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Okay then.
Minutes later, we’re holding bottles of Stella. She’s leaning back in the armchair she occupied just a few hours earlier, legs crossed, like she doesn’t have a damn thing left to lose, while Isit across from her, squirming in my seat like a horny fucking teenager.
And I amnotthinking of her in a skimpy black G-string. Honestly. I amnot.
“Why’d you invite me back, Levi? I thought you looked down on romance novels. That you thought they weresilly. That they weren’t yourthing.”
Fair enough. She’s going to make this as difficult as possible for me. That’s her right. After all, I stuck my big foot in my big mouth by dumping on romance. It was a bullshit move—elitist, snobby, and totally stereotypical of the nose-up-in-the-air publishing world.
I could not have stepped into it in a more arrogant, pompous manner.
If she thinks I’m an asshole, it’s well-deserved.
Actually, I think she already thought I was an asshole.
“I have a way I think we can help each other.”
Her eyebrows rise and she takes a chug of her beer. She looks around the room at my piles and piles of books as if to confirm that yes, I am a literary snob and don’t own a single romance book.
Except for Jane Austen’sPride and Prejudice.
It was required reading in college. I don’t tell her that.
“How canIhelpyou? I thought all I could do was ruin your illustrious publishing career,” she scoffs.
Damn. She’s on a roll. She almost has me intimidated. Almost.
“Amalia. Here’s the thing. Julius Bird, book critic extraordinaire, as you know, hates my fguts. He trashes anything I write and I think if he could get into my apartment, he’d trash it too. I don’t know why, but the guy has a hard-on for fucking me up.”
She nods slowly. “I’d say that’s accurate.”
“Here’s my idea. It may or may not be possible, but please consider it. If you call him off—find some way to get him off my back—you can publish my book. Under a pseudonym, of course.”
She stares back at me, all cool and shit, but I know from the way she straightens in her chair that I’ve got her attention. And why not?
I’ve seen how Julius follows her around at various literary events. He’s like a lovesick little puppy. If she told him to lick her soles he probably would.
At her request, I bet the little cretin would back right off. Or at least consider it.
“What makes you think Julius Bird will listen to anything I have to say?”
I tilt my head. “Really, Amalia? Are you really going to ask that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay. If I agree to take him on, to get him to back off with the understanding that I can’t promise he’ll listen to a damn thing I say, can we get working on the book?”
I nod, letting her take it all in. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
We stare at each other for a minute, like we’re in some kind of stand-off.
Will she really be able to get that creep off my ass? Who knows. It’s worth trying. The man obviously has some personal beef with me, and I need to get to the bottom of it. I never pissed in his cornflakes, I swear I didn’t, but he sure as hell acts like I did.
“Okay then.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small stack of papers. “I have a contract. Why don’t you look it over? I’ll take a look at your books over here while you do.”
She pushes the papers in my direction and heads over to my bookshelves. As she does, she tilts her head to read the sideways spines, and even pulls out a couple titles for a closer look.
And damn if her jeans don’t hug her curvy ass like an upside-down heart, the same upside-down heart I jerked off to such a short time ago that my balls are still sore.
Jesus, Levi, get a grip.
