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“Then again, passionate is more like it. But she means well. And she has, as you’ve read, one helluva juicy imagination.”
“Well did she try to kill anyone, again?”
“My goodness, no,” she says, sounding appalled. “Since her last incarceration, she’s against gun violence.”
I dramatically roll my eyes. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“Yes. She stabbed her victim this time.”
My mouth drops open. She says this Heaven chick violated her restraining order by trespassing onto her imaginary—because he was never hers—ex boyfriend’s property, then attacked his girlfriend, stabbing her in the chest and neck.
I gasp, clutching my chest. “Ohmygod!”
“So needless to say, she won’t be available for any book signings for a long while, unless she can sign from her cell.”
Oh, she has got to be kidding me! I lean back in my chair and shake my head in distress. There is absolutely no way I can consider offering her a book deal in light of this new information. Then again…
It had makings of a bestseller, girl.
She probably won’t see a dime of it.
That’s not your concern.
I clear my throat. “You know,
I’m thinking maybe we should hold off on offering your client a contract until she’s—”
“Now, now, darling. Let’s not be hasty.”
I feel like saying, “Sweetie, being hasty is the bitch sitting behind bars.” I pick up my pen and repeatedly drum it against my desk, trying to wrap my mind around what I’ve been told. I can’t. It’s simply too much to digest.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s not lose focus here. How about I give you a call the middle part of next week?” she offers as if she’s trying to accommodate me.
“Sounds great,” I say as Natalie pokes her head through the door and says in a low whisper so not to disturb my telephone conversation, “There’s a Marisol Rodriguez on line three for you. She says it’s personal.”
I hold up an index finger and mouth, “Whoever she is, have her hold for a second.”
She nods, backing out of my office.
“Lenora, I hate to end our conversation, but I have another call. We’ll talk next week. Okay?”
“Perfect darling,” she says, and hangs up.
I click over to the third line. “Good afternoon, Marika Kennedy speaking.”
“Hey, mami.”
My pulse quickens. “Excuse me? Who’s this?”
“Ooh, is that how you and that fine hunk of a man of yours do it? Bring someone back to your suite. Fuck them real good and filthy, then forget who they are?”
I blink. “Anonymous?”
“Yes, mami. Who else would it be? And before you get all spooked out. I promise you, mami, I’m not some nut case. I just want to make sure you got the flowers I sent. And to say, I’d love a repeat of last week’s mind-blowing performance.”
Yes.” I frown, totally caught off guard while trying to keep my tone even, and my attitude from flaring up. “They’re lovely. But it really wasn’t necessary. Thank you.”
“Oh, I know it wasn’t. I just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed—”
