Page 11 of A Bookish Story

“You’re a genius. Nope, not so far. And it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”

“Would you please tell me what I did to you that was so horrible?”

“I don’t have to tell you, I’ll go ahead and show you.” I grab my phone, open the app, scroll to the video, and hit play. “This.”

The video plays and the moment it does, Ryan’s entire demeanor switches. He closes his eyes, slumps, and rubs the back of his neck. He’s never looked happy, but now he looks like someone who’s been given a few months to live. He becomes, for lack of a better word, gray.

“We…we tried to have that taken down but it’s still out there.”

“Yes, of course it is, and you owe an entire industry a huge apology for being such…such a…dick!”

I gasp at my foul language, which is uncommon for me. This is why I prefer to communicate through the written word where I can revise each word in each sentence until it’s perfection.

I hold up my finger and reach for my speech. I’ve memorized part of it:

Mr. Brady, you offend me. Love stories are about far more than romantic love or sexy times. They’re about hope, rising stakes, and growth, and how falling in love with the right person can actually help you find the best version of yourself.

“That was recorded three years ago when I foolishly thought I’d made it.” He holds up air quotes. “I’d just separated from my wife and I was probably not in the best of moods to think of romance as believable. Okay, so I was an idiot. A jerk. And of course I apologize. I can’t apologize enough. I’ll never be done apologizing. Will I?”

“Well, probably not.”

Hearing that he once had a wife sets me back momentarily with some sympathy for the devil. But this blue-eyed demon won’t get off that easily. I flip through the pages to find my speech.

“I’m actually glad you found that video, because that’s what I need to talk to you about.”

“You were going to tell me about this video? Why would you do that? You had to know I’d be angry and want to quit working for you.” I hand him my handwritten speech.

“What this?” He flips through the pages, five all together, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“My resignation.”

“No! You can’t quit. Please don’t quit.”

“I can’t work with someone who has such low opinions of romance writers. That’s my tribe, sir. You have no respect for me if that’s how you feel. You know I’m a ghostwriter and although I can’t say much more, I write romance. Does that surprise you?”

“No, your regency period answer spoke volumes. And I have complete respect for you. Didn’t you hear the part about how I’m sorry? About all of it?”

“You’re only sorry because you’ve been caught.” I twitch my finger in the air.

“I don’t hate romance. Well, not anymore. In real life, sure, yes. But I think it’s the hardest thing in the world to write convincingly and the people who do are…pure genius.”

I tap my foot, not knowing what to make of this seemingly sincere apology. The words work, and his demeanor has the air of desperation. For the first time I notice he’s wearing a wrinkled button-down shirt and it’s partially tugged out of his slacks. He’s got beard stubble on his chin and there’s a coffee stain on his shirt. But the things he said…

“Why should I believe you’ve changed your mind?”

“Because…well, because I wrote one.”

I lower my notebook. “I’m sorry, you wrote what?”

“I wrote a romance novel, and it nearly broke me. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Oh, it looks easy, like anyone could do it. Like all you have to do is sit down and write about two people who after a few obstacles fall in love anyway. But that’s not even the beginning, is it? Romance novelists don’t get enough credit.”

Now he really has my attention. “I don’t understand. Why would you write a romance novel? Was it on a dare?”

“That’s right. I thought it would take me a few weeks. and almost two years later I finished.”

I smirk. “Harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

“Frankly, I pride myself on word choice and even I can’t come up with the right words for how difficult it was to write. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of sending it to my agent, as a joke, you know? But I’m not funny, and she didn’t get it. No one understands my humor.”