Page 7 of Book Bae

“It hasn’t been six years,” I replied, laughing.

“Yes, it has, Mike. You don’t come out to play much anymore. You’re always hiding,” Willow Creed, a romance author, teased.

“I’m on their side,” Aria Rose, another romance author, declared.

I had met the three of them early on in my career when I had been attending book conferences. I often attended them back then, and the four of us always moved lock-in-step.

“Damn. I guess I do need to come out more. Didn’t realize it had been that long,” I muttered, scratching my beard.

Six years ago was when I released my first romance novel, Sacred Vows, under the pen name MJ Stone. It was an anonymous pen name that I chose to see if I could make a go at it without the support of the Mike Jamison pen name. My mother suggested that I write romance, and I did it to honor her. Everyone assumed that MJ Stone was a woman, and we did nothing to dissuade them from that thought process.

We also knew that I had two divorces under my belt by then, and that didn’t fit in with the image and brand we were creating. I honestly didn’t think the name would take off, and I damn sure didn’t expect to hit the New York Times or USA Today Best Sellers lists. Once that happened, I was glad I had chosen another pen name. I didn’t need anyone prying into my personal life, because it was in shambles.

Romance was serious with these women. If I thought I was doing extremely well with Mike Jamison, I hadn’t been prepared for MJ Stone. I had to hire an accountant and financial advisor once that name took off.

It was the success of that book and the subsequent ones that drove me almost into hiding. I seldom attended events except for specially curated ones and invitation only. I kept my second pen name sacred, and the only ones who knew that name were my family, my agent, my publishing company, my boys, and a few industry professionals like those in attendance at my party.

I stood around talking to the other three as various readers came up to us to chat and take pictures. I tried to relax and enjoy myself until a woman bumped into me and spilled her chocolate ice cream on my white long-sleeved T-shirt.

“I’m so sorry. Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m so clumsy. Let me get that off you.” She tried to wipe it off with her napkin, which made it soak through to my undershirt.

Quinn rushed over to me at the same time and grabbed my hand.

“Don’t worry about it, hon. We’ll take care of it,” she called out as she led me to a corner. “I’m so sorry about that, Mike.”

“It’s okay. Accidents happen.”

She pulled an event hoodie out of a box and held it up with the words “Volunteer Security” on the front and back. “It’s a two X. You think it will work?” She held it up against my body.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” I replied.

I moved off to the side and removed my T-shirt. Quinn held her arms out in an effort to hide me, but it drew more attention our way, if anything.

Women applauded, whistled, and cheered. I heard remarks about my beautiful brown skin, my fit abs, my tight ass, and my sexy tattoos all before I got the hoodie on.

Although I was embarrassed, I glanced over my shoulder, winked, and blew a kiss, eliciting starstruck screams.

I knew that I needed to get out of the conference room as the familiar signs of an anxiety attack crept up on me. The headache was the first sign twenty minutes ago. After the ice cream catastrophe, I could feel irritability creeping up inside of me along with me disengaging from conversation. Now that my heartbeat was picking up, I knew that I was in a full-scale anxiety attack. They were a constant companion when I was a kid and a teen, but I had outgrown them over the years. I was surprised to find it returning.

I needed to find a quiet space where I could calm down and escape the overwhelming atmosphere. It had been triggered by my ass being overstimulated. I knew coming here wasn’t a good idea, but as with all things when it came to Arabella, I didn’t argue.

Sweat formed under my armpits and around my temples. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. All I needed was a quiet, cool, dim place to regain control, and I would be okay.

My breathing was shallow and coming in short and fast pants, and my fists were clenched. I knew when I finally unfurled them there would be half-moons dug into the skin of my palms.

Thankfully, I slipped out of the conference room without being noticed. There was a crowd around the elevators. I headed to the skywalk that would lead me to my hotel room in the connecting building. There was a crowd there too.

I rushed to the stairwell that led to the roof. The rooftop was empty, thanks to it being cool outside and it was late. By the time I made it to the pool at the other end of the roof, I was sweating and panting for breath. I dropped down on the edge and removed my shoes and socks so that I could dip my feet into the cool water.

I inhaled for a count of four seconds, held my breath for four, and then slowly exhaled for another four seconds. I repeated the routine three times before I started my other calming technique.

In my direct line of sight, I mentally acknowledged five items. My gaze zeroed in on the blue lounge chair before it dropped to the eddying pool water and drifted to a lone red and white life raft on the deck. I needed two more items. The peaceful sound of trees rustling in the distance caused me to look up and spot towering palm trees across the street that were taller than the convention center roof, and that made me gaze up at the beautiful, twinkling stars in the sky.

After I identified those five items, I searched for four things that I could touch. My hand scaled across the rough and smooth surface of the pebbled pool deck, and I wiggled my toes in the water. I felt a calmness returning to my body, but I had to finish the process. I slid my hand into my pockets to touch the smooth surface of the lighter and the smooth but textured surface of the blunt in my pocket. I removed the last two.

I kicked the water, taking in the sound of my feet slapping against its velvety surface, and then I listened for two more things. A bird chirping in the distance was crisp and clear, but there was another slightly detectable sound that almost sounded like sniffles.

I was down to two more steps in my technique that would help me gain control of my anxieties. I sniffed and inhaled the clean scent of the chlorine and something light, airy, crisp and clean—a woman’s perfume—tickled my nose.