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“Amalia,” he says in a breathy voice, looking me up and down like I’m a potential meal. “Good to see you. I was hoping you’d be here.”
I grab a glass of wine from the tray of a passing server. “Yup. Here I am.” I look around for a rescue, but the truth is there’s no one to save me. No one.
“I saw you from a distance at the last signing,” he says, “but I couldn’t say hi. I was talking to some important industry people.”
Of course you were.
His hair is combed forward, probably the same style he’s worn since middle school, and the collar of his shirt is stained on the inside.
Oh, and his breath is horrendous.
I take a small step back and leave one of my feet extended to block him from getting any closer. “What brings you here, Julius? You trashed Levi’s book in your review. Aren’t you afraid he’s going to punch you?” I laugh out loud at my joke, and it takes Julius a minute to realize I’m not serious.
Not completely, anyway.
If Levi took a swing at Julius, that would be ugly. Unfair, too. His whiny ass wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Ah, you saw my review,” he says proudly, puffing his chest.
Of course I did. Everyone’s seen his review.
I’d bet a hundred dollars he was a hall monitor in high school and turned in every kid he could just for the glee of it. And that he got the occasional beat-down as well.
His self-importance makesmewant to punch him.
“The book still made theNew York Timesbestseller list.”
I may not care for Levi Maverick or his books, but I won’t miss an opportunity to goad Julius.
He rolls his eyes, diminishing my fact. “Those reviewers are a bunch of hacks. They know what I think of Levi Maverick’s latest ‘masterpiece.’” He uses air quotes around masterpiece.
“Then why come tonight, Julius? You’ve read the book, you’ve written the review. Are you gonna heckle him while he’s reading?”
“Very funny, Amalia. But if he reads that line, ‘beneath the veneer of the mundane, a mosaic of wild dreams was etched,’ I just might vomit.”
Oh. That. Julius called it out in his review, particularly aggrieved. I agree, it’s over the top with pretension.
The funny thing is, I feel like I’ve read it before, someplace else. Someplace other than Levi’s book.
But that can’t be. I read so many freaking books they all blur together after a while.
“Oh, I see some people across the room I have to say hi to. Hey, we need to get together. I’ll call you next week, okay?” he says, and darts into the crowd, bumping people and jostling their drinks.
Maybe in my next career I should be a book critic. You get to read books all day and then shit all over them. Good times. Julius sure seems to like it.
I stand in the back of the room, watching Levi read, and can’t help but marvel at how handsome he is. He must have women throwing themselves at him now that he has some fame. The kind who attach themselves to someone like him would never be bothered by a line about ‘the veneer of the mundane,’ unlike a self-respecting English major such as myself.
Daisy was right, I am tired. I really want to go home, but I should stick around and do some networking even though I suck at it, because it’s looking pretty good that I’ll be searching for a new job soon. I haven’t heard a word from Wyatt about the manuscript and haven’t been able to ask Levi if he’s dug anything up, like he offered the last time we spoke. They’ve pretty much ghosted me, probably only having offered to help to be polite.
I’m fucked. Utterly fucked.
I should have said yes to Wyatt when he asked me out. He really did seem nice and was certainly hot. That way we’d see each other again and he’d have to give me an answer about the book. Instead, he’s probably pissed I turned him down and has no intention of helping me.
Why would he?
A lump builds in my throat and I will myself not to cry, not here in the middle of this industry event. But my eyes get blurry and there’s no turning back. Off to the side is anexitsign over a door. Head down, I walk straight toward it to escape.
Alone, I’m in a stairwell, the noise from Levi’s reading muffled. I take a seat on the top step and drop my head into my hands. A couple hot tears dribble down my face, and I don’t even wipe them away. I don’t care if they smear black eyeliner all over my face.
