“That is incredibly cool. I write romantic suspense. I have a lot of law enforcement characters.” Serena started to follow Eve down the hall toward her office. He’d been forgotten in the mad search for information.
“Adam!”
He rolled his eyes at Ian’s bark. The boss was in a shitty mood. He strode down the opposite hall and entered Ian’s domain. A stunning view of the Dallas skyline dominated the huge office. A heavenly smell permeated the air, reminding Adam that his only breakfast had been a granola bar. He was going to have to stock Serena’s fridge. A man needed meat.
“God, that smells good.” Adam eyed the container on Ian’s desk.
“Don’t you even fucking look at it.” Ian sank into his chair, pulling the bowl toward him like a prisoner who only got one meal a day and would shank anyone who threatened to take it. “It’s Sean’s mac and cheese. I don’t know what he does to it. It’s like the best thing I ever ate.”
“Sean is feeding you again?” Jake asked. As far as Adam and Jake knew, Sean still wasn’t talking to his brother with anything but rude hand gestures and four-letter words.
Ian’s face turned down. “No. Grace takes pity on me, though. If I have a relationship with my brother after this, it will be my sister-in-law’s doing. I know I disapproved of the relationship, but, damn, I love that woman. Sean couldn’t have done better. One day.”
Adam knew what that meant. One day Sean would forgive him for that terrible night when Ian had been forced to choose between Grace’s life and Sean’s. He’d chosen his brother, and Grace had nearly died. Of course, it was the same night Adam had nearly died, too.
He’d gone through surgery, and when he’d woken up, he’d been surer than ever that he wanted to settle down. He’d wanted his life to start. He’d wanted a family.
“Would you do it again?” Jake asked.
Adam nearly did a double take. Jake never pried. Jake never asked questions. He kept to himself. Always.
Ian was quiet for long enough that Adam thought he would ignore the question entirely.
“No,” Ian said, his voice a harsh whisper. “I would save Grace because that’s what my brother would want. I get it. He loves her. That trumps what I need. I would do my damndest to save them both, but Grace would come first.” He took a bite of the mac and cheese. “But, god, the world would be worse without Sean. I don’t even know what truffle oil is, but I love it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Adam said, wanting to try a bit. It looked amazing.
“Talk to Sean. Maybe he’ll make you some.” Ian continued to eat, not offering anyone a bite. He looked up as the door opened. “Took you long enough.”
“You’re in a piss mood,” Liam said as he walked into the room carrying his laptop. The Irishman looked past tired. As far as Adam knew he’d been working around the clock. His accent was thicker and deeper than usual, a sure sign that he needed rest.
“Just tell them what you found out.” Ian went back to his meal.
Liam sighed heavily and turned the laptop around. There was a grainy video paused on the screen. Serena sat at a long table with several other women, her hair in its bun and a different set of glasses on her nose. The timestamp date was for a year ago.
“This is your girl at something called ‘Romance Fest’ in Denver.” Liam shuddered. “God, don’t make me go to one of those things. There’s enough estrogen in that room to make a man’s balls shrivel up and fall off.”
“You can cut the opinion portion of this lecture and get to the good stuff.” Ian sat back, his eyes on the screen.
“What is this? Some sort of writer’s retreat?” Jake asked, leaning over for a better view.
Liam shook his dark head and bit off a yawn. “I think they call it a reader convention. From what I can tell, a couple hundred sex-starved women get together with a lot of alcohol and chocolate and authors sell them books about more sex-starved women as sad-sack, obviously gay men walk around in very little clothing. No straight man would dress up in chaps when he isn’t working on a ranch. Really, it’s disturbing.”
Ian grinned. “I’m sending him in as a cover model to the convention Serena is scheduled to appear at next month. God, I hope this case is still going by then.”
“I’ll die first,” Liam vowed.
“Could you two just tell us what’s going on?” Adam was getting a little sick of the banter. He wanted to see that tape.
“Fine. I think I’d rather just show you.” Liam started the video. A voice off camera began speaking.
“My question is for Amber Rose. I was wondering how you manage to write your beautiful love stories when your personal life isn’t what anyone would call a fairy tale? Please don’t be offended. I’m asking because I’m going through a divorce, and I just get so depressed. How did you manage it?”
Serena’s face had flushed at the original question, but she softened and leaned forward. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Divorce can be rough. I wrote several of my books before my divorce. I didn’t actually get published until after my husband left me. Honestly, sending that first Texas Sweethearts book to a publisher was both for me and to show him, you know? My husband told me I was a talentless hack. He told me I was a pervert for writing about one woman with two men. I won’t even go into what he said about BDSM. But I had to write. I had to write because this is who I am. He’d already taken years from me. I couldn’t let him take this, too.”
The woman next to her, a pretty woman about Serena’s age with jet black hair, leaned over and spoke into Serena’s microphone. “And now her pencil-dick ex, who can’t give away his crappy ass books, can live his vanilla life without his pervert wife’s nice money.”
The room erupted in laughter. Serena smiled and winked at the dark-haired woman. “Yeah, that’s a nice bit of revenge. I got those first couple of checks, and that really helped my healing process.”
“He must have been pissed!” Someone from the audience shouted.
Serena shrugged. “Yeah, well, he can be pissed. He’s not getting my ‘porn book’ money, as he put it. I will make sure bad things happen before he lays a finger on it. And trust me, I’m a writer. I can come up with some crazy revenge stuff. We plot character deaths over lunch once a week. We could add my ex to the list of jerks we’re going to kill off.”