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Nia blinked. She looked… Well, she looked exactly how Daphne probably did when she got the news. Daphne had never come near to fainting in her life, but for a moment the world had faded dangerously close to black.
“Hold on,” Nia said. “I’m doing this wrong.” She cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Oh my God, Daphne! You sold your book!”
Daphne smiled. “I did, thank you. As for hiring you to fix my mistake, I’m kidding, of course. I need to come clean. I was hoping my brilliant business lawyer BFF could advise me on how to do that without losing my deal… or getting my ass sued for fraud.”
“Do you want to come clean?”
“Honestly? I would love to be Zane Remington, ridiculous name, outrageous backstory, and all. This is exactly what we’ve discussed—whether I could hide behind a pen name so I don’t need to…” Daphne shrugged. “You know.”
“Deal with the insta-fame that will land at your door when the world discovers your freaking amazing book?”
Daphne made a face. “More like avoid the utter humiliation of failure. I just…” She shifted. As much as she loved to write, she was terrified of putting herself out there as a writer. Better to cloak herself in the anonymity of a pseudonym than to mess up her book’s chances with her own awkward shyness. “I never considered using a male pen name, but it’s been… freeing, you know? It can’t last, though. So I need a lawyer-approved escape hatch.”
Nia pursed her lips and studied Daphne’s face. “Would you stick to being Zane if I could come up with a plan that let you?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Then leave it with me.”
SIX MONTHS LATER
CHRIS
Chris Stanton had a job interview. To be a writer. Or, at least, to play one for author photos. That was what Nia had told him, though she’d also suggested the job might entail more, depending on what the client—the actual writer—required.
Whatever Daphne McFadden required, he would be it, because he desperately needed this gig.
Chris was in trouble. Business trouble. He’d made the mistake of trying to help a university buddy who’d lost his shirt in a divorce. His buddy convinced Chris to leave a good job so they could open their own accounting firm together. Chris soon discovered it wasn’t the divorce that bankrupted his friend—it was the thousand-dollar-a-week coke habit.
When his new partner started dipping into the business’s piggy bank, Chris caught him fast because, duh, accountant. Yet Chris’s name was still on the door, meaning he got sued along with his buddy. That’s when Nia Paramar—a lawyer who’d been his client for years—offered him an escape hatch: If he would portray author Zane Remington for her best friend, Nia would help Chris with his legal problems. That could be the difference between him needing to sell his car or live in it.
Chris had done his homework, and he knew Daphne McFadden’s book was a big deal. It had already gotten very enthusiastic early reviews and been moved forward to a spring release.
Then he’d read what Daphne said about her alter ego. Zane Remington was a man’s man, one of those Hemingway-esque types who lived deep in the wilderness and stocked his freezer with moose while composing works of creative genius.
Who would best portray a guy like that? An actor who thought he was a guy like that. A Chris Hemsworth wannabe who cruised through life on a wink and a grin. He hadn’t acted since high school drama club, but Nia had agreed he could… get creative with his credentials. And she’d warned Daphne he’d be using a stage name for privacy. Since “Chris” was already his name, he’d stick with that, though he’d tap into the Hemsworth association by using his mother’s maiden name: Ainsworth.
To play the part, Chris had costumed himself in a designer flannel shirt, faux worn blue jeans, and unlaced work boots that hadn’t seen a split second of actual work. He’d rented a pickup—an obnoxiously oversize one that looked completely out of place in gas-conscious Vancouver.
For years, his stylist had wept each time Chris said, “Just trim it up, please.” So she’d practically exploded in excitement when he asked if she could do something fashionable with his hair.
At least he’d made someone happy. The problem was that the person he needed to make happy was Daphne McFadden.
As he drew close to the restaurant where they’d agreed to meet, he spotted the author at a patio table. Nia had described Daphne McFadden as a “hot curvy brunette who can swing an axe with one hand while penning a smart, kick-ass zombie novel with the other.” In other words, Daphne was Zane Remington. So why the gender swap? He didn’t quite understand it, but he trusted Daphne knew her business better than he did.
The woman he saw looked perfectly pleasant and sturdy. He eyed her as he slowed to find parking.
That was when she looked straight at his pickup… and also when he saw a little compact car preparing to reverse into the only parking spot left. Chris took a deep breath, sent up a silent apology to the car’s driver, channeled, I’m an MFA grad with a half-million-dollar book deal, and stole the spot. From the patio, Daphne nodded her approval, and he exhaled.
Dick move, but it was what Zane would do.
Chris hopped out of his truck just as a spot across the road cleared and the compact car zipped into it. The door opened and out stepped the kind of woman whose heels made her taller than half the men around her. Wavy mahogany hair with red highlights that caught the midday sun, a generous figure in a hip-hugging dress, which revealed arms and legs and glutes that said someone knew her way around a gym.
Damn…
He suddenly realized the woman, who was wearing shades, was looking straight at him. His first impulse was to check his fly. Then he remembered that he’d just stolen her parking spot.
Damn…
