and Devin knew he was the biggest cash cow in Manny’s herd at the moment; therefore, he was worth milking. And sucking up to, as well, he thought darkly. But Manny was his agent, not his friend—the kowtowing notwithstanding—and as his agent, Manny had made Devin a hell of a lot of money.
And vice versa—hence the pandering.
The last person in line approached. He scrawled his name one more time and handed the book over with a nod, trying to ignore the overbright smile and overenhanced cleavage of the woman gushing at him. She looked as if she was in the market for a husband—not looking to leave one. Just as the feeling registered, her next words confirmed that hypothesis.
“You know, Mr. Kenney—or can I call you Devin?—even after my last divorce, which your book would have helped me considerably with, I still think I’m a bit of a romantic at heart.” She smiled coyly and leaned forward, offering him another view right down the front of her blouse. “What about you? Are you still looking for true, lasting love?”
His on-air persona of Bitter Divorced Guy helped—a little—to avoid situations like this, but some women saw that as a challenge instead.
“If I—or anyone else—really believed in true, lasting love, I’d be out of a job.”
That should have shut her down midflirt, but instead she leaned closer and murmured huskily, “Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet.”
Maybe Manny needs to get his ass back over here and run some interference. He heard the quiet whir of a camera and knew this woman and her breasts were about to make the front page of someone’s blog. Great. He didn’t want to insult a fan with his rebuff, but he didn’t want to hear the next offer either. Where the hell is Manny?
He scanned the store until he found Manny engaged in a conversation with a small blonde. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but Manny certainly looked aggravated. The woman spoke animatedly, the motion causing a long ponytail to sway against her shoulders. She was casually dressed, the white T-shirt skimming over a lovely back and narrow waist before it disappeared into the waistband of faded jeans. Those jeans hugged her butt in a way that got his body’s attention—much more so than the cleavage nearly under his nose.
The woman hitched a battered brown bag over her shoulder, and something about the movement seemed oddly familiar. A moment later she turned to look in his direction and pinned him with a stare.
Megan.
Aware she now had his attention, she turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. As her weight shifted onto her back leg, two realizations hit him at once.
First, the years had been very, very good to her.
Second, she was madder than hell.
Manny tapped Megan on the shoulder. Old instinct kicked in, and he was on his feet before he knew it. Manny could be caustic and slice people apart with mere words, and from the look on his face, Megan was seconds from getting the full Manny treatment. He barely glanced at the woman in front of him as he stood. “Enjoy the book. Hope it helps next time.”
The woman’s sputter barely registered as he crossed the bookstore, dodging a table full of his books, and got closer to Megan. As he closed the distance, her blue eyes narrowed, but not before he saw the cold fire burning there.
So the anger was directed at him, personally. Interesting. He should let Manny handle it, but his conscience wouldn’t let Megan’s feelings be hurt like that. It would be letting a bully kick a puppy, and regardless of anything else, he couldn’t let that happen.
Plus, he was too curious now to see what had brought Megan intentionally back into his universe after seven years.
The freshman fifteen she’d battled in college was long gone, bringing out her cheekbones and giving her a delicate look that was at odds with the angry jut of her chin. That T-shirt scooped low on her chest, snuggling tightly against the curves of her breasts—breasts that the position of her arms were pressing together and up as if they were begging for his attention.
As if she realized the direction of his thoughts, Megan shifted, bracing her hands on her hips and pressing her lips into a thin line. With her light blond hair, big blue eyes, tiny stature and ticked-off look, Megan resembled an angry Tinker Bell at the moment.
Manny stood behind her, still talking, but Megan didn’t spare him a glance. Her eyes bored into his as he approached.
“Sorry, Devin, but this woman says—” Manny started.
He waved Manny silent. “Not a problem.” Manny sputtered, and Megan seemed to be grinding her teeth. Aware of their audience, he turned on his best media-honed charm and smile. “Megan, this is a surprise. I’m flattered you’d come.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. You’re a dead man, Dev.” Her voice was quiet, but the heat behind it was fierce.
Manny took a step back. “I’ll get security.”
“No need. This is Megan Lowe. My ex-wife.”
Manny scowled at Megan. “You didn’t mention that.”
She rolled her eyes in response. “Could you excuse us for a minute? I need to talk to Devin. Privately,” she forced out between gritted teeth.
Manny looked at him for confirmation, obviously still ready to get security to remove a half-crazy woman. It wouldn’t be the first time. Devin nodded. “It’s fine, Manny. Give us a minute. I’m sure Megan doesn’t actually plan to attack me.”
“Wanna bet?” she snapped.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of fifty people, would you?” he warned. Megan was fired up about something, but he didn’t want this to make the papers.
She looked around, then blew out her breath in a long sigh. The most fake smile he’d ever seen crept over her face as she turned to Manny again. “Of course not. I just need a few minutes of Devin’s time.” The sugary sarcasm dripping off her words didn’t bode well for whatever she needed those few minutes for.
Manny backed off a few steps, and Devin reached for Megan’s elbow. She jerked away before he could touch her. Lord, she really was mad, but why had she decided to confront him here? Whatever bee was in her bonnet, the middle of a busy bookstore during one of his signings wasn’t the place to discuss it. With a sigh he indicated the stockroom he’d been stashed in earlier before the signing began. “How about in there?”
Megan hitched her bag up again and squared her shoulders. She walked stiffly, that fake smile fixed on her face until the stockroom door swung shut behind them. Then she turned on him. “How could you, Dev?”
“How could I what? You’ll need to be more specific.”
Megan pulled a copy of his book out of her bag and tossed it at him. “This.”
He caught it reflexively and looked at her. When she didn’t elaborate, he prodded her. “Should I make it out to you, or is it a gift for a friend?”
“Neither.” She snorted. “I’ve got your autograph already. On my divorce papers.”
“Then
