Page 100 of The Perfect Rom-Com

“What?” we say in unison.

He holds up his hands. “Florence, who’s on your nix list?”

Her back jolts up. “Nix? I don’t know.”

“The company nix list,” he continues, unfazed. “Can you do me a favor and pull it up real quick?”

Florence’s eyes flash.

It’s clear Jack has stepped voluntarily into dangerous territory.

“Did you know,” Jack says casually, “Bryony and I just had the most wonderful time touring down to Seaside, Florida, with one of my writers? Amelia Benedict. It was so great to get away for a week, get some fresh air.”

And then, to my absolute shock, she slings her purse strap over her shoulder and reaches for her to-go box. “It was such a pleasure to catch up.” She faces me now. Looks at me with her warm, gentle eyes. “Bryony, I wish you all the very best. Your manuscript isn’t a good fit for us, but”—she gives my hand a little pat—“if there’s one thing I know, you have the very best at your side. Jack can’t steer you wrong. Good luck.”

Then, before I know it, she whisks herself out the doors.

I’m . . . flabbergasted.

Completely and utterly shocked.

Having Florence turn me down was saddening.

Having Jack show up unannounced was enough to throw my heart into overtime.

But this.

What is this—this secret little ring in the publishing industry?

Everything.

Every little thing I feel like I’ve known about the publishing industry is being turned on its head. It feels . . . otherworldly.

I push myself to my feet.

“Bryony.” Jack stares at me like this is too much to bear.

“I don’t want to talk to you. You sabotage everything, don’t you?” I throw my hand out. “You sabotaged this!”

“I did not sabotage this—”

“You could’ve kept my identity private—at least till the ink dried!”

He throws back a humorless laugh. “Do you really think a contract would’ve stopped Amelia Benedict from ripping your book to shreds? The only thing worse than not signing a contract with Florence is signing one and then Amelia finding out—which she would. She would’ve halted the publication of your book the second she found out. Or worse.”

“She couldn’t. She doesn’t have that kind of power—”

“Her uncle is the CEO of Artemis Publishing. She absolutely has that kind of power. It’d happen quietly and indirectly too. It’d happen under a thousand excuses. She’d stop you at the editorial stage when Florence gives you a twenty-page letter and demands total rewrites again. And again. And again. Until your book is unrecognizable, and it’s not even about The Bridge anymore. And if you didn’t comply, she’d call you uncompliant and forfeit the contract. Your book would never publish.

“They’d stop you at the marketing stage, and they’d put no money toward it. Throw up a five-cent advertisement on some site nobody would follow and call it quits.

“They’d stop you at the publicity stage and get you nothing. Nothing but a single feature in a tiny roundup on the internet nobody pays attention to, and when questioned the publicist would shrug, claim she has no control over who takes up her press release emails, and say that’s the business of publicity.

“They’d stop you at distribution. They’d stop you everywhere.

“Peters’s team would literally take a cut fiscally in order to keep the Benedicts happy. Call the failure of the book a loss, shrug, and move on to the next.

“Do you hear me, Bryony? Under Amelia they would make it impossible for you to succeed, then they’d all blame your book’s failure on you, and then with your sales record you’d never publish anything, with anyone else, ever again.”