How Can You Ease The Pain

PROLOGUE

It had turned out much better than he anticipated.

He didn't want to mislead her. He realized that enjoying their friendship and their time together, that she was feeling more than what he was. It wasn't that he didn't love her. She was his best friend, after all.

He didn't love her like that.

He was a little blind to it, only the blatant emotions brought to his attention by his Editor.

"You can't see the way she looks at you?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Damn. You sure are dense. For someone who writes the way you do, you sure are clueless when it comes to her." His Editor, hell, damn near everyone else noticed how she pined after Kris. Her eyes glossed over, she practically butchered her lips whenever she talked of him. She loved him. She was obsessed.

Most assuredly.

"She's my best friend. We've known each other forever."

"Kris, in all seriousness, you need to pay attention, okay? The next time you're together, or have tea or coffee, or whatever it is that you guys do when you're together, please, talk to her. I don't like where this is heading."

"Come on, you're scaring me. You sound like you think she's going to do something to me because I don't want a relationship with her. She knows that I'm not into girls. Well, shit, she should know."

⇔⇔♦⇔⇔

It turned out to be a great day and an even better night.

The weather finally agreeing with them and he was okay.

Living in the chaotic city, it was rare that the temperature stayed moderate and the potential for rain and storms were always on the horizon. Being a New York Times Best-selling author (amongst many other accolades), he was always thinking.

Thinking and writing.

He would leave his penthouse apartment on Park Avenue, hopping into his Aston Martin and drive up towards the Bed & Breakfast in Beacon, NY where he always stayed when he was writing a new book. Barbara, one of the owners, always welcomed him with a glass of his favorite white wine and he would hole himself in the same room and just tap away on his laptop. Once he emerged, he would head to the nearest Staples and print out the papers. The staff always gave him a high five, knowing that what he produced there, would make it as a Best-seller. "Man, Kris, I wish I could write like you. I wouldn't have to work in this damn store no more." It was a running joke that Kris shared with the young man who he always turned over his USB too. He always gave the young man a nice check whenever one of his books were complete. "Trust me, put your mind to it and you just watch, buddy. You'll be writing something great in no time." He was fortunate that whatever he wrote, the story just flowed from him and he produced massive missives in short periods of time. He was a prolific writer, earning several spots on bestseller lists around the world. He was even more fortunate that his best rated series had been turned into a movie franchise. A very successful and lucrative one. The director stayed true to the premise of his books, asking that he alone write the script.

His life was golden.

He was a multimillionaire.

And he was a year shy of 30.

They were heading out to celebrate his latest accomplishment and he arranged for a private dinner at a five-star restaurant, courtesy of his good chef friend Eric Ripert. They'd be dining at Le Bernardin, the silver-haired chef offering his most sought after dishes for the best friends. He did everything with her. She was so happy for him and what better way to celebrate his next big deal than to have his best girl celebrating with him. He'd called her earlier in the day, after receiving the great news, telling her that she needed to head to Barney's and get the best dress available. Of course, it was his treat, he told her. She was ecstatic.