visit kink clubs. For me, they are a safe way to deal with stress and get my needs met without worrying about who I might be meeting and why they might want to meet me. I only frequent clubs with an excellent reputation.”
The panel discussion broke up, and one of the people in the audience hung back.
“Sage?”
Sage turned. “Hi! Did you want to ask me something?”
“I wondered if you’d ever had any trouble with stalkers. I work here in the hotel, and there’s a rumor going around someone’s after you. Aren’t you afraid?”
Sage sat down on the stage and slid off, closing the distance between them.
“Someone has decided he or she doesn’t like my books or me and has made some veiled threats, but I am not about to let any boogeyman—real or imagined—keep me from doing what I love.”
“Good for you,” she said.
“Are you joining us for lunch?” asked Sage.
“No, it’s my day off, and I kind of snuck in here. I just love your books but couldn’t afford a ticket. I hoped maybe I’d see you alone and could get you to sign one of them? I have the first one.”
Sage linked her arm in the young woman’s. “What do you say you join me at my table, then attend the signing? I have an additional ticket and will fix it with the event planner.”
“I couldn’t…”
Sage grinned. “Sure, you could. Come on.”
The smile that broke out across her reader’s face reminded Sage why she loved her job. They walked into the dining room, and Sage ensured she had space at her table. She enjoyed those at her table, and there was an animated discussion about authors writing about things they’d never experienced.
“Sage,” asked one of those at her table, “who is that blonde who’s glaring at you?”
Sage looked to where she indicated and smiled. “That’s Gail. She used to be my publisher and handled my marketing and a lot of other things.”
“Used to be?” another asked.
“Yes, we had a rather nasty falling out, and I terminated our professional relationship.” Sage measured her words.
“Was she mean to you?”
“No, not really. She just didn’t want me to write anything other than Roark Samuels novels. I still plan to write them, but I also have a couple of ideas about a paranormal series.”
Sage enjoyed a lively and enlightening discussion with her readers, which left her feeling as though she was making the right choice. Later, during the signing, several publishers and agents approached her, slipping their business cards to her and asking for a meeting before she left London or after she returned to the States.
She shook her head. Maybe she should call Gail… try to take back what she had said. They’d done so well together. Sage felt as if she owed Gail something, loyalty perhaps. It had been Gail who had first believed in her; Gail who held her hand through the breakup with Derek and the early years of establishing herself as an author. Perhaps if Gail could see her point of view and agree to give Sage more artistic freedom, they could find their way back to a more equitable and better kind of business relationship. The entire London trip hadn’t been a fiasco. All the readers she’d spoken to had been supportive of her ideas for
