That snaps my jaw shut. Charles Hall published his first book three years ago, just about when Anastasios Press was acquired, but as far as I know, he was with a competing house. His book was a bestseller. It sold almost as many copies as my debut. Almost.

“Wow, okay,” I say, acting duly impressed. I am actually pretty excited to meet him, but I make the snap decision to lean into the persona of my pen name for a minute. S.J. Falmouth is debuting this year and would be starstruck at meeting this guy, but more importantly, she isn’t depressed, doesn’t have to worry about falling for her editor again, and didn’t leave the publishing world to have a mental breakdown five years ago.

It won’t last. Eventually, people will figure it out. But maybe, for a minute, I can pretend.

He leans forward conspiratorially and winks. “Anastasios is courting me for my next release. You never saw me here.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” I make a zipping motion over my mouth and toss away an imaginary key.

He laughs again. “Were your ears burning?”

That, actually, does surprise me. “What do you mean?”

Tipping his chin upward, he indicates what I imagine is the direction of the publisher’s office upstairs. “We were talking about you, just now. I was in a meeting with the man himself, and he mentioned your book. Must be something pretty special to have Martis talking about you in casual conversation.”

My heart skips nervously, but I maintain an unaffected air. If this meeting is any indication, Anastasios Martis isn’t nearly as interested in my book as he is in me, but I’m not about to disclose this information. That would make my game of pretend far too complicated. “Something like that.”

Charles tilts his head and studies me for a minute. His gaze trails decadently down over my body and back up to meet my eyes. A little shiver follows in its wake. “What does S.J. stand for?”

I open my mouth to respond, but just then, a door opens to my right. “Scarlett,” Ryan says as he enters the lobby. “There you are.”

“Scarlett,” Charles croons. “Beautiful name.”

As if Ryan has just noticed him there, he stops almost mid-stride. His nostrils flare slightly as his gaze bounces back and forth between the two of us, and he crosses his arms over his body, pulling his gray dress shirt tight over his shoulders. His eyes land on my companion and narrow. “I see you’ve met Charles Hall.”