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“No, I don’t think you can when you put it like that,” I said, shaking my head and laughing.
“Then, madam, may I present your drink of choice tonight?” He held the bottle of sauvignon blanc out to me with expectant eyes.
I took the bottle and shoved it in my trolley just to shut him up.
“Know your audience,” he said succinctly.
I frowned. “How did you know I’d go for it in the end?” I demanded.
“Because I know my wine. And I know what sort of objections you’re likely to offer. Andtherefore I know how to make my product appear the best to your very discerning eyes.”
“How did we get onto this?” I asked bemused.
“Your book. The one you’re writing. Do you know your audience?”
I wasn’t sure I did. Sean had been right. That story had been pathetic.
I felt my good mood dissipate.
“Trolley Girl,” Suit Guy said, calling my attention. “Know your audience. Read books in your chosen genre. Read reviews. Find out what people like and what they generally object to. Then make your product appear the best.”
“What if it isn’t the best, though?” I asked.
He gasped and placed a hand on his chest in mock indignation again.
“Not the best? Not the best! This isyourbook, Trolley Girl.Yourstory.Makeit the best. And never stop trying.”
“Know your audience,” I said.
“Exactly,” Suit Guy whispered and smiled.
