Love in a Carry-On Bag Read Free

started,” she handed him his coffee. “Your blackberry kept ringing this morning but I didn’t answer it.”
    “Probably one of the geeks from the job. We have our monthly metrics meeting on Monday.” Warren worked under contract as a software engineer for mobile telephones.
    “How much longer on your contract?”
    Warren shrugged. “What time do you need to be at the bookstore?”
    “Two.”
    “I’ll go with you. But ten minutes, tops.”
    Erica hugged his neck.
    When they arrived at the Books a Million in DuPont Circle, Warren held the door for her and reminded her once again not to take all day.
    “Promise,” she said and was off.
    Brandon Sykes was a midlist mystery author that Erica’s company was trying to build, and like many of her authors, he was demanding and filled with self importance.
    “I asked for navy Sharpies, not black,” he chided. “I never write in black, it’s too easy for people to forge my signature,” Brandon tapped his wire-rimmed glasses. His eyes were the same storm gray as his receding hairline, and matched his wool vest.
    “I’ll take care of it,” was her signature line, but when she returned with the correct pens, he continued to complain.
    “I can’t go to the podium and pour my heart out to a handful of people. It kills my creative flow. How was this advertised?” he demanded. Erica turned up her publicist smile and told him to give it five more minutes. She asked the events manager to make another in-store announcement.
    Warren had strolled to where Erica could see him and mouthed, do you need any help? She winked at him and shook her head no. Turning her attention back to the stack of books, she lifted the dust jacket and flapped the books to the title page to make them faster for Brandon to sign. A few stragglers arrived, and once the folding chairs were half-filled, she pushed Brandon to begin.
    He cleared his throat, took a sip of water, adjusted his glasses and read. Erica had not intended to stay, but after the first few minutes, she could tell that Brandon needed help with his presentation. She took out her turquoise note pad and jotted a few notes.
    1. He’s speaking too slowly; the audience is falling asleep.
    2. Start the reading with chapter 1, instead of 13. I’ve read the story and I was lost.
    3. Don’t wear so much gray.
    Brandon took a few questions, autographed books, and posed for a picture with the staff, which was clearly the highlight of his day. It was the first time Erica witnessed a hint of a smile. Gathering Brandon’s things, she walked him out to his hired town car and pressed a business card into his hand.
    “ Call me if you need anything,” she said, deciding to wait until she got back to her office in New York to give him her notes.
    “Oh, I intend to,” Brandon called from the window as the car pulled away from the curb.
    Warren walked out of the store with a bag biting his bottom lip.
    “What did you buy?”
    “Nothing. You ready?”
    “Sorry, the guy was terrible, I just couldn’t leave him stranded.” She reached for his hand.
    “It’s cool.” Pulling his skull cap down on his head, he started towards the car.
    The problem with long distance relationships was that there was no time to fight. With only seventy-two hours together and a good portion of that reserved for sleeping, things needed to be resolved and fast.
    Warren put the key in the ignition. Erica reached over to the dashboard and pressed the buttons to warm their seats. After driving a few streets south, he parked on Wisconsin Avenue down the block from one of their local hangouts.
    The Big Hunt was an unpretentious dive bar that offered twenty-seven varieties of beer on tap, flat screen televisions, a pool table, lots of seating, and a jukebox with good soulful music.
    Warren held the door open and then led her over to empty seats at the bar. “What’re you having?”
    “The Raging Bitch I.P.A,” she said, and watched him hold back a smile. It was what