She laughed girlishly, blushing further. "We should go now," she said, withdrawing her hand quickly and turning around. He wondered if she was trying to hide from him. She didn’t want him to see everything he had already seen the moment before.
"Yes," he let his eyes feast on her perfect ass as she began to walk away. "We should go."
She led him into the center area of the store. The chairs faced away from them so the crowd was not distracted by the store's business activities during the event.
They walked quietly to stand behind a freestanding bookshelf. She said that he would soon be called up and so there was no point in sitting. Although, he believed she just wanted the opportunity to be near him for as long as possible.
He smiled inwardly and glanced around. "How many chairs were put out?" he whispered, nodding toward the seats.
"About fifty plus," she whispered back.
"And they are all filled up?" he asked, even though he could see that none of the chairs were vacant. The only empty seats were the two in front which were for Mr. Jones and himself.
"You can see for yourself," she said, sounding very much in awe. "It was Mr. Jones' timely idea to take bookings for the event. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to control the crowds. We wanted to stop at just forty. The extra begged their way to the list."
"Maybe you should work on getting some more space." he quipped.
Her eyes took on a more intense fire as she regarded him. "Maybe Mr. Jones should get you to be our author of the month every month."
He laughed in a whisper. "So, you don't pull this sort of crowd in other months?"
She shook her head unashamedly. "Most months, we all just sit in a circle like it's some AA meeting."
"Oh." He didn’t know whether to laugh it off or to say something sympathetic.
"People are just busy sometimes, you know."
"Or..." She smiled at him. "People love everything you write. Stop being so modest."
He stared at her smile without speaking, partly because he wanted to tell her that nothing about his life was modest and partly because he was seriously fighting the urge to kiss her. Those red lips seemed to be calling to him more emphatically than ever.
Out of nowhere, Jack's manager, Demi appeared. She quickly nodded respectfully to Jane, as she would any enthusiastic fan before turning her attention to Jack. "It's time," she said, straightening his tie, brushing off some more rain, and fixing a stray strand of hair.
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Jack’s eyes wandered over the shelves behind her, landing on an old, mystical-looking book displayed prominently. He felt an inexplicable sense of déjà vu, as if he had seen it before, in some far-off past. The book seemed out of place among the glossy covers of modern bestsellers, its leather-bound cover worn and ancient. The feeling was so strong that he paused for a moment, his gaze locked on the book. “The Aeon's Embrace”—was it the embrace of time or the embrace of a minor deity? For a moment Jack entertained the thought of a spiritual embrace, something more than the purely physical intimacy that he wrote of. He quickly dismissed the thought, shaking his head slightly, and continued to scan the room.
"I don't know how I'd manage without you, Demi," he said with a wry grin as she patted his chest indicating he was good to go.
He turned and saw that the crowd was on their feet, clapping. His legs moved of their own accord, and he walked into the sound of applause until he got to the podium, where Mr. Jones was smiling at him with his arms open for a hug.
He forced a smile onto his face and walked into the man's open arms, hoping that maybe this time he had found a true friend who would make everything feel okay. They hugged tightly, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of a genuine connection.
But as the man pulled away, he noticed something in his eyes that shattered his hopes. The glint was not one of happiness at their reunion, but rather of intense admiration bordering on worship. And then he caught a whiff of the man's energy - a potent mix of pride and superiority that made him feel small and insignificant.
He tried to steady himself against its weight, but it threatened to overwhelm him.
The bookstore owner couldn't contain his satisfaction at what he had accomplished: convincing the famous author to visit his bookstore on the outskirts of town. People would wait in long lines for this opportunity, and his persistence in contacting the author's agent for months had finally paid off. Sales of his books would soar that week, surpassing anything he had achieved since opening the bookstore. The owner reveled in reaching a status he had likely dreamed about for years. He didn’t need validation now—the hug was just for the camera. It was just another opportunist basking in the borrowed limelight that he had finally been able to pull to himself.
The dis-ingenuousness of the city once again forced itself upon his consciousness.
Jack drew away from Mr. Jones and held the podium with both hands, gripping it tightly as he fought the welling emotion.
The overwhelming emotions of the crowd filled the room like a thick fog, their applause ringing in his ears. Whistles and cheers followed, threatening to consume him completely. But he held onto the solid wood beneath his fingers, grounding himself in reality and reminding himself that these people were enamored with his books, not the real him. He forced himself to look out at the sea of faces, putting on a smile and perfecting his poised demeanor. Gesturing with both hands, he signaled for them to stop. Slowly, the clapping died down until everyone was seated and gazing up at him expectantly.
Behind them, Jane was staring at him with open lust. She wanted him badly. He didn't know what it was exactly that was doing it for her—the fame, the money, the looks—but he could smell her musky need from across the room.
He was the object of so many desires. Many expectations and longings were geared toward him, adding to the weight he had to carry. And he had to fulfill them all. It was just one of the prices he had to pay for his fame.
He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. His words were not those of a man who had worked hard and deserved everything he had. His words, like his works, were not his own.