“I'm asking you again…” He leaned forward over the table toward her. “Who do you intend to tell?”

Maya set her bottle down. “No one.”

He raised his eyebrows, but his face relaxed a little. “It would ruin me.”

“I know.” She turned her beer bottle around on the paper coaster.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And after everything I said to you…”

Maya smiled. “You mean about my writing fairy stories?”

He groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Maya, you really are talented.”

“Coming from Rebecca Winters, that's quite a compliment.”

He snorted, picking his beer up and downing the rest. He called the waitress over and ordered two more, although Maya hadn't made it halfway through her first.

“I started just for the money,” he explained when the waitress returned and he paid for their beers. “I had no intention of writing romance novels for a living. It was a way to make some quick cash.”

“It worked,” Maya said, still working on her first beer. It was two-thirds gone now.

He sighed. “I'll say. The publisher wanted more. The fans wanted more. And once I started the ‘Misty’ series…”

“I love the Misty series!” Maya broke in, leaning forward in her seat.

He groaned, cradling his head in his hand again as if it hurt. “Everyone loves her. I can't get rid of the bitch. She reminds me of my ex-wife.”

“The woman who threw the book?” Maya inquired. He nodded, picking up his beer. “I bet she's got Misty's expensive tastes, too, huh?”

“You have no idea.” He stared out the window and Maya studied his face.

He wasn't a traditionally handsome man-his nose was a little too long, his face too round, almost boyish, his dark hair, slivered with silver in the light, was an unruly mess, like he had just rolled out of bed.