Nobody Does It Better Read Online Free

buffet, a six-foot-tall reproduction of the cover of Montgomery Alexander's latest book, Dearest Enemy, Deadly Friend, loomed over the crowd, a not-so-subtle reminder that this party had a purpose.
    Paris had to hand it to Ellis Chapman. Once again he'd outdone himself. The owner of Cobalt Blue, Ellis had grown his small press into a legitimate publisher. Now he was on the brink of being a real industry player, primarily because of his guerilla marketing stunts. At a minimum, Ellis insisted his authors do local television talk shows, and it had originally irritated him when Paris explained that Alexander refused to make public appearances. Ellis being Ellis, he'd quickly turned the situation to his advantage by focusing on Alexander's mystique. If Paris were a betting woman, she'd lay odds that Ellis had planted the persistent rumors that Montgomery Alexander was a former spy.
    She'd hoped Ellis would stay happy with the mysterious recluse angle indefinitely. But with the release of Dearest Enemy, he'd become antsy. Sales were doing just fine, but he wanted them to do even better. So when the book made one of the bestseller lists, he'd sent out invitations to a supposedly low-key cocktail party honoring the book's success. Then he'd hinted to the right people that Alexander himself might drop by.
    When Paris had protested, he'd started throwing around words like "hardback," and "higher royalties," and "multi-book deals." At the same time, he'd casually asked Paris to let Alexander know he'd be seeing none of those things if he didn't get himself to
New York
for the cocktail party.
    Now the restaurant overflowed with a variety of people who'd been drawn by the allure of seeing the reclusive Mr. Alexander. Reporters danced with editors. Fans chatted with other Cobalt Blue authors. A few soap opera stars mugged for the photographers.
    Paris caught sight of Ellis chatting in the corner with a reporter she recognized from that morning's news. She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered what he would do when she made her announcement that Alexander wasn't coming. Her gaze swept over the relatively well-mannered crowd. Surely this group wouldn't transform into a modern-day lynch mob.
    Would it?
    Swaying to the rhythm of the music, Rachel approached with two glasses of champagne and pushed one toward Paris .
    "You know I don't drink that stuff."
    "Trust me on this one."
    Paris sniffed the champagne, sighed, then took a quick sip. The bubbles tickled her nose and took her mind off the party. Since that wasn't a bad thing, she took a bigger swallow.
    "Having fun?"
    "Better than I expected." She frowned, remembering the announcement she still had to make. "For now, anyway." With a broad wave of her arm, Paris gestured over the entire room. "Look at this. Put these folks in pinstripes and it would be just like all the parties back when my dad was hot and heavy into politics. I spent the first twenty years of my life promising myself I would spend the rest of my life avoiding any function where I was required to schmooze. But here I am of my own free will."
    "It's a fun party. And you're not the same girl who turned down Daddy's offer to run his law practice when he became a judge."
    Paris nodded. That was true. She'd changed a lot since law school. If her dad had asked the woman she was now to follow in his footsteps, maybe she'd have been able to turn him down honestly, telling him she wanted to try her hand at writing. And if she was having a really brave day, she might even have told him what kind of writing—fast-paced, sexually charged, testosterone-laden flights of fancy.
    Unfortunately, Judge Sommers hadn't asked today's Paris . He'd asked a Paris who existed almost a decade ago. Fresh out of law school, that Paris didn't have the stomach to stand up to her father. That Paris couldn't bear the look of disapproval she knew would have flashed across his face. So she'd concocted a job in another city and never told him about