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He chuckles, then says goodbye to whoever's on the other end of the call.
"A virtual striptease?" I ask. "Dexter, you are such a naughty man."
"The naughtiest." Our host gives me a sly smile. "If I ask nicely, would you treat me to an in-person striptease?"
"No, she won't," Rick announces.
A smile tugs at my lips. "Maybe another time, Dex."
Rick stares at me, his brows rising so high I think they might join up with his hairline.
"That was a joke," I say, nudging him with my shoulder.
"Of course it was," Dexter says. "I love to tease everyone. Now, about the book."
Rick looks at me, his lips tight, his face pinched.
I lay a hand on his thigh. "Just be honest. Dex will appreciate that, I'm sure."
"Yes," our host says, "I always value honesty. Spit it out, man."
Rick shuts his eyes briefly, his posture sagging, then he meets Dexter's gaze. "The book is utter rubbish. I can't publish it."
Chapter Twenty
Richard
I watch Dexter's facial expression but can't tell anything from it, so I have no idea how my bald announcement affects him. He seems…not impassive, but sort of unperturbed. Maddie clasps my hand. I want to look at her, but I feel like I should keep my focus on Dexter until he responds. I owe him that much, don't I? To behave like a professional instead of like a nervous moron who can't maintain eye contact. Dex has let us stay in his home and has welcomed us like family.
All right, I like Dexter. He's what I imagine my grandfather might be like if he suddenly developed an insatiable lust for women, drink, and risqué humor. My real grandfather is nothing like that, though they do share certain traits. They're kind gents who might be elderly in terms of age, but in temperament, they're as young as anyone.
Dexter braces an elbow on his chair's arm, bending his head to rub his chin while he regards me with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure you don't want to publish it?"
"Yes, I'm sure. And I'm sorry about that, Dex, more than you can know."
He keeps rubbing his chin. His eyes narrow for a moment, then he straightens and smiles. "Jolly good! You wouldn't believe how long I've waited for someone to reject that book. Everyone I've offered it to has been thrilled to snap it up and give me a large advance. I declined their offers."
"You wanted me to reject the book?"
"Of course I did. It is, as you said, utter rubbish."
I rub my forehead, struggling to make sense of this conversation. "Was this all some sort of test?"
"Precisely. For all these years, I've kept writing. But I'd had my fill of smarmy publishers and agents who will release any old rot if they think it will sell or if the author will pay them to publish it. So I stopped submitting my books, and I rejected all attempts by those industry cretins to woo me back into their world." Dexter sighs, gazing down at the floor. "I thought I would never want to publish another book."
"But now you do," Maddie says. "That's why you contacted Richard."
"Correct. A year ago, I decided to dip my toes back into the industry's tepid waters. Ilsa helped me get the word out via social media posts that 'leaked' the secret information that the world's most reclusive author has a new book and is looking for a publisher."
"I wasn't the first person you contacted," I say. "How many agents and publishers did you invite to your private island?"
"Only you."
"But you just said—"
"You're making an incorrect inference. I said that a year ago I decided to leak the fact I have a new book, to attract offers for it. But I did not say I invited anyone to my home. They needed to pass my test first, and none of them did."
I slide forward on the sofa until I'm perched on the edge, while I try to understand any of this. "But you wouldn't even tell me what your book was about until I flew to the Caribbean. Then you kept putting me off, inviting me to meet with you only to cancel on me."
