Doctor Phillip Ballantyne prattles on for a quarter past forever, but the clock lies and shows it has only been two hours. My ass is numb. These conference seats could get a confession from the innocent.
I head for the door, then realize I’m a moron. No going back to my hotel yet. I pat my pockets like I lost something, though most people are busy politely shoving through the crowd out the exit, and make my way back to my Guantanamo special edition chair.
Phil—I hope I can call him Phil—is standing to the side of the podium conversing with some women from the audience. They are talking in rapid excitement, even giggling. My boy here is a regular Tommy Lee.
He glances up and his gaze lands on me. His grin is so wide he looks like a damn Jack-o’-lantern.
“Hello, hello!” He comes toward me, arm outstretched.
I pull to my feet and shake his hand, squeezing a little too hard accidentally on purpose. His flinch is quickly subdued.
He talks like every sentence ends with an exclamation mark. “I hope you found my conference enlightening! I haven’t seen you at the others! If you enjoyed it, I will be holding another one next month in Houston!”
I give my temple a short rub with my palm and try to vomit up some sunshine right back. “It was excellent, uh, Phil.”
“Doctor,” he says, with a reprimanding raised eyebrow.
“Doctor. Yes, Doctor.” I struggle to find the next words. “Your piece on the Canary Islands was quite . . . brilliant.”
The women have gathered around us, and they nod and move in until we’re all such close buddies. Wouldn’t be surprised if we started holding hands and singing Kumbaya.
“Have you read my work?” He’s still grinning at me.
I have an urge to shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth.
“Uh, no, I have not,” I say, then add, “but I have been meaning to.”
If I worked the conversations with ladies at the bars this well, I really would be a virgin still.
“Oh, there’s a table out in pre-function. I’ll let the nice lady out there know to send you home with a copy of my books. Here, let me give you my info.” He slips out his wallet, grabs a business card, and hands it to me. “It has my email and phone number.”
His tone is like he just gave me directions to Jesus’ tomb. The women are not-so-discreetly trying to sneak a peek. Just to be a jerk, I fold the card in half and stuff it in my front pocket.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll let you know how I enjoy the books.”
“Yes, please do.” He clasps my shoulder and leads me away from Team Phil. He lowers his voice. “We are opening up internships this summer, and I would be delighted if you would apply. It’s a marvelous opportunity to get first-hand experience and network.”
I still don’t even know what Phil does, besides talk about people who whistle like canaries or something.
But I play along by nodding and saying, “I’ll do that. Should I email you for details when I get home?”
“Yes, yes. At your first chance,” he says. “Let me know, and I’ll put in a personal recommendation for you.”
If I didn’t already hate Phil for being a wife beater, I would be happy to off him just because he oozes so much goodwill he must keep the heads of children in his basement. Yin and yang.
“Great, thank you.” I nonchalantly pull away from his grasp, then add in a casual tone, “So, you headed home now?”
He chuckles, though he sounds tired. I have a solution for this. A permanent one.
“Not heading home until tomorrow. Drinks with some of the other professors first, then back to my hotel for the night.” He shakes my hand again. “It was good meeting you, um, what was your name?”
“Ralf,” I say, and it amuses me that a guy named Ralf is going to have a gun to his forehead in a few hours.
I would like to ask him what bar he will be visiting or what hotel he is staying at, but both questions pose a risk of sounding alarming. I’ll do it the traditional way then.
We have a long night of hanging out—Phil.
Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.
Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can’t tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn’t the type to tolerate secrets.
Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl’s ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.
Summoned is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
Find out more at http://www.summonedtheseries.com
Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at <a href=http://www.rainyofthedark.com>RainyoftheDark.com</a> and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter (<a href=http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark>@rainyofthedark</a>).She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.
Grab a Sidebar badge for your blog & Support Rainy Kaye’s SUMMONED:http://www.rainyofthedark.com/summoned-images/
More ways to connect with Rainy Kaye
Author Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark
Author Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rainyofthedark
Author Blog: http://www.rainyofthedark.com
Cover Design: Kris Wagner https://www.facebook.com/digitalgunman
Model: Adam Jakubowski https://www.facebook.com/LadyJakubowsky
Photographer: Marcin Rychły https://www.facebook.com/karrdepl