Jackson-

This meeting can only be described as boring, boring as fuck to be slightly more descriptive.  The walls, painted shit brown, stretch towards the vaulted ceilings with towers of books enveloping me. I feel imprisoned in this small room, definitely not one of the most impressive book signings I've been to. It seems more like a prison archive than a library to me.

My neck is sore from constantly wrenching it in the direction of the clock, but with each glance, time slows and I swear those little hands just won't budge.  Every second without Maggie is a fucking hour and I'll be damned if I have to sit here much longer.  I might just rip this clock off the wall, toss it out the window and call it a night.

Maggie has probably already got her knickers in a twist, I told her I'd be back at four and it's nearly six-thirty in the evening.  I'd have messaged her, but I left my damn phone in the car.  Alex conveniently left out that this was not only a tech meeting but also a damn meet and greet. Another five minutes of this and I'm walking the fuck out. 

"Mr. Porter, I'm such a huge fan." Says the mousy woman enthusiastically reaching her hand out to me. Her brunette hair is cut short, just above her shoulders and dark-rimmed glasses cover most of her face.

I gently take her hand in mine, attempting a formal shake but she grips my hand in hers and for the life of me, I couldn't have predicted the incredible strength of this woman.

"Charmed." I manage to breathe out as I jump from my seat and attempt to casually release her grip. It's no use.

"I've read every book you've ever written and I've had a J. Porter fan club going for a while now, we meet every Tuesday. Oh! I even saw your behind as an extra in Love Eternal." The madwoman giggles and clenches her hand tighter around mine.

Bloody hell.

My book had been offered a movie deal and of course, I took it. I hung around the set giving my advice when acceptable and when they needed a butt double, I happened to offer my services.  I'm not ashamed, my ass looks great however the role was never credited and I, like most, assumed that no one would figure out that little easter egg.

"Oh don't be shy honey-dove, I love the freckle you have just below the dimple of your tailbone." She gushes, allowing her head to fall back as she lets out yet another laugh.

"Proper nutter-" I whisper in shock.  Our hands move in a continuous motion and my forearm begins to tire.

"Ah, lovely, well-" I start but she cuts me off.

"The exposé about you lying to that mystery girl was nuts, the way you cunningly fooled everyone around you, wow, but we totally forgive you. Who can honestly expect a bad boy to suddenly go good? It's in your blood, right girls?" She shouts to the women in line behind her and a few of them murmur and nod. 

"Well that's- that's very kind of you." I force the words out, mustering every acting skill I've ever acquired when I smile and politely attempt to dismiss her. "Well I'd love to stay and chat but unfortunately there is a line behind you, love."

"Oh, of course!" She releases my hand and I clench then unclench my fingers a few times, attempting to return the blood flow. "Just one photo please, for the blog?"

I nod, indulging her enough to satisfy her but not letting her take advantage of everyone else's time.  After two photos, because apparently the first wasn't her good side, she's on her way.

I'm instructed to sign fans' photos, smile for their cameras, and stay until every last person gets their shot to speak with me otherwise, more bad publicity.  I'll be back to being the fucking wanker with a lucky shot, the man who never keeps his word. Oh and most importantly, the pathological liar-liar pants on fire, which is what the press branded me after my most recent stunt.

A few men pass through asking for an autograph for their wives or girlfriends but mostly I find it's women reading my work. They come and go, some desperate, some naive and a rare few sane ladies who just enjoy my books and would like a picture.

If all of my fans were sane like them I'd have no problems with these meet and greets, in fact, they might even be enjoyable. It's the enthusiasts who see me as meat, rather than reality, a damaged man with a particular knack for words.

Patience has never been a strong suit of mine and it seems that's one flaw that Maggie hasn't been able to alter in me.

Finally, the last woman arrives in front of me and it's obvious she's desperate for my attention, a proper nutter.  Her cheeks are stained with mascara from her violent weeping and she jumps up and down proclaiming of how she's always dreamed of meeting me in person.

I'll never quite get used to this attention, I'm more of a loner, well as much of a loner as I'm able to be in this profession.  I prefer to dwell in the background as a fly on the wall as opposed to front and center. 

Don't get me wrong, I've never been one to reject women fawning over me, but since I met Maggie I prefer a vacant room with nothing but the sound of her voice moaning my name.

"Can you sign your name-" The final woman pauses, using her pointer finger to pull her shirt a little lower.  Her cleavage is on show with a slight bit of lace clothe guarding her nipples. "Here?"

Her chest rises and falls with panicked breath and my mind wanders to before I met Maggie.  I could have easily taken this woman home or to my hotel and though she's a slight bit too desperate for my liking, I might have taken her up on her devious offer in the past. That is if she had removed the mascara goop that has recently pooled up in the corner of her lashes from crying.

I take out a Sharpe, briefly wondering what kind of havoc this will wreak on her skin, then wright a quick signature close to her heart. I'm careful not to touch this woman considering my hand is so close to her breast and I can't imagine Maggie feeling so great about this situation.

The woman who I've just recently marked with semi-permanent ink gives me a toothy smile then blows on her tit to help it dry. I scarcely find the point of all this, what good will my autograph do there? But she seems satisfied enough and works her way to the exit after thanking me profusely.

On my way back to the office I dial Maggie but she doesn't answer.  I assume she's cheesed off that I'm late to get her, but I hope when I explain it wasn't my fault she'll forgive me.  I'm fortunate she's so full of compassion otherwise, I'm not sure she'd be so quick to forgive my every transgression.

The roads are half-empty, the brake lights of the nearest car a quarter-mile away but the bright street lights on every corner of Downtown Scottsdale light my way. I blast the heat in my Dodge Charger and start up the seat warmers despite the fact that my ride to the office should be quick.

I start dialing again.  I know it's important to her that she gets the letter from her mum's, but hopefully, we'll still have time to stop by tonight.  Worse comes to worst I can glance around while she distracts her mum. 

I get her obnoxiously cute voicemail again so I  hang up and immediately redial.  I get that she's pissed off but the least she can fucking do is respond and give me the chance to explain. 

My thoughts start wandering to the darker corners of my mind and I begin wondering if something could have happened to her.  Surely not, she wouldn't risk leaving the office, she doesn't even have her car.

I shake the thoughts from my head but pick up the speed a bit and redial.

Fucking answer the phone.

Some days the love that I have for her is so overwhelming I feel she could do no wrong, she's my own personal angel.  But moments like this I feel as if she's karma, sent here to torment me.  I couldn't be more fucking livid, she's clearly ignoring me. 

I give up on calling, she's purposely not answering the phone.  We're going to have to communicate better when I pick her up, she can be angry all she wants, but don't fucking ignore me.

'Answer your phone to at least let me know you're safe, then you can return to ignoring me.' That's what I'll say.  Reasonable enough right?

When I arrive at the office I don't bother to pull into the parking garage. I'm desperate to see Maggie.  I need to confirm that she's okay, to put to rest these heinous thoughts of something being awry. 

But also, fuck the parking garage. 

I march in, ready to say what I need to say and head right upstairs to Maggie's office. 

I swing open the door a little too hard because the handle hits the wall and makes a small hole.  I cringe knowing Maggie's going to bitch about that but my thoughts are interrupted by the complete absence of her. 

Her seat is empty, her emergency sweater gone, and she's nowhere in sight.  I quickly check under the desk just in case she's hiding from her horror manuscript but again come up empty.

Suddenly, my need to speak with Maggie about answering her phone becomes more urgent.  I feel panic stir in my chest as I begin searching the rest of this level of our building. 

I check Christian's office and a dozen other offices on the top floor, she's not fucking here.  She left with no fucking car, and no way to get around.

It's cold out now but bearable.  If she left alone with only that goddamn light sweater than I'll be fine too. 

I storm off towards the elevator and run into the redhead Maggie's friends with.  I never bothered to get her name, something with an A.

"Oh! Jackson! Maggie left with Nick."  The redhead says and I feel my jaw clench with outrage and my fists ball at my side.

"She fucking took off with Nick?" I ask in a harsh tone and she looks concerned.  I try to lighten up enough to calm her, it's not her fault Nick is a fucking asshole.  "Where did they go?"

"Oh to her mothers." She squeaks and I violently slam the elevator button for the lobby. 

All I can see is red no matter how many times I blink or focus on my breathing.  I feel like leveling this place to the fucking ground.  Why the hell would she leave with him of all people?

When I arrive at the empty lobby I sit in one of the waiting area chairs and hold my head in my hands, tugging my hair.  My leg bobs up and down in a nervous manner and the anxiety builds in my chest so much that I find it hard to catch my breath.

She left with Nick and she hasn't answered her phone.  She brought him to her mums?  I'm sure her mother would love him.  He's clean-cut, great style, fancy watch, everything about him screams class.  Yet her mum called me the complete opposite, a 'rough-looking young man.'

I can't take sitting any longer so I begin to pace back and forth.  My boots click on the marble floor with every step and my anxiety continues to build. 

"Fuck!" I yell out to release some of the tension coursing through my veins and my curse echoes through the vaulted ceilings. 

I continue pacing the small lobby until I see Nick's silver Lexus pull up to the curb and Maggie exit cradling an injured hand.

I'll fucking kill him.