These Boots Were Made for Stomping (19 page)

Still, she thought, as she pulled the first boot out of its box, they were absolutely perfect. She’d so have to thank her
Aunt Dottie for the Web link. Usually overbearing, matchmaking Aunt Dottie never forwarded anything to Hailey except Match
.com and eHarmony profiles. Then, out of the blue one day, she’d sent Hailey a link to a Web site called Hiheelia.com, suggesting
she peruse the footwear ASAP. The site was actually pretty odd—not surprising, considering it came referred by Aunt Dottie—and
had a lot of mumbo jumbo about the power of shoes. In fact, Hailey had been about to close out the site altogether when suddenly
she spotted THE boots. It was almost uncanny how exactly they looked like Karma Kitty’s. As if the site had read her mind
and produced the footwear from her imagination.

Which, once upon a time, wouldn’t have seemed too unusual to Hailey. But she’d turned over a new leaf and abandoned the weirdness,
so she decided to just deem it a coincidence.

She sat down on the toilet and slid on boot #1, praying it’d fit. The pair had arrived by airmail yesterday—some weird foreign
postage stamped on the box—and she hadn’t had a chance to try them on yet.

But lucky for her, the boot slipped onto her foot as if it were a glass slipper and she Cinderella incarnate. She reached
down and slid on the other boot—also a perfect fit.

She stood up, ready to go show Thomas her outfit, when a sudden dizziness came over her. She had to brace herself against
the bathroom stall walls, so as not to fall and hit her head on the toilet. A tingle tickled her stomach, flushing her skin
and prickling at her fingers and toes. She felt panic rise to her throat as her heart picked up its pace and butterflies in
her stomach swarmed the remains of the Starbucks cheese Danish she’d consumed back at the airport.

She sat down again, closing her eyes and sucking in a breath, trying to regain her composure.

“Hello? Hailey? Are you in here?” She could hear Thomas enter the ladies’ room, unconcerned, as always, about the gender requirement.
He banged on the stall door. “You do realize that
I’m
the queen, right? Therefore I should be the one that spends way too much time getting ready, not you.”

“One second,” she cried, exhaling the breath. She unzipped her boots and kicked them off her feet. No way was she going to
walk to the booth in those when she was feeling faint. She’d put them back on when she got there. She unlocked the door and
swung it open.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked, squinting at her. She giggled. It was hard to take him seriously in his purple faux-fur pimp
daddy suit. “You look weird.”

“Hello, pot, I’m kettle,” she quipped, already feeling a bit better. She grabbed the boots off the floor and slid on her flip-flops.

“Seriously, Hail, you look really pale.”

“Yeah, I felt really weird there for a moment,” she admitted. “Like, dizzy and faint.”

“Maybe you’re dying,” Thomas said helpfully.

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Or, more likely, maybe you’re nervous about seeing Collin,” he added, with a sly wink.

She groaned, realizing that made a lot of sense. Stupid Collin. Stupid, stupid Collin. It was so not fair that he retained
the power to make her weak in the knees (literally) after so many years, with his deep, soulful, chocolate eyes, and hair
so black it was almost blue. She could picture him now—dressed to the nines, his full mouth quirked into one of his amused
smiles, shaking his head at one of her antics. He used to tell her no one made him laugh like she did.

She sighed. Wonder who was making him laugh now?

“You’re probably right,” she said, grabbing all her bags and following Thomas out of the bathroom. “I’m just stressed. But
I’m fine.”

“You’re more than fine, sister. You’re fab,” Thomas proclaimed, putting an arm around her shoulder. She smiled. Thank goodness
for good friends.

“We’re both fab,” she agreed. “Uberfab, in fact. Now let’s go sell us some comic books.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Welcome!” exclaimed the hook-nosed woman with gold-rimmed glasses who stood behind booth 2134. She held out her Olive Oyl–length
arms in greeting. “I’m so glad you were able to come by.”

Hailey glanced over at Thomas, who shrugged in response. Of course they were “able to come by”—they had a signing in less
than an hour! And who was this woman, anyway? With her graying hair pulled back into a severe bun and her suit jacket buttoned
up to her neck, she looked like she belonged at a bankers’ banquet rather than a comic-book convention. Was she a den mother,
perhaps, hired by Straylight to keep the booth seats warm while the editors got their geek on around the Comic Con floor?

“Thanks,” Hailey said, hesitantly. “Is this where—”

“Yes! Of course. You’re at the right place: your home for all things Karma Kitty. It’s so great to see fans here. Real fans!
The signing will begin in”—she glanced at her watch—“less than an hour. You’re welcome to stay. The artists aren’t here yet,
but they’re expected soon.”

Thomas burst out laughing. Hailey shook her head, realizing the mistake. “Oh,” she said. “We’re not fans.”

The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyeing their attire. “I see,” she said, losing a level of perkiness.

“No, you don’t understand. We’re the creators,” Hailey clarified. “I’m Hailey Hills, the writer, and this is Thomas Carol,
my artist. The masterminds behind
Karma Kitty
.”

“You’re . . .” the woman started, trailing off as she stared at them as if in disbelief. “You’re . . . oh, my. Well, I’m so
sorry for the mistake. I didn’t recognize you in those . . . those . . .” She scrunched up her face with obvious distaste.
“Those costumes,” she finished, spitting out the word
costume
as if it were poison she was desperately trying to expel. She sniffed, then stuck out a hand. “I’m Martha Hannah, the publisher.
You can call me Mrs. Hannah.”

Hailey took the cold, bony paw, trying not to let her mouth drop open in shock.
This
was their publisher? Where were the black-rimmed-glasses-wearing geeks who’d skip lunch to check their
World of Warcraft
auctions? Or at least throw down a few rounds of
Magic: The Gathering
? Mrs. Hannah looked as if she’d prefer a compelling game of bridge at the local country club.

Don’t judge someone on their appearance
, she scolded herself. Mrs. Hannah, despite her outfit, could be a huge fan and advocate of the comic book world. And she
did publish and distribute
Karma Kitty
. So obviously she had good taste.

“So, what do you think of the costumes?” Thomas asked, pumping Mrs. Hannah’s hand eagerly. “Pretty bad-ass, huh? I made mine
myself. I’m Big Kitty.”

“Indeed you are,” Mrs. Hannah said, yanking her hand away and brushing it against her gray flannel suit.

“And I’m Karma Kitty,” Hailey added, enthusiasm extinguishing at a rapid rate. This was so not how she’d envisioned this meeting
at all. She’d expected to walk up to the booth to a spattering of “oohs” and “aahs”—maybe even a little clapping—for their
creative attire. Instead, Mrs. Hannah looked like she wanted to send them to the principal’s office.

“I see.” Mrs. Hannah pursed her thin lips, then glanced at her watch. “Well, you’re scheduled to sign in less than an hour,
so I suggest you start getting changed.”

Hailey and Thomas exchanged puzzled glances. “Changed?” Hailey inquired.

“Into your normal clothes,” Mrs. Hannah said slowly, as if speaking to dim-witted children. “What you’re going to wear for
the signing.”

“But we’re going to wear—”

“That?” She gave them a horrified once-over. “Certainly not.”

“But . . . but we’re dressed like our characters.”

“Yes, I see. That is quite obvious. But we simply can’t allow you to represent our company dressed like you are. This kind
of thing just won’t fly here at Comic Con.”

An amputee with a machine gun for a leg picked that moment to limp by, followed by a trio of Batmen—’60s TV series, Tim Burton,
and Dark Knight varieties.

“How can you say that?” Hailey demanded. “Look around you. Half the people here are in costume.”

Mrs. Hannah shrugged. “They’re fans. It’s fine for fans to dress up. But as artists—you should be above this sort of thing.
I’ve spent fifty years trying to legitimize comic books to an industry that considers them nothing but child’s play. The last
thing I need is a couple of my artists to foil years of hard work with a single fashion faux pas.”

Hailey’s heart sank. All that hard work creating her costume—for nothing. All the money she’d spent on her amazing shoes—wasted.

“Come on, lady,” Thomas whined. “We’re just having a little fun. We’re not going to bring down the whole comic-book industry
just by a little dress-up.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I own Straylight Comics, and if you want to sign at my booth, which I paid for, you will do so in respectable
attire.”

“Yeah? Well, I say you can take your respectable attire and—”

“Okay, okay!” Hailey interrupted Thomas before he said something he’d regret. After all, this
was
their publisher. The person who signed the checks and distributed their work. Even if they didn’t agree with her—even if they
thought she was insane—they had little choice but to respect her wishes. After all, she’d paid for them to come to Comic Con
in the first place. “We’ll just hit the bathroom and be back in a few.”

Mrs. Hannah nodded, looking smug. Hailey noticed Thomas opening his mouth again, so she grabbed him by his purple velour sleeve
and dragged him away.

“Come on, Big Kitty,” she quipped. “Retract the claws, please, please.”

Thomas grunted, but allowed her to drag him away. “So unfair,” he grumbled, once out of earshot. “How’d we pick such a lame-ass
publisher, anyway? Legitimizing comic books, my ass. Comic books aren’t meant to be legitimate. They’re books with freaking
pictures! We’re not publishing Shakespeare, people!”

“Hush!” Hailey scolded. “People here will kick your ass for saying shit like that.”

“They can try!”

“Oh grow up, Thomas,” she said, feeling rather old all of a sudden. “Mrs. Hannah means well. She wants people to take the
books more seriously. So we can get wider distribution in bigger bookstores. Get the mainstream audience to pay attention.
It makes sense in many ways.”

“She wants us to sell out, in other words,” Thomas interjected.

“You can call it that, but will you really complain when the big paychecks start rolling in?”

“Please. What about Hiro Kim? He’s the best-selling comic artist in the world—Hollywood’s been begging him to sell his movie
rights to his pirate series for years. And he’s said time and time again he’ll never, ever do it.” Thomas held out his hands.
“You think he’s busy collecting welfare because he takes a moral high ground?”

Hailey sighed. “It’s not like I don’t see your point. I’m just saying there are different ways to look at it. Anyway, it’s
not like I’m not as disappointed as you are. You know how long I spent on this outfit?”

“Well, maybe we can wear them after the signing,” Thomas suggested. “We can be our own fangirls.”

Hailey smiled. “Exactly. And then we can . . .” She trailed off, her voice getting stuck in her throat as her eyes fell on
the one person she’d been searching for/trying to avoid.

Collin.

He wasn’t exactly hard to miss. Standing tall on a raised platform in the middle of what had to be the biggest booth at Comic
Con: Darken Pictures, the film company he worked for. He was lecturing a gathered crowd of scantily clad elf girls while a
swirling animated screen lit up the stage behind him.

“Hailey? You okay? You’re suddenly white as a—Ohhh!” Thomas followed her glance and put two and two together. “It’s the Hollywood
Hunk, eh?”

Hailey bit her lower lip, her traitorous body trying to step forward and retreat all at the same time. Her legs were mud and
her eyes refused to look away, drinking in the tall, lanky figure on stage. His fitted Darken Pictures tee nicely showcased
his pecs and trim stomach while his black jeans hugged his narrow waist and thighs. She remembered all too well running her
hands up and down that body, sans clothes, once upon a time, exploring the hard planes of muscle beneath. She remembered the
plea sure she felt from touching him. From him touching her back.

She shook her head. That time was past. And while he was still unbearably sexy on the outside, he was also probably still
as pig-headed on the inside as well. And sure, sexy was good for a romp in the sack or two, but when it came to committing
to a person for the rest of your life, Hailey wanted more than that. She wanted a guy who would believe her. No matter what.

“So you gonna go say hi?” Thomas asked, nudging her in the arm and yanking her back to the present.

“No way,” she said. “Absolutely no way.” She turned to leave, finally getting her Jell-O–like legs under some sort of control.
“We’d better get to the bathroom, quickly, so we can change in time for the signing.”

“Too late, kitty kat,” Thomas replied, his voice ripe with amusement. “You’ve been spotted.”

She glanced back and cringed as she realized she was indeed the target of Collin’s steady, piercing gaze. He caught her eyes
with his and, as if by some kind of magic cosmic ray, refused to let go.

“Hailey!” she heard him cry. “Hailey Hills!”

“I’ll meet you at the signing, lover girl.” Thomas chuckled, before ducking out of sight.

Collin couldn’t believe it. Absolutely couldn’t believe it. Hailey Hills. His Hailey Hills was standing there in the middle
of Comic Con, not ten feet away from him. Forgetting he was in the middle of a Q&A, he leapt off the stage, pushing past all
the annoying bimbos who had been asking moments before whether or not he thought Paris Hilton would make a good Catwoman.
He could hear his assistant call after him, her voice high with distress, but he ignored her. Hailey Hills was now nine feet
from his grasp and he wasn’t going to let her get away.

“Hailey!” he cried again, pushing through the crowd. She stared at him dully, as if with little recognition. She did remember
him, didn’t she? They were only engaged to be married once, after all . . .

He caught up to her and stopped, panting from his effort. He took her in, raking his gaze from her flip-flopped feet, up her
shapely legs—sheathed in glittery lycra—to her micro-mini and schoolgirl button-down shirt. She was carrying ridiculously
high golden boots and wore little cat ears on her head.

His body responded as his eyes involuntarily returned to the inch of bare skin located at the spot where the thigh-highs ended
and her skirt began. God, she looked good. Way too good. It was all he could do to stop himself from pinning her against a
post and lifting her skirt to see if she’d started wearing pan ties or still went commando. He imagined himself running his
hands up her creamy white thighs, higher and higher until he reached . . .

He shook his head. This was not the time or place for this kind of thing. Still, it’d been an awful long time since he’d felt
this way about a woman, and part of him was relieved to feel his sex drive kick back into gear. It’d been a while, for sure.

“Hi, Collin,” Hailey said breezily, as if it wasn’t the oddest thing in the world to run into him in the middle of Comic Con.
“What’s up?”

He stared at her, his usually quick mind—the one that got him big Hollywood deals on a daily basis—locking up like a steel
drum and refusing him the ability to form a complete sentence. “Y-you . . .” he stammered, raking a hand through his hair.
“You . . . Are you dressed as a cat?”

If there had been awards given out at Comic Con for saying lame things, he would have won the grand prize for sure. Of course
she was dressed up like a cat. She was Karma Kitty—their creation. Collin had been following her successes on her blog for
the last five years. She’d come a long way from the crazy hippie-dippie girl he’d fallen in love with back at school. She
was a successful comic book writer with a cult following that would likely only get bigger as time went on.

“I’m supposed to be Karma Kitty,” she said, her cheeks coloring as she glanced down at her feet. She still had the light dusting
of freckles powdering her nose. Collin remembered his favorite lazy Sunday morning activity—curling up in bed with her, kissing
each and every one.

“Yeah, right, of course,” he said, struggling to redeem himself. “I’ve been reading it. It’s really great.”

Her sexy, black-rimmed eyes widened at this. “You’ve been reading the comics?”

Now it was his turn to blush. The last thing he wanted was for her to know how hung up he’d been—how hung up he still was—on
her. The girl had ditched him at the altar. Humiliated him in front of his family and friends. He remembered standing up there,
wearing his ridiculous penguin suit, waiting and waiting and waiting. Hearing the guests on the bride’s side snicker. His
mother sob. How long had he actually stood there before he realized she wasn’t going to show up?

Anger replaced lust in his gut. “So,” he said. “Get abducted by any aliens lately?”

Her face darkened. He’d struck a nerve. Well, good. She deserved to feel guilty after what she had done. Making up some stupid
excuse as to why she hadn’t shown up on that day. If she hadn’t felt she was ready for marriage, if she wasn’t sure about
moving to LA, she could have just told him. He’d have understood. But no, she’d all runaway-brided him, making him worry for
weeks before she finally showed up out of nowhere, expecting him to just believe her crazy tale and forgive her.

Her face fell and he felt himself soften. He hadn’t chased after her to yell at her, after all. And he
was
happy to see her, even under the circumstances. It’d been too long. “Sorry,” he amended. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, recovering quickly. She threw him a big Hailey grin. “But no aliens. No voices. No . . . well,
no weirdness at all. I’ve shut it all out of my life. Turned over a new leaf. All that.”