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Pen reached over and pushed on my chin from beneath. “Close that, or you’ll catch flies.”
I batted away her hand. “Cut that shit out.”
“You’re the one staring at her like she’s a bottle of water in the desert.” She swiped the bank notes from the top of the bar and spun to ring up what I assumed was Ellie’s bill.
If not, it was a very expensive bit of gossip.
“Again, cut that shit out,” I said, putting money of my own down.
“Oh, aren’t you nice?” She grinned. “Thanks. And be nice to her. I like her.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t do as you say, isn’t it?” I slid off the stool.
“You know, Max, it wouldn’t kill you to—”
“Do not finish that sentence, Penelope Rose.”
She pressed her lips into a flat line. “I deserved that.”
“Glad we agree.” I leant forward with a smirk. “Keep the change.”
She threw the expression right back at me. “I was going to.”
CHAPTER TEN
ELLIE
A Truce
Ihit send on the email to my agent and editor and collapsed back into my chair with a heaving sigh.
I did it. Somehow, I’d hit that five-chapter deadline Abby had sent, and evenIknew I’d hit it out of the park.
I just hated that I’d envisioned fucking Max as the hero for every word and that I would do the same thing for the next sixty thousand or so words I had to write. He was grumpy and grouchy and a giant miserable git, but he was a very handsome miserable git.
Apparently, my muse was a miserable git.
Ihadto stop saying that.
I didn’t know what Max’s problem with me was. The cat aside, of course, but most people had a problem with my cat. Heck, Winston probably had a problem with himself. He was just that kind of cranky little sod, you know?
But me?
I was a ray of sunshine. I preferred to be an optimist—unless there was a crow in my house. It could be tough when things didn’t go the happy way I wanted them to, but what was my alternative?
Always expect the worst? Never be positive about anything? See the bad in everything?
No.
I was a bit too sensitive to always see darkness. I much preferred looking for the good in things, even if they didn’t work out. Chances are, that wasn’t my fault anyway, especially if it was something out of my control.
And most things were, in my experience.
I couldn’t control the traffic. If there was a traffic jam resulting in the bus being late, that wasn’t my fault.
I couldn’t control the supermarket. If there was no bread because their delivery hadn’t arrived on time, well, that sucked, but I’d survive.
I couldn’t control if a publisher bought my book. Maybe it wasn’t the book they were looking for at the time, or maybe I just wasn’t the right fit for that particular editor. And that wasokay. It also wasn’t my fault—it wasn’t the editor or the publisher’s fault, either. It was just the way it was.
