Page 21
I give up, at last, because Hayes clearly doesn’t intend to—though I’m not sure how much lower he can drag this conversation. “It’s a book,” I reply. My face feels too warm. “I’m writing a book.”
I set the smoothie in front of him, but he barely notices. He’s too fascinated by my humiliating admission. “If it’s a tell-all about a devastatingly handsome doctor, let me remind you of the NDA you signed. Although if he’s bringing all your sexual urges to the surface, I’d still like to read it.”
If he were anyone else, I’d almost think he was flirting with me. I fight the urge to encourage him, though my ego could do with a little stroking. “Any tell-all about you would focus on why I decided to quit men altogether.”
“My Life as a Lesbian by Natalia Bell. I’d definitely read that one.” He flashes me his filthiest smile. It’s absolutely pathetic how that smile works on me, worming its way through my blood, replicating in every cell like a virus. I want to forget every principle I hold and start undressing when he looks at me that way. He tilts his head. “I’m not sure why you’re acting like writing a book is a mortal sin, however.”
I begin shoving fruit back into the freezer with unnecessary force. “Because I signed a contract and spent the advance, and now I can’t seem to finish it. And I’m not good at anything else, so I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t pull this off.”
“I’m sure you’re good at plenty of other things. Consider the webcam, for instance. You’d be your own boss, at least.”
I snicker, grateful he hasn’t asked the obvious question—how could you have been so irresponsible? “I’ll take it under advisement.”
I cross the kitchen to the printer. The clipclipclip of my heels is all business, signaling a close to the conversation.
“Tell me about your book,” he says, as I reach for his schedule, and my shoulders sag. Yep, by the end of the morning he’s going to know every unfortunate fact about me. Shall I go ahead and tell him now about the time I wet my pants in kindergarten, or wait for him to ask?
“No.” I turn, leaning against the printer cabinet, my arms folded across my chest. “Because you’ll laugh, and then I’ll be forced to poison you. Which I’m more than happy to do, but as I have both unlimited opportunity and motive, I’ll be the first person the cops look at.”
He gives me his most winning smile. Dimples popping and white teeth gleaming. “Lots of people want me dead. You’d be third or fourth on any list of suspects, I promise.”
I look down at my necklaces, nervously wrapping one chain around my index finger. “It’s a fantasy,” I tell him, imagining the looks I’d get revealing this to my peers in grad school. A whole room full of twitching mouths and sidelong glances. “This young couple enters a fae kingdom, and the queen decides Ewan, the boy, is the answer to this prophecy and traps him in the castle, so the girl, Aisling, has to save him.”
He isn’t laughing yet. Maybe he’s holding it until the end, like applause, but, you know…bad. “Through the power of her blossoming sexuality?”
I laugh and a little of my tension eases away. “No. It’s not that kind of book. She saves him by learning enough magic to take on the queen.”
“Which she pays for on her back?”
“Again,” I say with an exasperated laugh, “not that kind of book.” I glance at the clock—he should have left five minutes ago but he’s acting as if he has nowhere to be.
“No offense, but that sounds extremely dull,” he replies. “A good sex scene is essential to any meaningful work of fiction.”
“Ah, yes. I remember the blow job in Pride and Prejudice. Very tastefully done.”
Suddenly something seems to shift in him. His gaze lands on my mouth for one long moment, his stare so intense that my body reacts as if his hands are on me—nipples tightening, a shiver grazing my skin.
“Fuck, but I didn’t expect to hear you use that word at eight in the morning,” he says. His voice is hoarse. I wonder if that’s the tone he’d use in bed, braced above me and that’s all it takes to leave me weak-legged. To make me feel as if he could have me on my back with a single word. It’s something I never felt once, in all my years with Matt, and it terrifies me. I carry the Vitamix to the sink, wondering what the hell is happening here.
I’m relieved he’s gone by the time I’m done.
* * *
That night, when I get home, I decide to write about Julian. I already finished the revisions Sam suggested over the weekend—Ewan’s personality change will be the result of some kind of dark magic, and the hole will be related to a mysterious prophecy—but this is the part that actually excites me.
I’d meant for Julian to be uniformly evil—the embodiment of sin. But what if he was more nuanced than that? What if his flirtatious, mildly belligerent relationship with Aisling changed him? Perhaps he even catches Aisling and Ewan escaping at the end, and instead of stopping them, he helps her through the wall himself.
It feels as if I’m turning this into another story entirely, one in which Ewan matters less, and Julian matters more. I’m not sure why that feels so dangerous, but it hardly matters.
The change thrills me, and makes me remember what I’ve always loved about writing in the first place…it’s these moments of sheer delight, when a story starts to come together in ways that are better and more exciting than anything you ever anticipated.
I just never would have imagined a character like Julian would make it happen.
14
In a baseball cap and sunglasses, Drew Wilson looks like half of LA—blonde, tan, perfect. I’m still not sure how I’ve wound up meeting her for coffee on a sunny patio café on Oak Street. She called once again to set up a consult with Hayes and I once again talked her out of it, and here we are.
“You’re Tali?” she asks, her brown eyes wide as I walk up to the table. “Ugh. You’re so little and cute. Six would just love you.” Six is her sort-of guitarist boyfriend and, from what she’s described, a horrible human being.
