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“Deck Cayton has more substance than that.”
“Thanks. I think so. I wasn’t sure you did.”
She bent down and picked up the book.
“Are you going to bang me over the head with that?”
“Maybe.” Her anger hadn’t dissipated. It was still there, simmering. She just had it under control. “But even as mad as I am,” she said, “I can’t abuse a book. It goes against my nature even to dog-ear a page.”
“I’m that way, too.”
She returned his peacemaking smile with a glare. “Don’t you dare try to charm me, Parker.” She passed the book down to him and dusted her hands. “What you did was—”
“Terrifying.”
“That wasn’t the word I was going to use.”
“But it’s the correct one. When I put that prologue in the mail, I was scared shitless.”
“Of what? Rejection?”
“Big time. You could have sent me a curt letter. Said no thanks. Said I stunk. Said I should give up writing and try stringing beads or basket weaving instead. I’d have probably bought a package of razor blades and locked myself in the bathroom.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“You’re right, it isn’t.”
“Besides, you’re too egotistical for suicide.”
How little she knew. There had been times during those darkest days when his soul had been as twisted as his legs and his emotions were as raw as the flesh that defied healing, when, had he been able to move, he would have taken the path of least resistance and ended it there.
But while he was in that pit of despair, he had been imbued with a will to live. Determination had been breathed into him by some omnipotent power or cosmic authority greater than his paltry human spirit.
Not an angel, though. Not an angel as angels are typically portrayed. There was nothing benevolent, God-blessed, or holy about his plans for Noah Reed.
He reached for Maris’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Don’t underestimate how important this is to me.”
She didn’t squeeze back but searched his eyes. “Why did you send Envy to me, Parker? I know your editor for the Mackensie Roo
ne books. He’s very capable.”
“He is,” he agreed solemnly.
“My question stands. There are hundreds of editors in a dozen major publishing houses. What set me apart? Why’d you choose me?”
“The article in the magazine.” He hoped she wouldn’t detect that he was lying. The answer seemed plausible enough to him, but she was looking at him with an intensity that was unnerving. “The things you were quoted as saying convinced me you were the editor for Envy.
“I liked what you said about commerce versus quality, and how the balance in publishing is in danger of shifting in favor of the former. I’m not writing this book for the money. I’ve got more money than I’ll ever need. Deck Cayton has seen to that.
“I’m writing Envy for me. If it finds an audience, I’ll be pleased. If it doesn’t, you still saw something worthwhile in it, and to me that’s damn good confirmation of my talent.”
“It’ll find an audience.” She pulled her hand free of his. “I’ll see to that. I have too much invested in it not to.”
“A measly fifteen grand?”
“I wasn’t referring to the advance.”
His silly smile collapsed and he matched her gravity. “I know.”
