“I have confidence in the book,” I said, realizing how true it was as I said it. “It’s myself I’m not so sure about.” I tugged on the hem of my dress. Like my mom had suggested, I decided to go with a put-together but casual look. I wore a navy, poplin dress. The blue worked well with my skin tone and hair and the dress felt sweet and feminine with cap sleeves and fabric buttons up the front. But now I wondered if it was too casual. Should I have gone with a suit? Or should I have gone all-out literary and showed up in a blazer, scarf, and fake hipster glasses?
“God, I can practically hear you ripping yourself down,” Callie said, sighing. “You need to let that negative voice in your head go, once and for all.”
“I know. I wish I… I wish I could be more like you, honestly. Cool and confident.”
She snorted. “Oh, please. You are just as confident as I am, you just don’t see it in yourself. Think about how much more you stand up for yourself now, compared to a year and half ago. You’ve totally grown up, babe. You just need to realize it.”
I let out a loud breath. She had a point. Before we left for London I was definitely not someone that you would think of as having much of a backbone. But I had gotten better, I knew that. I stood up for myself so much more than I used to. That’s how I’d gotten here in the first place.
“I should go in,” I said, looking down at my watch. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Knock ‘em dead, lady,” she said. “And then call me and tell me all about it.”
I laughed. “Will do.”
I hung up feeling much better than I had a few minutes before. I stood, straightening my skirt, and walked the block back to the restaurant, ready to do my best not to let this opportunity pass me by.
***
An hour later, I was starting to wonder what I’d been worried about. Ellen was just as pleasant and easy to get along with as she’d been last time. And Bill, her boss, reminded me of my dad’s brother Rick, one of the more jovial relatives from home. He had a white bushy mustache, an easy smile, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that made him seem more like someone’s kindly grandpa than a scary book editor.
And he seemed to really like my book.
We’d spent the first half of our lunch chatting about London, a city that Bill apparently had a soft spot for. Whatever nerves were left after my conversation with Callie disappeared promptly once we started talking about my adoptive home. I could talk about London all day.
Halfway through our entrees, Bill segued into my book. “I can definitely see how the experience of living there inspired you, Lizzie. I can see the London fingerprint all over your manuscript.”
I nodded. “It was such an exciting time for me, you know? Being away from home for the first time and seeing all these new things. I wanted the book to have that feel to it.”
“Well, you succeeded,” he said. “And you nailed the romantic optimism. So tell me, how would you want to package a book like this? What genre do you feel best encompasses it?”
“Probably romance,” I said. “I mean, that’s definitely what I was going for.”
Bill and Ellen both nodded, looking thoughtful. “The romance element is strong, Lizzie, and definitely not something we would want you to lose. But there’s a lot there about self-discovery and growth as well. I actually think this book could fit well in the women’s fiction category, which is a little broader.”
My head swam a bit as they talked about the kind of authors that epitomized women’s fiction—from Emily Giffin to JoJo Moyes, they were rattling off the names of some of my literary heroes. The idea that someone might mention my book in the same breath as people like that made me feel faint.
“I do think we’re missing a bit of the humor feel,” Bill was saying. “We never want to get too bogged down with the heavy stuff, you know. But I think with a little work you could absolutely hit the right balance of whimsy, sweetness, and humor.”
“Absolutely,” Ellen said. “And I could help you identify areas that could be tweaked.” She picked up her wine glass. “The important thing is that your story is there, Lizzie, and that’s half the battle.”
I smiled at her and reached for my own glass, needing to focus and collect myself. Coming into the lunch, I had assumed I would need to do a fair amount of selling myself, but things weren’t really playing out that way. In fact, it was starting to feel almost like they were courting me.
I certainly had faith in my book, but I was not so naive and starry-eyed to think that this was typical behavior for editors talking to a totally green author with a single manuscript under her belt. Was it?
“Do you think you might be happy taking your book in that direction?” Bill asked, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. “Because we could certainly take another look if you really wanted a straight romance.”
“No,” I said, swallowing. “I always thought my book was a bit quirky to be considered straight romance. I guess I just didn’t know how it would be best categorized.”
Bill nodded. “I think we could have a real winner, Lizzie.”
A cold feeling was sinking into my stomach, a vague suspicion that I didn’t want to name. But it almost seemed too surreal, the way they were talking…
“Now, Lizzie,” Bill said, leaving forward over the table. “Ellen and I were both really big fans of your hero, the literature professor. He was quite well written, and funny too. But we wondered, what would the book be like if we perhaps changed that character a bit?” He must have caught sight of my face because he held up his hands reassuringly. “Not his personality, of course, just his profession. What if instead of academia, he worked in the entertainment field?”
The cold feeling in my stomach suddenly spread up to my chest. “The entertainment field?”
He nodded. “When we start thinking about marketing, it could really help us if we had that angle to go from.” He winked. “You know, the whole ‘normal girl-next-door falling for the celebrity’ trope. With your situation, people would really go for it.”
My lips felt numb. “My situation.”
“Of course, it’s just an idea. I would never want you to make a change you didn’t feel good about. But in this day and age it’s very difficult to get word of mouth—which is totally vital for book sales. The celebrity boyfriend angle could really help us there.”
They continued to talk for the next twenty minutes or so, bouncing ideas off of each other. I knew I answered them when they asked a direct question, but I honestly had no idea what I said. The numb feeling had gripped me, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted it to go away. As long as I felt numb I didn’t have to think of how embarrassed I was, how totally, stupidly naive I’d been, to think this meeting had anything to do with me or the merit of my book.
I didn’t realize they were wrapping up until I saw Ellen pick up her handbag. I saw, belatedly, that Bill was walking away from the table. Had he said something about using the restroom? I couldn’t remember. Ellen was checking her phone, a smile on her face, clearly not recognizing the tumult going on inside me. Without thinking, I blurted out the only question that had clearly formed in my mind. “Did Thomas call you?”
She gaped at me, clearly surprised. “What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath. “After our last meeting. Did Thomas Harper call you? Did he ask you to arrange this lunch?”
“Of course not, Lizzie.” She reached across the table and placed her hand over mine. “I showed your manuscript to Bill because I honestly enjoyed it.”
I looked down at the tablecloth, not wanting to meet her eyes. “Sweetie,” she said, her voice kind and more than a shade patronizing. “You can’t let yourself get worried about what Bill said, about the celebrity angle. He was right, it’s very difficult to get word of mouth for a first-time author in this business. We have to take every opportunity we can. It’s just business.”
I nodded, still not looking up. It was all well and good to say that when she wasn’t sitting on my side of the table
.
Bill returned a moment later, and Ellen stood. I followed her lead, on autopilot, and reached for my wallet when Bill picked up the leather folio with the bill from lunch. “Don’t be silly,” he said, chuckling. “Our treat.”
“Lizzie, it was wonderful to see you again,” Ellen said, reaching for me. She gave me a brief hug and a kiss on each cheek, the way she had last time. I remembered being so tickled by that action, how literary it had felt to me at the time. Now I just felt sick.
Bill took my hand in both of his. “It was lovely to meet you, Lizzie. I really hope we’re able to work together.”
I nodded, hoping the fake smile was still plastered to my face. “I’ll be in touch,” Ellen said. “Drive safely.”
“Thank you for lunch.” It was strange, the way my voice sounded almost normal. “I really appreciate it.”
Finally I was free to walk away from the table, free to turn my back on my mortification, free to climb into my car, finally alone, where I could close my eyes in the quiet and let the tears fall.
Chapter Nineteen
I had promised to call Callie, but I couldn’t bear it. My mother, too, had called shortly after the meeting, leaving a message to let me know she was wondering how it had gone. “I’ve been praying for you all morning, Mija,” she said. “I’m so proud.”
Proud. I snorted into my wine glass, pulling my knees up to my chest. So much to be proud of.
The weather had unexpectedly turned ugly during my drive back from Brentwood. I sat on the deck, a bottle of red wine on the table in front of me, watching as the storm moved across the ocean. The clouds were dark and rolling, and the wind whipped my hair lose from it’s carefully polished bun. And still I didn’t move to go inside.
They hadn’t cared about my book at all. Sure, they said the right things about enjoying it and how they saw it being successful, but that wasn’t why they wanted to sign me. It had nothing to do with me at all.
There had been pictures in all the papers that weekend of Thomas and me at Disneyland. They’d gotten some really good shots of the two of us, laughing our heads off on the spinning teacups. People magazine had even picked them up. A fairytale romance at fairytale central, one caption had said. Funny how Ellen had called me only days later.
The disappointment was nearly as strong as the embarrassment. What was I going to tell people? I’d been so stupid, so excited to tell my mom and my cousin, Imogen and Callie. I’d even called Meghan back in London, asking for her interview tips. And now what? False alarm, guys. They were just interested because of who I’m sleeping with.
I closed my eyes, the mortification washing over me all over again. I couldn’t believe I’d been so hopelessly naive.
“Lizzie?” Thomas called from inside, and I jumped. What time was it? How long had I been sitting out here?
I heard the sliding door open behind me over the wind. “Lizzie?” he called again. “What are you doing out here?”
When I didn’t respond, he came around to stand beside my chair. “Love? What’s wrong?”
I looked up at him, this man I loved so much, and felt sure I was going to burst into tears again. Instead, I just shook my head, returning my attention to the stormy ocean.
“Lizzy, you’re freaking me out.” He knelt beside my chair and took my hand. “You didn’t call after lunch. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He paused, looking into my face. “How did it go?”
“Not so hot,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
He shifted so he was in front of my chair. I couldn’t avoid his face unless I fully turned my head away. “Hey, look at me,” he said. “What happened?”
I looked into those familiar green eyes and felt a jolt. There was something in their depths I didn’t quite like. Almost like he wasn’t all that surprised.
“Did you know?” I asked.
The pause before he spoke was all I needed to hear. “Know what?”
I pulled my hand back, stung. “Thomas.”
He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Jonathan mentioned something to me this morning. Apparently the studio is in talks with the same publishing house to do some ghost written autobiography of Jenner Collins. The publisher mentioned they were meeting with you, and how nice it would be if the book could act as some cross promotion—”
“My book is not cross promotion for your movie!” I cried, feeling like someone had just punched me in the gut.
“That’s what I told him!” Thomas said quickly. “I told him it had nothing to do with me, or the movie, that it was just a really great book—”
“And I’m sure that’s why they wanted to meet me.” I put my head into my hands, wishing the entire day had never happened.
“Lizzie, I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. The first drops of rain finally began to fall, two lonely drops splashing down onto my bare feet.
“He just mentioned it this morning, Lizzie. I couldn’t very well call you before you left to meet them.”
My head snapped up. “Of course you could have!”
“Love—”
“Don’t you think that would have been better, to have some warning? Instead of sitting there and hearing them gush about my book, only to find out that they…that they…” I was starting to cry now, my breath coming in choppy gulps. “That they wanted me to change my hero to someone in the entertainment industry.” Thomas winced. “Do you know how that felt? To realize, all in one fell swoop, that they had only shown interest because of who I was dating? To realize that they never really gave a shit about my book—”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Of course it is. The only reason they called me is because of you. And I made an absolute fool of myself, telling everyone who would listen about my exciting publishing meeting.”
“You did not make a fool of yourself. You had every right to be excited about that meeting.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I closed my eyes, feeling more rain drops join the others on my feet. “I just want to forget this whole thing ever happened. I’m so humiliated right now.”
“You can’t let yourself feel like that.” He clutched my hands, refusing to release them when I pulled back. “Listen to me. Creative fields are incredibly tough to break into. You have to take every opportunity you can get, there’s just no way around it. So this one didn’t come about quite like you thought it did—that doesn’t mean you just give up.”
I stared at him. “Are you suggesting I go along with this? That I sign with them and change my book to…to cash in on this?” I gestured between the two of us.
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “I’m suggesting you hold your ground, stick up for your book. Leverage this meeting into getting an agent, then start setting up meetings with other editors. Use this to your advantage.”
Another tear slid down my face. “But it will never be real. You don’t think other editors will have the same idea?”
“Your agent will be working for you, Lizzie. To find the best place to publish your book.”
I shook my head. “But it will always be fake.”
“What do you mean? Fake how?”
I couldn’t explain the feeling that was rising in my chest. The fear and disappointment. “If I do what you suggest, if I start agent hunting on the basis of having gotten this meeting, it will still mean I only got anywhere because I’m dating you. No matter what, those agents and editors will only be interested in me because of you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is! Everyone else can see it, that I’m living this whole fabulous, fairytale life through no contribution of my own.” I waved my hands around at the increasingly rain-stained deck. “I get to move to L.A., live in this fancy house, go to parties with celebrities. Maybe even get a fucking book deal. And it’s all just because I’m dating a celebrity.”
His face tightened, and he released my hand. “I didn’
t know you felt so negatively about our situation.”
“Well, how would you feel?” I snapped. “If every time someone looked at you they assumed you only had what you had because of who you were sleeping with?”
Suddenly he leaned into me, his face absolutely livid. “I would feel like they were the stupid assholes, Lizzie, because they had no idea what we have.” His jaw tightened. “Is that really how you see us? As two people who are just sleeping together?”
“No, of course not—”
“Then why the hell do you care what complete strangers think?”
“Because I don’t like people thinking I’m a gold digger! You have no idea what that’s like!”
He stood, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say to you, Lizzie. I love you. I want to be with you. That’s it. That’s all there is to consider for me. The rest of it is just bullshit.”
“Yeah, for you, because you’re not the one who has to deal with it.”
A rumble of thunder rolled right over our heads. “You think I don’t have to deal with people judging me? Talking about me? Lizzie, that’s part of my job! But I don’t let it affect me like this. I can’t.”
He looked down at me and his face softened. “I know today was hard for you. And I’m so sorry. But—”
“Did you arrange it?”
“What?”
“The meeting? Did you set it up somehow?”
He stared at me for the longest time before he replied. “I’m not even going to respond to that. That’s how fucking insane that question is.”
Then he was gone, turning on his heel and stomping across the wet deck. He slammed the sliding door closed behind him.
I sat there for a long while, letting the rain dampen my hair. Finally, when the skies really opened up and the rain began to pelt down mercilessly, I stood, taking the bottle of wine and heading for the house.
Thomas was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn’t hear him on either of the other levels. Wanting nothing more than a hot bath, I walked to the stairs—then stopped dead in my tracks when I caught sight of the table.
Lovestruck in Los Angeles Page 19