“Just go away.” I gestured.
“It was an accident,” he said, his face pulling into a grieved expression. “I’m sorry…”
My vision focused and Seth loomed. For once, he looked elegant in a fitted dark suit. Alarm bells went off in my heart. Run away. Danger. His silky hair hung loose around his face, and I felt the most infuriating urge to run my fingers through it.
Seth wore the wild-child look too well …
“Whoa there,” I slurred. “Fancying it up.”
“Why are you drunk? Is someone bothering you?”
“Just you.” I pointed at him and accidentally dug my finger into his chest. I lurched back. Seth caught me before I took down the hors d’oeuvres table.
“I think you need to go home, Hannah. Did you drive?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I stumbled on my heels. The alcohol seemed to hit me all at once. “Is this where you suavely offer to drive me home? Sketchbag.” I snickered at my new word. Sketchball + douche bag?
“I’ll call you a cab, if that’s what you want. I won’t let you drive like this.”
“Miss Catalano. Fancy meeting you here.”
I turned to see Aaron Snow approaching, his black hair and pale face unmistakable. The faintest scar showed where Seth had split his lip.
“Just the other most person I wanted to see,” I mumbled.
Okay, Seth was right. I needed to get home. The reporter was here, and I could barely speak straight.
Aaron offered his hand. I shook it loosely.
At the cemetery, with his camera and his flailing, Aaron Snow had looked like a weasel. Tonight he looked more formidable. His suit matched Seth’s in cut and color. He was clean, sober, and super alert.
“Back up, pal,” Seth growled.
Aaron flicked a glance at Seth.
“I apologize for the scene at the memorial, Miss Catalano. I acted unspeakably.”
I nodded numbly. All I could think was, This serves me right for not checking the guest list. Seth Sky and Aaron Snow were invited to the release party? Fucking hell …
“I decked you once, Snow. I’d love to do it again.” Seth moved between Aaron and me.
“Would you please stop being … barbaric?” I said. “Mr. Snow, what do you want?”
“I want to share a theory with you. I’m putting together a new article for my paper.”
“No Stone Unturned?” I laughed. “Not quite a paper yet, is it?”
“We have a print edition. You’re right, though. Mostly we operate online.”
“Must have a massive staff.” My hand flew to my mouth. Wow, I was being an asshole.
“Can we talk in another room?” Aaron said.
“All ri—”
“No,” Seth said.
We all glared at one another.
“Then I’m coming,” Seth added. “You’re not going to be alone with this freak.”
“Look who’s talking,” I muttered.
We moved into one of the libraries, which was more like a sitting room where Pam and Laura stored books by their authors. I left the door ajar.
Aaron went to the shelves and began hunting, and shortly he said, “Perfect, good.”
Seth refused to sit. He stood by the table like a bodyguard, arms folded. Aaron and I settled across from one another.
“Okay, Mr. Snow.” I gestured. “Wow me.”
“Read the draft of my article. Here.” Aaron pulled an iPad from his laptop bag, swiped at the screen, and pushed it over to me.
I kneaded my temples. Focus, Hannah, focus …
I squinted and began to read.
The title of the article jarred me wide awake.
M. Pierce, Author of Night Owl “This is not true,” I said. “Whatever you—”
“Keep reading.” Aaron leafed through the books he’d retrieved from the shelf. They were Matt’s books, including The Surrogate.
I kept reading.
New evidence suggests that Night Owl, a self-published erotic romance relating events in the life of Matthew Sky, was written and possibly published by Sky himself.
Since Night Owl appeared online in January 2014, readers and critics have speculated about the identity of the author, who uses the pen name W. Pierce.