When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,32

acknowledge my statement with anything more than a sudden lull in activity. Either way, he recommenced loading the dishwasher without saying a word.

Did I misjudge him and the situation? Had I actually heard him say what I thought I’d heard him say? Or was it more me wanting to hear what I thought I’d heard? There was one way to find out. I finished my bowl of soggy Os’ and moved to stand next to him near the dishwasher.

“I’m completely one hundred … well, eighty-five percent sober, and nothing has changed the way I feel since last night.”

With a sudden exhale, he dropped the bowl he’d been holding in his hand in the sink and steadied himself on the counter, resting one hand on each side of the basin.

“Unless of course you’ve changed your mind about me.”

He shook his head, finally turning to look at me, his eyes filled with the same longing I saw in them the night before. “Mena.” He said my name like doing so allowed him to finally breathe again.

“Peter,” I whispered.

I wasn’t certain which one of us moved first, and it really didn’t matter, but seconds later, my back had been pressed against the kitchen wall and Peter’s lips were on mine.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his forehead resting on my own.

“Aren’t you?”

“More than anything.” He brushed a stray hair away from my face. “It’s just—a girl like you and a guy like me, it doesn’t happen.”

I touched my finger to his lips. “You’re right. A girl like me could seriously corrupt a guy like you. More than once, if you’re lucky.

*****

I stood at the entrance to the auditorium, listening to Phineas speak. His public speaking skills were on point as usual. That, coupled with his expertise of the industry, kept his audience right where he wanted them. Not to mention his youthful charisma and good looks. Those traits probably didn’t hurt in that area, either. Outside, each presenter’s agency had a table set up, filled with literature and other information for convention attendees. During the first three speakers, I noticed people trickling from the auditorium out into the hallway to peruse the tables. But when Phineas took the stage, the hallway emptied and every seat in the auditorium was filled.

“Man, I wonder if he’s hiring,” an attractive, young blonde with hair for days pondered, never taking her eyes off Phineas.

“He’s not,” I simply stated, without another glance in her direction.

Leaning against the doorway, I thumbed through the handful of manuscripts already received this morning, knowing that we’d have at least double that by the conclusion of the convention. If Phineas was trying to turn a boutique publishing company into an empire, he was doing a damn fine job of it. Who knows, maybe we would have room for blondie, after all. A sudden round of applause beckoned my attention back to the stage, where Phineas was wrapping up his speech. Classic Phineas, he gave the eager crowd a smile and a wave with his usual formal showing of gratitude and prepared to exit the stage, but not before he made it a point to look in my direction, flashing a smile that extended from ear to ear. His enthusiasm was enough to summon some of my own, and I gave him a thumbs-up as he walked behind the curtain.

As predicted, our table was quite popular the rest of the morning, so much so that we quickly ran out of most of our marketing materials.

“Excuse me.” A cute, young woman with a cherubic face, who was—holy shit—shorter than me, approached our table. “Is this Mr. Drake’s firm?”

“It is,” I greeted her. “Is there something I can do to assist you?”

“Um … my manuscript. I was going to take it over to Cruz & Vanderbilt, but then I heard Mr. Drake’s speech and found him to be so …”

“Accomplished? Enlightening? Passionate?”

“Oh, yes, all of that.” She leaned in closer to me and lowered her voice. “And he’s super handsome.”

“Yes, because one’s attractiveness should be the basis upon which we make all of our important life decisions.”

“What do we have here?”

The hopeful author’s eyes grew wider upon Phineas’s arrival at our table. “M-My manuscript, Mr. Drake. I’m Jessica. Jessica Lawson.”

“Nice to meet you, Jessica. Let’s have a look.” He took the document from the young woman and flipped through the pages, pausing every now and then to read a passage.

“I really enjoyed your speech today,” Jessica continued, admiration written all over her face. “I’ve been writing for