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Granted, I’d eat anything slathered in butter. Even myself.
    “Just proud of you.” She throws an arm around me and kisses my cheek. “Congrats, you know?” She giggles.
    Shanna never giggles. Wait.
    “You remember where we were last night?” I say, grabbing her hand. Finally, her overjoyed smile eases somewhat.
    “You mean you don’t remember?” Her eyes widen.
    “I would love to. Holy shit, remembering would be the sweetest thing right about now,” I say. “What did I do?”
    “I don’t know,” she says, now looking kind of freaked out. “After the club, I thought—”
    “What club?” I ask, but we have to shut up. The moderator sits down at her podium: Brenda Summersby, queen of the Revolutionary spy romance.
    We do a quick intro, running down the table. It’s me, Shanna, Jane Morningside (real name Cathy Grimsby), and a couple of e-book only authors. The whole time we’re all laughing and exchanging stories of researching espionage, my skull seems to be pounding.
    Just make it to the end of the panel. Then Shanna can tell me all about the glorious things I did or, hopefully, didn’t do last night.
    “I think we’ll take some questions,” Brenda says, opening the floor for discussion.
    A thirty-something woman stands up and asks Shanna about her Babylon Corrino series. While Shanna is talking about Hypatia Mercurado, alien queen, and her tortured backstory, I notice a guy in a suit enter and stand off to the side of the room. He looks fortyish, with thinning hair and a wilting moustache. Definitely not the typical romance reader, but hey, it’s always nice to know you can move people outside the target demographic.
    But the unnerving thing is . . . that he’s looking at me. Constantly. Even when other people are speaking.
    Nah. No. Nope. No way. This day has been hell enough already and it’s only just started. I don’t need Men in Black rejects following me around, making me even more paranoid than I already am. Maybe this guy just really likes my latest hero Jack Fathom and his naughty BDSM helicopter rides over Puget Sound. Anything is possible, man.
    But then I watch as a guy in a full on security guard outfit enters and stands right beside Gray Suit, and I know I’m screwed. They’re both staring at me now.
    “Julia? Hello?” Brenda says. Oh, shit. I completely wasn’t paying attention. The nice-looking lady in the audience is now staring at me expectantly.
    “Sorry. I, er, had a blackout moment. Get those sometimes. Vegas, you know?” I say. A ripple of laughter goes through the audience, but Gray Suit doesn’t smile. Oh shit. “Unless I’m operating heavy machinery! Then my blood alcohol content is perfectly legal,” I snap, looking at Gray Suit in a panic.
    No one laughs at that one. In fact, it’s kind of awkward. Like my life.
    When the panel is over, I grab Shanna’s hand. “Can you sneak out with me?” I mutter, keeping my head down and not making eye contact with the fuzz. Shanna, who is no one’s fool, narrows her eyes at me.
    “Is this about those guys? Julia, what is going on?” she whispers.
    “Why don’t you tell me?” I whisper-shout right back at her. “What did I do last night? Did I kill anyone?”
    “No! I mean, I don’t think so,” Shanna says, eyes going even wider.
    “Oh, fucking fantastic.”
    A man clears his voice right above us. Wincing, I look up and, sure enough, there’s Gray Suit standing over me. He’s got a wicked comb over, and a mouth set to permanent scowl.
    I sit up, grinning brightly. Grinning. Always grinning. Even when it hurts.
    Ow, my hangover.
    “Can I help you?” I ask him, trying not to burst into tears and throw myself on his mercy. I succeed. Just.
    “Ms. Stevens, I’m with hotel management. Would you come with me, please?”
    Dear God, just tell me I didn’t harm any kittens last night. Or operate a crane lift. Or sell anybody’s organs on the black market. I am pretty sure I’ll be fine so long as none