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All for the phenom, Levi Maverick, and his weird socks.
Speaking of which, the guy has onlyonebook published with us, and yet, this is his fifth or sixth signing, something unheard of for a newbie. The dude’s not freaking Stephen King.
I don’t get it. But Cameron says he haspotential. That’s he’s going to bebig. And that he’splacing his betson the guy.
Whatever.
As soon as my orders are complete, all paid for using my Empire Ink Press AmEx, I take a moment to stare out the taxi windows to watch the city fly by. Everywhere I look, I see happy young professionals, probably people with jobs they love that pay a lot, and I wonder why I can’t be one of them.
I also see people holding hands, smiling, and chatting with their significant others.
Could I be one of them too? Or am I completely ruined by the romance novels I’ve been reading nonstop since puberty?
But first things first. This girl needs to save her damn job. I’ve got to get that manuscript to work for me. Actually, it already is working for me, in a sense. Last night in bed, I read a story about a woman taking it in the ass for the first time. It had me so hot and bothered I didn’t even need my trusty vibe to get off. One or two strokes of my clit, and I was on my way.
Thank you, Ryder Night. Whoever the hell you are.
God, I hope he’s a big, strong guy, tall and handsome and alpha as hell. Nothing would ruin my fantasy life more than to find I’ve been jerking off to the words of a creepy stalker with a stubby penis who sits at his computer all day and watches porn.
I arrive at the signing venue and hop out of the cab before it’s even completely stopped. I rush inside while I’m waiting for my deliveries and set up the tables and chairs in the format Cameron likes. The food and drink arrive in record time, thanks to placing them using a ‘rush’ option. Hell, I’m not paying for any of it.
And just when I’m arranging the cheese and crackers, I look up to see Levi Maverick walking straight towards me. Crap. Do I have to make small talk with this guy?
Why did the universe have to make him so freaking hot, with his dark-wash jeans and navy-blue sweater polo? I’d normally call a monochromatic combo like that too matchy-matchy—who dresses in all dark blue?—but damn him, he pulls it off like he was made for the cover ofGQmagazine.
Do not flash that dimple my way. Do. Not.
“Amalia, hello. Let me help you out here,” he says, flashing his dimple. He joins me in setting out plastic wine glasses.
Oh.
8
AMALIA
“So,why are you in the romance division?” Levi asks me.
Here we go.
If I had a dime for every anti-romancer who asked me that question, or one just like it, I wouldn’t have to worry about losing my job.
I’d be fucking rich.
But I must be polite to this man, regardless of any insults he hurls my way. He’s the company’s newup-and-comer, as Cameron says.
Not to mention, he’s also kind enough to help me with my shit work and oh… he’s also gorgeous with his afternoon facial scruff and of course that damn dimple.
He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows and I try not to stare at his perfectly muscled forearms.
“What do you mean, Levi?” I ask, forcing myself to look way from his arms.
Hunkiness aside, I swear, if he makes some smart-assed remark aboutFifty Shades of Grey, it will take all I have not toslug him. I’m tired of defending romance day and night to other folks in New York publishing.
Fuckers can suck my left tit.
“Well, I always wonder what draws people to their work. I mean, romance is a huge market. Lots of people love it.”
Thanks for patronizing me, asshole.
