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When I stop shaking, the guys help me to my feet, then tuck me into a bed in one of the many rooms in Wyatt’s apartment. I’m completely worn out from a crazy fucking day discussing sex acts, learning to work with weights, eating at a strange vegetarian restaurant, and then getting worked over by three guys I wouldn’t have given the time of day to just a couple weeks ago.
35
AMALIA
“Haveyou got a little present for me?” Cameron asks in a sing-song voice.
I’m not sure whether he’s excited about publishing Ryder Nights, or firing me. It’s hard to tell. Regardless, I reach into my backpack, trying not to shake from my excitement of the night before, and pass him the contract. I grip my desk, bracing myself for any number of reactions that might erupt from him.
You never know.
Initially, he’s wearing a hugely triumphant grin, most likely ready to take credit for my savvy detective work. But after about five seconds, as that’s how long it takes for his eyes to focus on Levi’s’ name right there in black and white, he frowns, flipping through the contract to see if I might be playing a joke on him.
No joke, baby.
He sees Levi’s signature on the last page, turns back to the cover page that starts with Levi’s name to ensure they indeed match, and his face goes slack.
A moment later, he looks like he’s going to cry. The second after that, he looks like he wants to wring my neck.
“Got your contract, Cam,” I say, taking a step back out of self-preservation. “We’re good to go with Ryder Night.”
I sing-song Ryder Night with a little shoulder-shimmy. I am that happy.
Cameron, not so much.
He holds the sheath of papers out toward me like they have dog poop on them. “What. Is. This?” he says, spittle flying.
It’s not a real question, so I don’t answer.
I get that it’s surprising as hell to learn his literary wunderkind can pen a naughty story or two, but is it really that out of character? Writers try different things. They have every right to. If you write one thing well, you can write another well too. Especially if it’s about eating pussy and sucking cock.
Ralph, popping one jellybean after another, looks between the two of us like a kid watching a mommy-daddy fight. He offers the jar to us and for a change, I take a handful.
“Thanks, Ralph,” I say.
He beams.
“My office, now.” Cameron turns on his heel and is halfway there before I can follow.
I glance at Ralph and grab one more jellybean. He gives me a hopeful thumbs up. I get the feeling I need all the well-wishes I can get and wonder if I should ask him to pack my desk shit for me before I get back.
I close Cameron’s office door since he seems to want privacy. His face is beet red, like an unhealthy beet red, like pop a blood vessel beet red. Am I liable for killing my boss if he does pop something? Exactly what is my role here? Should I be calling 911?
“Cam, you don’t look so good.”
“THAT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT GOOD.”
What’s the point of going to his office when he’s yelling loudly enough for the whole office to hear?
He paces, stopping to look out his window. Thank goodness it doesn’t open.
“Levi Maverick didnotwrite that silly little romance novel. There isno way,”he hisses.
I give him a shrug. He’s got the evidence right there in his hand. Contracts don’t lie.
“What have youdone?” he snaps, taking a step toward me.
My God. He’s dangerous.
