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It’s not easy, this writing shit. That’s why I’m on the business end of things. Christ, I can’t write my way out of a paper bag, and I’m completely fine with that. Story-telling is Levi’s jam, and I’m here to support that.
In the time since Levi’s first agent, my mentor, died, and Levi was assigned to me, we’ve become the best of friends. He and his childhood buddy Wyatt welcomed me into their lives and since then it’s been the three of us watching each other’s’ backs and cheering each other on. If I ever stopped being Levi’s agent, either because he quit writing or for some other reason, I know we’d still be tight, the three of us.
So, I’m not in this just for the money. But it is my job to prod Levi along when he seems stalled.
And right now, from what I can tell, he’s seriously stuck.
He opens his mouth to say something, probably the same old story that he’s close to a new concept, or even that he’s started working on one, and that we need to be patient because he’d never let us down. But this time, he drops his head into his hands, and my stomach clenches. I know what he’s going through and I feel for him. I really do. It’s not a good place to be.
“I’m sick of this shit,” he mumbles.
Wyatt leans closer to him. “What, Levi? What’s that?”
He looks up, staring blankly at one of Wyatt’s crazy oversized paintings, which I know he hired some expensive interior designer to choose for him. “I… I can’t stand myself.”
What?
I knew he might be suffering but never suspected anything like this.
“I’m sick of the person I’ve become and the funny thing is, this never would have happened if I hadn’t gotten to know Amalia over the Ryder Night book. She’s made me realize all the bullshit that goes down in this business is just that—the posturing, the one-upping, the snobbishness. I am precisely the kind of douchebag I said I’d never become.”
Wyatt and I are speechless. Not entirely surprised by Levi’s revelation, but alarmed by how he’s describing it.
He is rubbing his nails over the thighs of his jeans, back and forth, making an annoying scratching sound. “I was playing along because I thought that was the only way to get along. The only way to get ahead. And now I’m hating that about myself.”
Jesus. We’ve all been on the wrong side of self-doubt, but this is big. The man is questioning everything about himself.
That could be a good thing. Or not.
“None of this would have happened if not for Amalia.”
“Are… you blaming her? Sorry you got involved with her?” Wyatt asks the exact questions I couldn’t because I was afraid of what the answer might be.
He looks at us both. “She’s the only thing that’s right in my life right now. Even though her latest edits on Ryder Night are driving me crazy.”
He laughs and the tension breaks somewhat. He hasn’t completely lost his sense of humor.
“What’s she asking you to do, man?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t like the part where the female character has multiple love interests. Says it’s unrealistic. I’mpushing back, though. It’s my fucking book and my fucking career, and if this thing’s going to be published, with my name on it or not, it will be something I’m proud of.”
Wyatt snorts. “Do you think you can bring yourself to be proud of your sexy romance novel? Or are you still going to hide behind the pen name?”
Ouch.
Not surprisingly, Levi throws Wyatt a dirty look. “It doesn’t matter whose name is on it. I wrote it, it’s my story, and it will be published the way I want it to. Even if it threatens the book’s future.”
“What’s her issue with the multiple love interests?” I ask.
Levi rubs his eyes. “She says it’s not ‘realistic.’” He uses air quotes around ‘realistic.’ “For Christ’s sake, what the hell does she think we are?”
Good question.
41
AMALIA
Even though thefour of us arrived together at the charity fundraiser for literacy, I wander the crowded room alone, at least for a few laps, with a champagne glass in my hand and a big smile on my face. I don’t need to scream to the whole New York literary community that I’m attached to Levi Maverick and his two best buds.
