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We took a sip of our drinks before returning to our dinner, and by the time the server had cleared our plates, I was feeling less nervous and more like myself. Maybe it was the shop talk—which was my wheelhouse—or maybe it was just the effect Asher had on me.
“Now, what about traditional publishing?” Asher asked after we’d ordered dessert. “Isn’t that usually how people publish books?”
“Fifteen years ago, definitely,” I said. “But when self-publishing became an option, it changed the industry. Slowly, at first, because it took readers and critics a long time to accept that a writer could truly do it on their own without the resources or approval of a traditional publishing house, and even today there are people who say self-publishing isn’t real publishing, but we’ve come miles from where it started.”
“But a traditional house would cover all the marketing costs, right?”
I shrugged. “It depends. I’ve had some big-five publishers try to vet me, but in the end, the money wasn’t there. They do offer marketing at their own expense, but they take a huge cut of the royalties in order to compensate for all they put into it. And yeah, there is something to be said for having your books in stores or at the airport, but in the end having full control of my creative content—which gives me the ability to give my readers exactly what they’re begging for—plus the money, has always outweighed ego in my case.”
Asher nodded, the gears in his eyes turning as he took in the information. “But awards and things come with traditional publishing, don’t they?”
“Absolutely. It’s easier to hit the New York Times Best Sellers list if you’re with a reputable house, but it really comes down to the number of copies sold during release week combined with a team of critics who then decide if your sales and your book is worthy enough to be on it.” I sighed. “Either way, I’ve never been concerned with awards or validation. My readers are my validation. Their emails or messages about how happy the book made them or how much they enjoyed it. Pair that with the steady income I’ve been making, and I’ve got everything I need. Plus, I get to wake up and do what I love every single day. There is a lot of joy in that for me.”
“Well, I think your world is fascinating,” he said, leaning back when the server brought our desserts.
I instantly dug into my chocolate soufflé, my eyes closing for a moment as the richness hit my tongue. “It’s incredibly different from yours,” I said after that first bite.
“Not that different,” Asher said, taking a bite of his vanilla cheesecake.
I huffed a laugh. “Come on, Asher, you know it’s true. I spend my days at the desk, hitting the keys for hours at a time without looking up. You have a regimented schedule that enables you to run empires. We couldn’t be more different.”
His eyes met mine, a flash of something sparking there that I felt all the way down my spine.
“You run a business,” he said. “I run a business.”
I laughed again, taking another bite. “That’s like saying you like apples and I like apples.”
He grinned at me, shaking off the serious look he’d had before. “Maybe it was an oversimplification,” he said. “But I don’t think we’re that different.”
I leaned forward a bit over the table. “Oh, yeah?” I asked in a teasing tone. “Then sleep in until seven. I dare you.”
“Seven?” Asher actually looked mortified by the idea. “I’d be three hours behind in my day.”
A laugh ripped from my lips that I couldn’t stop, and Asher’s gaze widened as a smile lit up his features as he watched me. I shook my head, sucking in a deep breath to stop the hilarity.
“I rest my case,” I said, taking another bite. “But we do have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?” Asher asked.
“We both have amazing taste in food.”
Asher laughed then, and the sound sent warm shivers all along my bones. I could’ve blamed the sensation on the delectable dessert or even the bubbly drink I’d had, but I’d felt it before, and that warm, sizzling reaction belonged solely to Asher.
I hated that I wasn’t ready to let go of those feelings yet, but with only a few days left with him, there was nothing I could do to stop it. And I didn’t know which bothered me most, knowing I was going to lose something I never had in the first place or wanting someone I had no business wanting.
* * *
Alek stood beneath the steaming hot water in his oversized shower, and I couldn’t help but stand there and marvel at him. The water beaded down his muscled back, his biceps flexing as he washed his hair and then soaped up his body.
