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Why’s she being like this? Half of getting a publishing deal is luck, so why not take that out of the equation? It’s not like I can influence the reviews she received, so in the end, her success or failure will come down to her book. Not me. I may be able to push a single book through, but I can’t turn her into a professional author. That’d take multiple books, all of them being successful.
“Why not? Why not let me take luck out of the equation?”
She snarls and stands up. “Haven’t you learned anything about me? I don’t want your help to succeed. I don’t want anyone’s help. My entire life, I’ve done it all alone, and I’m stronger because of it. I will not be my mother, asking for help from anyone she knows. I’m not some charity case.”
What? I stand up and move to her, my arms wrapping around her body and pulling her to me. She struggles a little, but I hold her tight. “You’re not a charity case, Addison. You’re the most amazing person I know, and I want people to see how wonderful you are. That’s all. I don’t want some miserable woman sitting at some desk in Loughton House deciding what happens to your book.”
She sighs but doesn’t back down. “I don’t care,” she says, her voice softening. “If that’s who decides everyone else’s future, then I want her to decide mine, too. I just want what I deserve. Not what someone gives me.”
I take a deep breath and let it out before letting her go. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t have any part in your book getting published. None. I will let you query agents and do the whole thing.
“But I won’t let you do it on your own. I will help you pick agents to submit to. Ones I know are good. I will help you with your query letters and make sure that you don’t get lost in the slush pile.”
Addison gets a thoughtful look on her face and almost interrupts, but I don’t let her. “Look. This isn’t charity any more than you showing me how to buy clothes at a thrift store is charity. It’s someone with skills teaching you. I won’t write your query letters, but I’ll help you make them better than anyone else.”
She slowly nods. “I think I can handle that. That’s teaching a man to fish, not giving him a handout.”
“Good. You really should let me help you work on the editing, though. You’ve done so much for me over the last month, and this is how I can repay you.”
A frown etches itself into her expression, and I want to jump in and try to reassure her it’s better this way. She’s faster than me, though. “I don’t want you to read it.”
“But…” she stops me by raising her hand.
“I don’t want anyone to read it because I’m terrified it’s awful.” She takes a deep breath and looks down. “But someone has to read it. You know this industry better than probably any other person in the world, and you’re a damn fine editor too. I’d be a fool to turn you down.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She’s not done, though. “Phillip, I’m fragile when it comes to my writing. I can roll with the punches in real life perfectly fine, but I don’t know how to take criticism about my writing. That’s why no one’s ever read them. I trust your opinion, but I don’t know how to separate myself from them. I know it’s a terrible trait for an author.”
“It’s also one of the most common,” I tell her and take her hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t worry, Addison. I’ll be gentle.”
She grins and squeezes my hand back. “Thank you. I’ll let you read it when I’m finished, okay?”
With a nod, I pull her in for a hug. I’ve never been someone that enjoyed hugs, but the more time I’ve spent with Addison, the more I’ve begun to understand them. And enjoy them.
She looks up at me and says, “What are we going to do when things go back to the way they were before?”
I give her a crooked smile. “That’s entirely up to you. You can stay here, and I’ll even ride the subway to come spend most nights with you. Or…”
I leave the words hanging, letting her realize what I’ve been thinking about for so long. “Or I move in with you?” she asks.
I nod to her. “You can keep your apartment, so you don’t feel any pressure. See how you enjoy being my roommate instead of the other way around.”
“That’d be very strange,” she says. “You’d have to teach me how to use your fancy coffee maker.”
I chuckle, thinking about that morning not so long ago. “I have very strict roommate requirements, though.”
She frowns. “What?”
“You’d have to officially date me. And you’d have to occasionally wear my shirts around without any bottoms. I think you gave me a fetish that night at the motel.”
She pushes away from me, a grin on her face. “Guess I’ll be staying here then,” she says as she turns around and walks toward the bedroom door, the shirt barely covering her perky ass and making me want to ravage her.
“You really won’t make this official? We both know that we’re not just roommates. Hell, even your friends call us a couple. Whether or not you want to say the words, that’s what we’re doing.”
She walks into the bedroom and shouts, “That’s not what I have a problem with!”
I go into the bedroom, so I don’t have to shout and see her standing by the closet.
