Crimson Peek

The launch party had wound down now. Thank God. He hated these damn things. Dull as fuck, full of preening sychophants and social climbers. Aside from the free booze, he could see very little point to these kinds of schmooze-fests, and frankly resented being forced to attend. But his publishers insisted on throwing the bloody things, and his literary agent always insisted he go. And be nice. And friendly. And sociable. And not leave after ten minutes. What a fucking cheek. Wasn’t it enough that he wrote the bloody books in the first place?

Wearily, he removed his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he listened to the catering staff bustling around the room, collecting empty wine glasses and gathering discarded bottles of Vueve Clicquot. He was tired, and wanted to go home, but out of sheer stubborn petulance, he was determined to stay until the bitter end.

“Just please don’t do…