Charlie cocked his head to the side. “You don’t recognize the writer’s name?”

“I think it’s a pseudonym. Nobody would name their daughter Candy Lane.”

Candy? Charlie felt a squeezing sensation in his chest, but brushed his sense of foreboding aside. Of course Candace hadn’t turned herself into Candy Lane.

Then again, he had never asked her if she wrote under a pseudonym.

She would have told him if she entered this contest, he knew she would have. They told each other everything—all of their dreams, fears, hopes.

He shook his head to clear the insanity from it and picked up the manuscript. “Thanks Steve. I’ll take a quick look at it. See you out there.”

“I’ll save you some champagne,” Steve said and then loped off down the hall.

Charlie shut the door behind Steve, sat down on the leather sofa in the small dressing room and read, “Jolene was a good girl...”

* * *

Candace walked into the beautifully decorated ballroom of the Fairmont in Union Square and slid her hands over her red silk dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. She was incredibly nervous about accepting the award for her story, Hell’s Angel. Yet again, she wished she had told Charlie about it, so he could lend her the moral support she so desperately needed.

A stunning blond greeted her at the doorway. “And you are?”

“Candace Whitman,” Candace replied with a smile.

“Ooo, how exciting!” the woman exclaimed as she spontaneously gave Candace a hug. “Charlie Gibson was your mentor this year, wasn’t he?”

Candace nodded. “That’s right.”

The woman leaned in closer and said, “Jessie was spitting nails for weeks after losing out on the chance to work with him. I hear you nabbed him the minute he walked into the conference hall.”

Grinning, Candace said, “Pretty much,” liking the woman immensely and feeling a great deal more at ease.

“I’m Sherryl Ann,” the woman said with a shake of her perfect blond ringlets. “Charlie was my mentor last year and I learned so much from him. I’ll bet you did too.”

The smile froze on Candace’s face. “You worked with Charlie last year?” she asked, striving for an even tone.

Sherryl Ann winked. “He’s quite a hunk, isn’t he?”

Candace felt all of the color rush out of her face just as a loud buzzing started in her ears. “He is,” she said quickly. “Could you point me to the ladies room?”

“Sure thing, honey. It’s just down the hall to the left. You don’t look so good all of a sudden,” the woman added, clearly concerned.

“Probably just something I ate,” Candace lied before spinning around and practically running down the hall.

“I can’t believe I’m such an idiot,” she whispered. “Of course I wasn’t the only female apprentice he’s ever had.” She sniffled and rolled some toilet paper into her fist, dashing it angrily at her face.

Painful memories crashed down around her. Walking in on her first boyfriend while he screwed the head cheerleader. Bravely letting her next boyfriend have sex with her, only to have him tell her she was a cold fish. Swallowing her pride as she found signs of her latest boyfriend’s affair, and realizing it was with the woman she thought was her best friend.

And now Charlie. He had probably slept with every woman in the room on a “mentor/apprentice” basis.

She heaved in a shaky breath. “I’ll show him,” she declared. “I’m going to accept this award, shove it in his face, and move on with my life. Without him.”

She unlatched the bathroom door and made her way to the mirror. Quickly fixing her makeup, she strode into the banquet hall and tried to ignore the voice in her heart that said she could never live without Charlie by her side.

* * *

The words played in endless repeat in Charlie’s head and swam before his eyes.

“He hooked his fingers into the edges of her cotton panties and slowly slid them off her.”

“Suddenly the buzzing started up again between her thighs, but this time, she knew that somehow, some way, Zane was manning the controls to her vagina.”

“’You’re not wearing panties,’ he said. ’I was wondering when you’d notice.’”

“I want you to soap me up.”

Charlie ran his hands through his hair and dropped the manuscript back onto the table.

He had read the words, but he still couldn’t believe it.

Candace had detailed their lessons act by act, scene by scene, in her book Hell’s Angel. He couldn’t deny that it was powerful writing, and yet the hole in his heart was so deep he could hardly feel anything at all.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed as he punched his hand into the wall. Some of the plaster crumbled beneath his fist just as the event organizer knocked once.

“What?” Charlie said in a gruff tone.

“We’re ready for you,” said the voice from the hall.

“I’ll be right out.”

He had thought he was special to Candace, but now he wondered if he was just a fool for believing that she truly loved him. For all he knew, she was going to take her new knowledge and find another “mentor”, one who knew more than he did, who could give her things he couldn’t.

Charlie took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. And then he stepped out of his dressing room, wondering what the hell he was going to say to her when they finally came face to face on stage.

* * *

The MC said, “Thank you for coming to the 15th Annual Erotic Writer’s Contest awards ceremony! We had some incredible entries this year, but for the first time in the history of this contest, our judges voted unanimously for the winner. Here to present the $10,000 check to our winner is none other than best-selling author, Charlie Gibson.”

Sitting out in the audience, Candace was hardly aware of the raucous hoots and hollers from the crowd. Charlie was the surprise celebrity guest?

She looked around for the nearest escape, but knew that she couldn’t take the coward’s way out. Not this time. Even if she ran tonight, he’d find out that Candy Lane was her pseudonym, that Hell’s Angel had been inspired by their astonishing lovemaking.

It was finally time to face her fate.

Charlie took the stage and she could see him scanning the crowd, looking for her. His eyes locked with hers and she forced herself not to look away. She didn’t know what she expected to see in his eyes—pain, hatred maybe—but not the awful blankness that radiated down to her in the audience.