Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Maisey Yates (sad books to read .txt) 📖

Had lunch with editor today. She passed on the short story collection BUT expressed great interest in a follow-up to Backstage Diva. This is promising. Let’s have lunch next week and discuss.

Nina moaned. Another memoir? She was done with all that. Backstage Diva chronicled her experience growing up in Manhattan, the daughter of a Broadway actress. The book tour had been torture. She’d had to crisscross America answering intrusive questions from strangers that she would have never entertained otherwise. That was the price she had to pay for offering up details of her family life for public consumption. She’d vowed never to do it again.

“Ugh!” she cried up to the ceiling. The vaulted ceiling was fresco-free, not one rosy-cheeked angel to be found—a disappointment.

Nina kicked off her shoes, stacked a couple throw pillows under her head and sank into the couch. Thunder was available for streaming, and because this qualified as a long, hard day, she slipped on her headphones and hit Play.

* * *

The best room at Sand Castle didn’t guarantee rest. Julian was stretched out on his back on the comically large bed, staring at the painted ceiling and wondered who, in their right mind, would want to have sex with angels staring down at them.

He closed his eyes, desperate for sleep. Two days ago, he’d woken up in California to the threat of wildfire overtaking his neighborhood. The view from his bedroom window was walled off with smoke. On a clear day he could see as far as the Pacific.

He’d turned on the television and checked his phone for information. The news headlines were short, capturing the general state of panic. Brush Fire Erupts. Brush Fire Doubles in Size. Fire Changes Course. An evacuation order was in effect for the Hollywood Hills. His landlord sent him a text message in all caps to reinforce it. GET PACKING! Since his landlord was also his neighbor, he couldn’t ignore the directive.

It had irked him to abandon his house, only it wasn’t his to stay and defend. The modern home, nestled in the Hollywood Hills, was a rental. He’d moved in after his breakup. The house had come fully furnished. Most of his personal belongings were still in storage, which made packing a breeze. Julian folded his clothes into two large suitcases and tossed in his toiletries. He gathered his laptop, tablet, camera, personal phone and burner phone. He emptied the contents of his file cabinet into a messenger bag. The only thing left to do was return the cat.

Wasabi, his neighbor’s green-eyed cat, would be asleep under his car. As per their routines, Julian popped open the trunk of his black Ferrari and the cat sprang out. He scooped him up. It would only take a minute to deliver him to Rosie, the neighbor’s nanny.

The night he’d moved into the neighborhood, Julian had caught Rosie lighting a cigarette in the gazebo. At his approach she’d leaped to her feet, knocking a planter on its side. She hid the hand with the cigarette behind her back, but a curl of smoke rose above her head.

“Are you supposed to be here?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Holy mother! You’re JL Knight!”

“I know who I am.”

“I’m not trespassing, sir,” she said. “I’m the nanny from next door. I come over once a week to do some light housekeeping.”

She was older than him by a decade—and a Brit. Julian asked her to drop the “sir.”

“Please don’t tell my employer you caught me smoking. He doesn’t hire smokers.”

Her employer was his landlord. Julian told her to relax. The day he caused a hardworking woman to lose a job was the day his mother would turn in her grave—she who only wanted to rest in peace in her homeland of Jamaica. He and Rosie had been friends ever since. He would not have wanted to evacuate without first checking on her, and Wasabi gave him the perfect excuse.

Julian accessed the neighboring property by a side gate. If not for the threat of flames and the low-hanging clouds of smoke, it was a peaceful morning. He made his way to the front door, passing a U-Haul truck parked in the U-shaped driveway. Rosie threw open the door before he had a chance to ring the doorbell. “JL Knight, you’re my hero!” she exclaimed. “You’ve saved me the trouble of mounting a search party for that cat.”

“Next time check my garage,” he said. “That’s where he’ll be. Do you still have the code?”

While Rosie checked to make sure her information was up to date, a little blonde girl came barreling into the foyer, squealing with joy at the sight of Wasabi. Julian knelt until they were almost eye level and put the cat in her arms.

Rosie plucked her phone from her uniform pocket and snapped a photo. “How precious! Samantha, say thank you to Mr. Knight.”

The little girl offered a shy smile. “Tanks.”

Julian ruffled her hair and unfolded to his full height. Then he asked Rosie if she planned to evacuate with her employers.

“We’re heading to the house in Palm Springs,” she said. “It’s a fixer, so we’ll be roughing it. How about you?”

“I’m ready to roll out.” Julian had no definite plans. There were calls for donations to the fire department—water bottles and eye drops, mostly. He’d see to that and then possibly check into a hotel until it was safe to return. He had no place to be, really.

Rosie asked Samantha to find Wasabi’s favorite toy and accompanied him down the front steps.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, JL Knight,” she said. “Now seems like the right time.”

Julian winced at her use of his stage name. He’d asked her one hundred times to stop calling him that, but with Rosie it was either “sir” or “JL Knight.” This confirmed what he’d known to be true for some time. For some people, no matter what he did, he’d be indistinguishable from his acting persona. For years, he hadn’t minded. He was