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I lean forward and bang my head against my desk a couple of times to stun my brain back into the realm of existence.
Okay, Brooke, get it together. This is the book that’s going to be published three or four months from now—holy shit!—which means this is the book you have to find some way to be at peace with working on. I gave myself the weekend off to meld into the surface of my couch and avoid any and all career responsibilities, but now it’s time to get to work.
Sure, maybe I can’t see Chase’s flaws right now, but I should be able to come up with some for his character, right?
I purse my lips and think really hard about Clive. Sexy. Self-confident without being cocky. Friendly, caring, a great sense of humor, not afraid to be self-deprecating like so many macho men are.
Jeez Louise. Think, think, think.
When I’m still mooning over how dreamy he is five minutes later, I decide to try something else—starting with River. She is, after all, mirrored after me, and if I’m not my own worst critic, I’m nothing.
It’s a little bit of a kick to the shin how easy it is for me to pick apart a woman after struggling so vastly to do the same to two men, but I’m just desperate enough not to worry about it. I have several scenes to make changes to in the next couple of weeks, and I don’t have time to focus on the patriarchy’s role in my psyche and meet the deadline.
“Okey dokey.” I crack my knuckles and stretch my arms out in front of me before putting my hands to the keyboard and typing with swift fingers. “River is…too preoccupied with what other people think. Awkwardly chatty in uncomfortable situations.” I snort as more and more flaws come pouring out of me. “Sexually unconfident. She picks at the skin around her nails and chews at the inside of her lip when she’s nervous.”
I laugh, muttering, “Wow. List is getting a little long there, Riv. I might have to dial you back from me a little bit.”
I start typing again, the click-clack of my keys echoing in my otherwise quiet apartment until the trill of my phone ringing from the kitchen counter makes my eyes narrow and my hands come to a stop.
What in the world? Who could be calling me now?
I get so few calls altogether that I can hardly imagine getting one at ten p.m. Still, I jump up and run over to it, only narrowly missing stubbing my toe on the coffee table as I sidestep around a sleeping Benji.
“Shew,” I breathe, looking back at the offending item. “That was clos—oh, fucker-nucker!” I yelp, cringing in pain as the blinding throb of the feeling of my toe meeting the metal leg of my barstool runs all the way into my calf muscle.
There’s just something about excruciating pain that turns my otherwise modest mouth X-rated.
“Holy shit!” I cry out and blink a sheen of tears from my eyes. “It’s fucking gone. It has to be. I’m down to four toes now on this foot.” I dance around on one leg, muttering more obscenities to myself, and somehow, manage to pick up my phone off the counter in the process.
Thanks to my murdered toe, I don’t even bother to look at who the caller is before putting my cell to my ear. Instead, I’m squinting and glancing down to see if it’s still attached or hanging out by the barstool. “Hello?” I greet as I’m glad to find out that, despite the pain, I still have all five toes.
“What?” the caller replies on a chuckle, and I instantly know who it is. “No mocking greeting?”
It’s my agent, Wilson Phillips, and for the first time in the history of our pairing, I’ve failed to address him with the title of a song from the musical group Wilson Phillips. It’s my thing when it comes to him. He hates it. I love it. Which means, I’ll never quit doing it, and I really dropped the punny ball this time.
Momentarily agitated enough to forget about my dang toe, I stomp my foot and instantly howl in pain.
“Jeez, you don’t have to cry out like a wounded rabbit, Baker. I’ll call back so you can amuse yourself at my expense.”
Before I can explain or stop him, Wilson hangs up and then instantly calls back, my phone ringing violently in my hand.
It wasn’t the point, but I don’t take the opportunity lightly when I answer this time.
“Hey, Will. Thanks for calling back. It really gives me ‘Good Vibrations,’” I snicker, my mangled toe long forgotten. Will sighs. I continue on, of course, like he’s enjoying it. “What brings you to call at such an hour? Do you have news that gives me a ‘Reason to Believe’?”
