Business With Pleasure (Empathy in the Preternatural PNW Book 2) Read online

  “Will you be able to stay for the whole con? Tomorrow will be mostly a repeat, but there will be different panels and likely different questions from the audience. Not everyone shows up both days, I find.”

  I wanted to go home immediately after and pass out to make up for the sleep I’d missed the night before, but I nodded.

  “If you want me to, I’ll clear my schedule for the rest of the weekend.” I didn’t mention that my schedule probably would have just been a solo trip to the movies, junk food, and the internet. “I read these, by the way.” I gestured with the pages in my hand and leaned against the short staircase that led to the backstage area. Setting my tea down, I flipped through them.

  “First, I’m going to confess that I don’t read your books.” Stan had no opinion on this, positive or negative. I kind of loved him for that. “So a lot of her essays don’t make much sense to me. However, you’re right to think something’s off about her. I’m good with eccentrics,” I wiggled my index finger in the air near my head, “so I should notice her if she gets close and be able warn you she’s around. Though, if she’s dressed up or something, I won’t be able to give you a face to watch out for.”

  “Dressed up?” Stan tipped his head, reaching out and holding my tea steady as someone rolled a large table out onto stage nowhere near enough to put the cup in any danger.

  “Don’t people usually dress up as their favorite characters or something at these things?”

  “Oh.” Stan blinked, briefly deep in thought. “Perhaps. I don’t have any outlandish outfits in my previous books, so perhaps I just haven’t noticed. I can think of a few gentlemen who might have been Alan Allen or Valentina Valentine, but it was never specified.” I cocked my head at the names, but they somehow made perfect sense for Stan. Distress was leaking out of him, but it was so mild I was in no danger of taking it in myself. I reached out to pat his shoulder, enjoying the fact that, just like in high school, his emotions were no more intense than a half-flat cup of soda water.

  “I’m sure it’s fine and you didn’t miss anything. I’ll just trust that everyone out there will be wearing their own faces.”

  A man stepped up next to Stan and asked politely if he could speak to him about the stage setup. I nodded, told him to go ahead, and then gestured back down the hall. I wanted to make my way into the con with everyone else, to get a feeling for what was about to go down.

  Chapter Five

  They might not have been robots, but I was willing to bet the Sneeds were cyborgs at the very least. Sneeds bustled amiably through the giant hall, waiting in well-coordinated lines, watching the low stage, or sticking to small cliques and chatting politely. Regardless of where each Sneed stood, they all managed to be just about equidistant from each other, as if there was a grid of personal space and everyone knew the boundaries of their square.

  There were a few food booths, each serving low-fat, vegetarian food with a bevy of vegan options. I considered buying myself some cookies, but they were touted as sugar-free, with gluten-free options available, and I was suddenly less interested. You can take my life, but you’ll never take my sugar!

  Gluten, I could take or leave.

  I had armed myself with various types of painkillers for the weekend, anticipating debilitating headaches from being surrounded by hundreds of people for two days, but it was proving to be quite a pleasant experience. Somehow Stan had managed to write books that only people very similar to him were interested in buying. The emotions floating around the room were calm and collected, with little bits of nerdy glee shooting into the sky here and there. No one was arguing, shouting, fighting, or waving a sword around and screaming about fake revenge.

  The items on sale were all handmade: stickers, sweaters, scarves, buttons, and the like. One woman did get a few heads turning with an amigurumi squid holding little Scrabble tiles in its eight arms. She was courteous when I asked to see what the tiles said, but I didn’t ask her to elaborate when I read the letters: INNOCENT. Apparently I was one of only a few attendees who didn’t have an opinion on her craft.

  At the end of Stan’s first panel, he excused himself to the back for a short break, and I decided to move toward the edge of the room again. I still hadn’t a sense of anyone acting strangely, but I thought maybe if I stuck to the edge I’d have a better shot. Really, I was just out of ideas.

  As I took up residence next to one of the scarf booths, I felt a peculiar set of emotions off to my left. I glanced over and found an attractive man smiling at me from near a booth that was selling shirts with quotes from Stan’s books printed on them. I smiled back and the stranger took that as an invitation.

  The closer he got, the more I wondered what the hell he was doing here.

  “You don’t look like you belong,” he said as he walked up. I shrugged a shoulder, looked down at my outfit and then back up at him. I’d chosen a bright red skirt, a sleeveless white blouse and red heels. My messenger bag was black with cartoonish expressions of onomatopoeia across its surface, and I’d gone with dramatic eye makeup.

  “I was going to say the same to you, actually.”

  He raised a brow, stepped back, and looked down at his own outfit. His slacks were well pressed, but his t-shirt was a bright blue that brought out his eyes. Other than having the same coloring as Stan—blond and blue—he looked as out of place as I did. We were the only two in the hall besides the hotel employees who weren’t wearing plain beige or white. It must’ve been a Sneed uniform or something.

  “I think I look nice.”

  “You do look nice, but bright blue?” I made a sound of admonishment with my tongue. “For shame.”

  “You’re one to talk, Red.”

  “Well, I’m here for work, so to speak. What’s your excuse?”

  “Oh, I’m just here to start trouble.”

  I smirked and shifted my weight subtly closer, looking up into his eyes. Not quite a head taller than me, he was narrowly built, his physique a slim invitation beneath his sensible clothing. He had good looks and charm, blue eyes to kill for, and dark blond hair. His face looked sweet, but there was something puckish about it: his angled jaw or full lips, maybe. I had no problem believing he was here just to be a nuisance.

  “Trouble? Here? Good luck with that.”

  He winked at my sarcasm before moving to stand next to me and pointing toward a group at the center of the room. They were all munching on the undecorated, sugarless cookies I’d seen in one of the booths, their conversation quiet. I let myself smile at the fact that my new friend had violated the personal space grid and was pressed nearly against my shoulder. He smelled pretty good.

  “Ten gets you twenty I can get them arguing in under five minutes.”

  I let out a short bark of laughter, sure from their emotions that I’d be making twenty bucks. “Bet’s on.”

  A sneaky sort of pride snuck into the lust I could feel curling through him and he smiled down at me, reaching his hand across his body to offer his palm to me. I took it, shook, and let my fingers caress his skin when he pulled back. Pleased I was returning his flirting, he gave me another wink—with the other eye this time; ambi-ocular, oh my—and then stepped away toward the center of the room without another word.

  It was entertaining watching him make his way into their midst. It reminded me of a group of bunnies seeing a fat, well-fed wolf walking toward them. They weren’t quite willing to scatter, but they did subtly try to close ranks. He just used it as an excuse to sling his arms over two pairs of shoulders and lean between them.

  I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the bunnies—ah, Sneeds—got steadily less nervous and more agitated as Mystery Man spoke. Whatever subject he'd brought up was clearly not a happy one, and I briefly wondered if he was cheating and just calling them all vicious names. Within minutes the two he'd stepped between had set their cups down on the edge of a nearby booth and begun chewing their cookies more hastily than was polite. Soon there was frustrated head shaking and ever
so slightly elevated voices.

  Another minute passed and my new friend stepped back, murmured something with a nod, his expression dire, and then slowly backed away. Unconcerned by his departure, they took the cause up amongst themselves. While there wasn’t going to be a full-on brawl, he had certainly managed to start something. Satisfied they were as riled up as they could get, I was guessing, he headed back my way. There was extra swagger in his gait.

  “If you don’t have cash, I’ll take your name and number instead.”

  “Hmm,” I responded, grinning at his confidence. There was an electricity to him that I hadn’t felt around a man in a while. Again, Mel doesn’t count, as his interest isn’t a pleasant undercurrent but a downed power line in a lake full of electric eels. Giving a small nod, I broke eye contact and glanced past him to the still-squabbling group as I dug into my bag for a business card.

  “How did you do that? I’m new to this whole scene, but I didn’t think something like that was possible with this lot.” He shrugged, but it was cocky, faux humility. Before he could answer, I jerked my chin toward the group. “Up to six now, very impressive.”

  As I slipped my card out of my bag, he stepped up next to me again, making sure his arm pressed against mine. We stayed silent for a bit, both taking the time to watch the heated—well, warmed—debate. Other fans stepped up to watch, whispering about it in hushed tones; I wondered if they were worried they would be noticed and pulled in. I focused my senses on the Sneeds nearby and found a collective crackle of interest and apprehension. Finally breaking the silence, my new friend lifted a hand again and pointed to the left side of the group.

  “There are two schools of thought about Drowning in a Sea of Water. One—“

  “Which book is that?”

  “The one about the aquarium and the Scrabble tournament.”

  “Aquarium. Schools. Nice.”

  “Thank you,” he said, his arm still up and pointing. "Some of the Sneeds posit that the squid didn't actually do it. They think there was foul play afoot—atentacle?—and that Stanley will bring the squid back for another book in order to redeem him. Her. It? I don’t know squid anatomy.”

  "And the other Sneeds?" At my question, he shifted his hand slightly to point at the other side of the squabble.

  "Oh, they're convinced that Stanley's books are perfectly clear and concise just as they are. His grammar, of course, is impeccable; how could one misunderstand his meaning?”

  “Ah, that explains the Scrabble tiles.” I peered around, looking for the girl with her little knitted cephalopod. When I didn’t see her, I glanced up at the stage and saw Stan had reemerged. He was setting up with two other people for another panel.

  “I’m a little surprised you don’t know how big this controversy has gotten. Which side do you fall on?”

  “Oh, I don’t read the books.”

  His brows went up, intrigue puffing out of him in a misty cloud. He wasn’t quite as temperate in his emotions as those around us, but I appreciated the way he felt just the same. I’m willing to admit that was partly just because I like the way he looked in those pants, though.

  “You’re not a fan, then? And yet you’re still here. I take it you’re some sort of spy? An infiltrator? A traitor to the cause?”

  “A traitor, sure,” I agreed, thinking of how my marriage had broken up. Without elaborating, I stepped around to face him head-on. “I’m Gwen, Stanley Sneedley’s ex-wife.”

  I jolted as shock stabbed out of him, embedding itself in my chest like a half a dozen heated knives. I managed to avoid the grunt that wanted to wheeze through my lips, but I found myself stepping back as if it would help with the pain. Despite the fact that my confession had surprised the hell out of him, his pleasant expression remained until he saw me stumble.

  Before he could ask about my strange behavior, I smiled tightly up at him and forced out an uncomfortable laugh, trying to play my behavior off as if it were perfectly normal.

  "But don’t be jealous; he’s not really my type anymore.” I hoped he wouldn’t notice the strain in my voice.

  "Well, clearly,” he agreed, still watching me, but letting me have my dignity. The mild curiosity that had been woven within his lust before had grown to take over his psyche, but he didn’t ask why I’d reacted the way I had. “Otherwise you two would still be married."

  “Touché.” I smiled, gesturing with my business card toward his chest. “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m exactly your type.” His easy smile was back as he reached out to pinch the card between two fingers. He didn’t take it, though, watching me to make sure I still wanted to hand it over. When I let go and dropped my hands, I felt a pleased little thread of delight soothe away the last of his shock. Within seconds it was like the only thing he’d felt at all was attraction.

  “I’m Owen.” He pocketed the card with his left hand and offered his right. We shook again, and this time it was he who refused to completely break contact.

  The announcer on stage called politely for quiet, and I turned my attention forward and then briefly over to the little group Owen had disturbed. They went silent immediately, but there were a few contrary glances thrown around before they let the fight go. Two of them exchanged handshakes, murmured something that seemed to relax the shoulders of the others, and then they all turned to the front. When the room went silent, Owen and I stepped away from the booth we were haunting and watched.

  “As you know, Mr. Sneedley has finished his latest novel.” The crowd gave a well-mannered cheer. “While it won’t be out until the end of November, he has graciously agreed to answer questions about it and do a short reading from The Floating Airship. So, those of you interested in asking questions, please feel free to come to the front, take a seat, and when the microphone goes out to the crowd Mr. Sneedley will answer them.”

  Owen looked toward me and gave a smile when I met his eyes. “I take it you and Sneedley remain good friends?”

  “Um, sort of.” I dropped my gaze as I let out an embarrassed laugh and couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at my mouth. Unsure how to explain our relationship without actually explaining what an ass I’d been, I took a slow breath, looking back to Owen and hoping my silence wouldn’t be taken as insult.

  “You said you were here for work, earlier?” he asked after a moment, letting me have my secret shame. I nodded, and he continued. “What’s a mid-level, milquetoast author need with a beautiful therapist, anyway?”

  From lovely to beautiful in just a few hours; I was doing pretty well for myself. I shrugged a shoulder, remembering as he’d asked that I really was there for a reason and that it wasn’t to flirt with attractive troublemakers.

  “It’s sort of a personal favor.”

  “A dirty favor?”

  I laughed, giddily amused at the idea of Stan ever asking me such a thing. Even had we remained friends over the last decade, it still would have been a ridiculous notion. Owen laughed with me, pleased at himself, and I realized I was going to have to get back to work before I let my hormones and his emotions take over. I had a backstage pass, after all; it probably wouldn’t have been difficult to find a dim, private corner. Chloe’s comment about how I won’t date came to mind and I felt my sex drive perk up and remind me that it had been a really long time since I’d felt anything more intense than Madeline’s aura. I could tell Owen would happily help in that regard, but I forced good sense to stuff my hormones into a dark closet, and sighed.

  “Not dirty, but important. In fact, I should get back to it and you’re kind of a distraction.”

  “A good one?”

  “I think it would depend on the situation,” I said, shaking my head as I fought off a smile. “Right now, no. Not a good one. ”

  “Does that mean you want your card back?” he asked. I considered him, making a show of it. I ran my gaze slowly down and then back up his body, and let it rest on his face, on his mouth. The lust that had been a curling, soft twist within him grew, strengt
hened by arousal. I found it was aggressive, like being felt up in the backseat of a tiny car by an excitable and ham-handed first boyfriend.

  Something about his inherent confidence made me want to turn things around and press against him, grab him inappropriately and demand we go find that dim corner. I was sure it was partly because it had been a long time since I’d had sex, and partly because a little piece of my brain said I shouldn’t let him think he was in charge.

  “No, you can call me.” Sighing out a breath like I was getting bored with him, I lifted my hand daintily in the air and gestured to nothing. “I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded. I took a step back as I looked toward the stage.

  “Since Stan has everyone’s attention, I think it’s a good time for me to get back to my work. It was nice meeting you, Owen.”

  “Likewise, Gwen. I hope you answer when I call.”

  “We’ll see,” I said with a coy smile, before turning and putting distance between us.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday at SneedCon was very similar to Saturday. I came across most of the same people, heard a few of the same questions, and ate most of the same bland food. Owen didn’t make an appearance on day two, and I was an even mix of relieved and disappointed. I’d barely been able to keep my empathy to myself the day before, seeking him out whenever I could until he left an hour after we’d met. He wasn’t always easy to spot from his emotions alone, but any time I caught sight of him across the ballroom, I’d felt myself blush.

  He’d caught me looking a few times, but hadn’t engaged me past winking or smiling my way.

  Stan was finishing up the last panel, about to start setting up for another round of book signing. I sighed, irritated that I had essentially wasted two full days standing around and being of no help to him. Absolutely no one seemed like the type to have written the letters that Norma had sent. The people who’d asked questions or approached Stan had all been polite, with nothing untoward lurking in their psyches. No one seemed odd or threatening, or even rude. It was like being surrounded by Canadians.