“Sorry,” the tattooed guy said at the same time. “We’ve got to wrap this up.”
Rae ignored him, gaze on me. “Have you?”
I blinked, confused and conflicted. Tattoo Guy shot daggers, but Rae leaned forward, elbows on the table as she waited for my response.
I nodded. “Sure.”
She smiled as if she knew a secret about me that I hadn’t even realized. “Like, truly read it?”
“Front to cover with annotations,” I promised flatly, because I was a lot of things, but not a liar about finishing a book full of nonsense. “Your section on the evolution of paranormal instruments was fascinating. A bit too wordy for laymen, who seem to be your target demo, so I would have suggested a more intensive edit. The philosophy on souls and crossing over felt like a load of…it wasn’t good. You sometimes focus heavily on hypothetical situations, and at other times you adopt an absolute stance. Every paragraph undermined the previous one.”
She laughed and shook her head. I couldn’t tell if amusement or frustration drove her reaction. Perhaps a bit of both.
“Isn’t that life? A mix of what-ifs and definitives?” Rae asked.
“Sure, but when you’re selling science, no. I don’t think it should be.”
“Are you seriously arguing that science isn’t what-ifs and facts?”
While my posture became stiffer, hers seemed to soften.
“No, I’m arguing that a supposed expert in their field shouldn’t give me a mathematical equation that analyzes the detection of ghosts and then, in the very next paragraph, talk about how you know demons exist and drain power from an unseen essence that’s immeasurable. And then expect me to take it all seriously. It’s like if the Brothers Grimm and Newton collabed on a textbook.”
“That’d be incredible,” she mused, looking off into the distance for a second.
I huffed. “It’d be nonsense.”
Rae laughed a little more and leaned back in her seat, studying me. “Who are you?”
“Octavia,” I said, footing lost for a moment by how relaxed she was.
“No,whoare you? What do you do? Because I’ve never met someone who’s claimed to annotate my writing but not enjoy it.”
“So, you admit it wasn’t looked over by a professional editor?” I nodded. “Explains a lot.”
“Rae,” Tattoo Guy warned in a hard voice. The tone seemed to work, coaxing Rae to sit straight once more.
“Okay, whoever you are?—”
“I own a ranch. Just bought it,” I blurted. “So, I’m a rancher who isn’t really here for the book but for your services.”
Her smile disappeared, and her eyes became glazed over once more.
“Alright, let’s go.” Tattoo Guy moved from behind the table to come to my side. He grabbed my book and shoved itinto my hands. “I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted enough of our time.”
“Uh-oh.” Rae’s lookalike was back to two bottles of water in one hand and a steaming paper cup in the other. “We’re at ‘sorries’ already?”
“Just two seconds,” I promised, trying to peer around Tattoo Guy’s shoulder and catch Rae’s gaze again. “The job will be a piece of cake. The quickest money you’ll make.”
And I’ll lose.
“Oh. Yikes,” Rae’s lookalike said with a sigh. “One of those.”
Excuse me?
“Ma’am.” Tattoo Guy pointed toward the exit. “Are you going to go, or am I going to make you go?”
“There’s a contact email on my socials for that.” Rae was back to looking at me, but not really. Tattoo Guy stepped back slightly so she could inform me on my way out. “I don’t take pitches at conventions.”
