Author James Patterson Books Novels & Stories

For the first time, he felt a strong urge to speak with Sarah, but he did not know what to say. “Did Charlotte confess?” he asked. “That has nothing to do with you.” James moved his lips, but he still could not help reminding her, “I know I’m no longer qualified to warn you about anything, but be careful of Nick Paterson. He works for Aaron Hernandez.” Just then, Zachary walked over and looked at James impatiently. He had only gone to the director’s office for a short while. How had this man suddenly appeared? “Mr. Chancer. What a coincidence,” he said with a cold laugh.

Watched the door. Patrick arrived seven minutes late, which was exactly how Patrick had always operated — close enough to on time that you couldn't complain, late enough to remind you that his schedule was the primary one. He looked good. The years had settled into him well, sharpening the boyish into something more deliberate. He wasn't alone. James walked in behind him. I felt the recognition land before I could decide what to do with it. James Williams. Patrick's younger brother, two years below us in school, notorious even then for the specific brand of careless confidence that beautiful people sometimes develop when they've never had to try very hard at anything.

I didn’t even notice James come in and lay beside me until he snorts, “what’s the point of a spur on his dick?” “Jesus!” I yell as I nearly fling the book away. “When did you get here?” “Like twenty minutes ago,” he tells me. “You were so wrapped up in your p**n you didn’t notice.” “It’s not p**n,” I tell him quickly. “It said cock four times on one page,” he reminds me. “It’s p**n.” He pulls the book from my hands and opens it to a random page and starts reading. “Huh,” he mutters. “Good p**n.” He hands it back to me and smirks, “is it doing anything for you?”

Of course it's a James Patterson. "I didn't take you for Patterson man." I lean back on the couch readjusting myself and opening my Kindle again. This could work. A girl must always keep hope. Hudson shrugs, sitting back in the chair. He tosses his feet up on my coffee table and gets comfy. "Some of his plot points aren't so far-fetched. Now shhhh," he shooshes me with one finger across his lips. "I got into a good part on the plane."

“Don’t think I’m going to let you off on the essay pertaining to why the Amendments we have were ratified and not the others.” “There was always hope,” called James. “Nice try. Get to work.” He pulled out his tablet from Eliza’s book bag at the floor of their seat and after handing over her own, he began to tap on the screen in order to get to his book he needed to read. “What’re you doing to do first?” Eliza whispered. “The easiest,” James shrugged nonchalantly. “I need to read Ernest Hemingway’s ‘The old man and the sea’ for English.”

I noticed the smirk on his face, as he stepped on the ground and walked into the distance. “Who is it?” Patt’s voice called out from inside. “It’s Pierre. I came for my law textbook…” “Oh… just a minute Pierre, I’m coming.” Less than a minute later, Patt’s hostel room door opened slightly. I watched in amusement, as he adjusted a yellow towel around his waist. Patt was drenched in perspiration, and was eager to go in and continue whatever it was he had been doing. “Here’s the text, Pierre.” Patt handed me my land law textbook through the small space between the door and its frame.

Jasper barked as he pushed his way past the young woman. “I assume this is your assistant?” Rowan said as he stood in the doorframe but went no further. Taken aback by both Jasper’s attitude and Rowan’s smooth, alluring voice, she simply stared at him and nodded. “Perhaps you would invite me in?” he continued. Having already reached his desk, Jasper gripped a pile of notes in his fist as he looked over at the door with surprise. “So, the stories about you not being able to enter a human’s home without an invitation are true, I take it,” he said.

“Hey. I actually liked Twilight. It wasn’t all bad.” I offer a smirk of my own. “Right. And James Patterson actually still writes all his own novels.” Cassie grins. “You’re a literary snob. Aren’t you?” I wave her off, playing the game. “And you my dear are like the rest of your poor, deprived generation: You lack taste, Cassie. Taste.” “Oh.” She tilts her head and cocks an eyebrow. “Taste. That explains all those trashy Mills & Boon books you have in the Romance section.”

James sat in his cane chair with his eyes closed and feet resting on the table as he listened to the sound of two goats in his backyard, bleating. The goats were gifts from Osinala which arrived very early in the morning before he could say the Lord's Prayer and brush his teeth. He looked forward to another meeting in the village square when he had regained his confidence and was strong enough to defend his cause. He stood up now and walked to the small pile of books he had arranged last night in search of an exemplary text that would fascinate his mind and set him in the right mood. Some weeks ago, he had considered writing a book about his trip to Africa. Unlike all the books he had read,

With a smile, he heads out to the printers to confirm our order. I turn around to see James measuring up the lengths of wood and marking the walls for where the supports need to go. It is warm inside, so he is stripped down to just a vest, and I notice for the first time the tattoos that run across his shoulder blades and down his arms. They are beautiful tribal patterns with complex shading in black and grey. James turns around and catches me staring, and a blush creeps up my neck even though I know I am not even the slightest bit attracted to him.