“You stay right here,” Brian said to her before raising the mic to his own fleshy lips. “Okay, listen up,” he said exactly once, and the room fell silent within seconds. “I know you’re all anxious to get started, so just a few things beforehand. One, for those that are new to the Blue Spruce, we do this open mic every Wednesday night. I am a huge supporter of writers and books and artists in general, so remember, Wednesday nights. Two, despite my great love for the work you all do, a man still needs to be able to keep the doors open. With that in mind, tonight we have a three-drink minimum.” He held up his three fingers once again for anyone who might need the visual aid. “And finally.” He raised up some rolled pages he had in his left hand. “Before we get started tonight, I think that it’s worth mentioning that one of our very own employees here at the Spruce has recently been discovered by the literary community and had one of her stories published.”

With a growing sense of horror, Clare stood several feet behind Brian just left of his spotlight.

Donna leaned forward. “What is he doing?” Donna whispered into Clare’s ear.

Too worried about what Brian would do or say next, Clare could only shake her head.

“It bears mentioning that this little lady launched the start of her sure-to-be-successful writing career right here.” He pointed the rolled pages to the stage below his feet. Clare was now almost certain that it was the latest issue of the Atlantic Monthly in his hand. “And just goes to show that if you keep at it, keep showing up here, Wednesday nights”—he threw in another reminder—“then one day you too could find yourself a huge success, just like our little Clare. Now.” He turned from the mic, grabbed Clare’s wrist, and pulled her back into the light as he replaced the microphone into its stand.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as far away from the mic as she could.

“It’s good for business.” He leaned back into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Blue Spruce’s very own Clare Kaczanowski.”

A smattering of polite applause broke out throughout the bar and then stopped. From the spotlight, Clare gazed out at the people staring back at her.

She sighed. She hated Brian. Really, truly, hated him.

Clare licked her lips and leaned into the mic. “Ummm, thank you.” She glanced up toward the bar. Donna’s agent friend made direct eye contact with her, and a cold chill ran across her back.

“And now it’s time for me to introduce our first reader. Up first tonight we have Donna Mehan. She will be reading a selection from her current, presently untitled, novel.”

When Clare turned away from the mic, Donna stepped forward and avoided making eye contact with Clare.