by Jillian Dodd
“Really?” I ask, and I don’t bother hiding my skepticism. I think it’s well earned after all the double-talk I’ve received lately. I don’t know where I stand with her anymore. And I don’t know if she is trying to play hardball and doesn’t want me to know about Blake’s blank check or if we just shouldn’t be working together.
“Sure. I’ll pass the word along that we’re finished with that. You can still write trope-based, on-trend romance, but you don’t have to go through with dating a new man for every book. There was only so long the arrangement could last. Everyone knew it.”
Lois takes a sharp breath like she’s ready to unleash something serious, but I cut her off with a pat on her hand.
“Funny. Not that long ago, you were determined to keep me dating. What’s with the sudden change?” I ask, wanting her to level with me. Needing her to be honest.
“It’s business, sweetie. This is how negotiation works.”
She’s not fooling me. Or Lois evidently. “More bullshit, Maggie. Come on. What happened? Did you hear how popular our girl is? Just figure out you aren’t the only shop in town?”
“There was a meeting,” Maggie says. “We looked over the sales figures and decided we have too good of a thing going with Kitty to let her go so easily.” She looks at me. “If you don’t think I fought for you, you don’t know me at all. And that’s a shame.”
“I believe you would.” That’s the truth, though I’m still waiting to hear just how she fought and what that means. I don’t think anybody could blame her for occasionally overinflating her worth, but it means taking what she says with a grain of salt sometimes.
“I made sure your freedom was something we could offer.”
“What’s that mean? My freedom?”
“You’re free to write based on what’s up here.” She taps her temple. “You’ve already proven you have what it takes to write compelling, steamy romance. I made sure to remind everybody in that room how you rose to the occasion and revitalized your book sales by stepping outside your comfort zone. The least any of us can do now is give you a little breathing room.”
I know better than to rejoice just yet. We’re negotiating, like she said. This isn’t the end of it.
“So, you’re saying the publisher wants ten books. Trope-based, like before. But written without the need to date anybody new.”
“Correct.” She smiles, triumphant, and stops just short of asking me to congratulate her on a job well done.
Good thing since I’m not in any such mood. Not yet.
“What about the publicity stuff? I thought part of the reason they wanted me to stick to the tropes was to stay consistent with what everybody already knows. It got people excited. They want more. They want to imagine me dating the men I write about.”
She purses her lips, and I know I’ve landed a blow.
“Well?” Lois prompts. I feel like I have to play nice, but my agent clearly didn’t get the memo. “What’s the catch? What do they want her to do this time?”
Maggie’s shoulders creep up until they’re around her ears. “They want her to pretend she’s still dating around.”
“No way.” I look at Lois, eyes wide. “I’m not going to live some double life for the sake of PR.”
“No one would ever need to know you have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, except for the fact that I’m still getting attention when I’m out in public. I went shopping recently and was approached twice. At a home improvement store. Like, a bookstore I could understand. A library. But I can’t even go out to look at paint swatches without hearing the opinions of my readers and having my picture taken.”
“That’s a good thing,” Maggie says.
“What happens when I’m not alone? What happens when I’m out to dinner with my boyfriend? What, is he supposed to pretend along with me? Like he’s the guy I’m writing about this time? Or are we supposed to be nothing but ‘good friends’?” I make air quotes around the words, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “Maybe we’re not allowed to go out in public together for the next year. Is that it? Should we hide?”
“All right—”
“No, it’s not all right! Here you are again, telling me how I’m allowed to live my personal life. I won’t let that happen. If these are your terms, I’m out.”
Lois places a hand on my arm. “Is this nonnegotiable?”
“It’s a deal-breaker,” I reply.
Maggie stares at me, studies me. “You would leave us if that was a condition of your contract?”
“I would walk out of this office and never look back. Like we’ve already established, there are two other publishers interested in landing me as one of their authors.”
Lois folds her arms. “Your move.”
“Fine.” Maggie throws her hands into the air. “It’s done. You don’t have to pretend.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” A smile plays over her mouth. “Naturally, the marketing department would’ve enjoyed keeping things status quo. I reminded them you’re the one who has to face rude, social media–obsessed fans who don’t understand the meaning of boundaries. I told them what you told me about being harassed in public. I think they understood.”
And I know she’s lying. Straight up. She’s the one who liked the fact that her marketing idea worked. But I know Blake spoke to either her or her boss. And I can name my terms. I probably should just tell her and Lois that and stop all this.
I look to Lois, ready to do just that, but she says to Maggie, “To be fully forthright, we don’t care what you’re offering. Our terms are this: Kitty will write whatever she wants, whenever she wants. No more than two books a year. If she chooses to write more than that, you will have a first look, and if you don’t make an offer within sixty days, she is free to submit her work to other publishers or even self-publish if she chooses.” Maggie’s mouth moves like she’s about to respond, but Lois continues, “Her personal life will remain her own, and her social media presence, or lack thereof, will be up to her. And this is important: you will never agree to marketing plans—book signings, readings, or interviews of any kind—unless Kitty is comfortable with them. Oh, and when you announce that you have signed her—if you are allowed to—the deal will be considered a major deal. Per book.”
Maggie looks like she swallowed something unpleasant. “Excuse me?”
My agent pulls a folded piece of paper from her handbag. “Here are the numbers offered by those houses we spoke of earlier along with the phone numbers of the acquiring editors. They’ll confirm what I’ve written down.”
Poor Maggie. Her eyes go round. “You can’t be serious.”
“You aren’t the only person who reviews sales figures, Maggie. I know down to the penny how much Kitty’s books have grossed across all international markets and all major retailers. I’ve done my homework, in other words.” Lois jabs a finger toward that piece of paper. “If she’d commanded that sort of advance on this series, she would’ve earned out her advance on every book. Even the new release coming out, already has enough preorders to earn out. When does that happen? Ever?”
Maggie only lifts a shoulder, still staring at the figures Lois handed her.
“All right, all right.” Maggie shoots daggers at Lois from over the top of the page. “You’ve won. Congratulations.”
“No. She’s won.” Lois pats my knee.
It takes a second for the truth of what she said to sink in. I am getting everything I asked for. Of course, once we get the contract, Lois will need to go over it with a fine-tooth comb to make sure it’s all correct, but this means I get to stay here if I want. And although I’m not thrilled with Maggie’s treatment of me lately, I do like the fact that the man who literally holds the company’s purse strings is a friend. I wouldn’t have that connection anywhere else.
“Now”—Maggie goes back to the champagne bottle, fills three flutes, and hands one to L
ois and me—“here’s to Kitty!”
“Hear, hear,” Lois agrees, downing her glass. She sets it on the desk and says, “I’d like to have a new contract on my desk by the end of the week.”
Maggie nods in agreement, and Lois walks out the door. I feel like I should follow, but it seems a little abrupt. So, I take another sip of champagne.
“I’d love to talk with you, if you have a few minutes,” Maggie says to me.
“Sure,” I say, glancing at my watch. I’m not scheduled to meet up with Matt for another hour. “What’s up?”
“I need to level with you now that the negotiations are over. Now that Lois has left.”
“Okay.”
“My job has been in jeopardy. My business line revenue has been decreasing. I care about you, Kitty. You’ve been like the daughter I never had since the day you walked into my office. When you were a fresh-faced college girl with big dreams. I knew that the publishing industry could chew authors up and spit them out, just like any other big business could. I didn’t want that to happen to you, and I’ve always tried to protect you from it. But it got to the point where I couldn’t anymore. I’m sorry if I’ve been rude to you. I don’t think you just sit at home and write and that it’s easy. I was just under a whole lot of pressure. I was grasping at straws when I threw out the whole idea of the publicity tour. I never thought it would take hold. But it did. And then I couldn’t get out of it. I felt trapped, like I’m sure you felt.”
My posture has been stiff, and I feel like I’ve been on full alert since we walked in here, but what she said makes me relax a little.
“And I think you made the right decision for your personal life. I hope that we can continue to work together after all this. But if you would like to be assigned another editor, I’ll understand.”
This causes me to soften. In fact, I set my drink on her desk, walk up to her, and startle her by giving her a hug. “I really don’t want a new editor. You understand how I work. My style. You’re good at what you do.”
“Thank you.”
“And if it wasn’t for you, honestly, I might still not have spoken to my hot neighbor.”
“And now, you’re together.”
“Yes. Wanna hear the ultimate meet-cute for an author?” I ask her, taking a seat and making myself comfortable.
“Of course.”
And then I tell her all about getting drunk, going across the hall, asking Matt what his favorite position was, and proceeding to strip naked and puke on his rug.
By the time I’m through, we’re both rolling with laughter. And it feels good.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I wake up to Phoebe pawing me. I roll over toward Matt but find that he’s not in bed. A glance at the clock tells me it’s nine in the morning.
After all the excitement over the publishing deal yesterday, having lunch with Matt, shopping till we dropped for Christmas presents for our families, and then celebrating over dinner, I was exhausted and fell asleep quickly.
And I must have been tired.
Phoebe paws me again.
“What is it, girl? Where’s your daddy?”
She runs toward the doorway and waits for me. I stretch, get up, throw on a robe, and go out to the living room, Phoebe leading the way.
I find Matt on his computer, sitting at the desk. The television is on, and stock market activity is running across the screen.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
He swivels the chair around to face me. And I have one of those moments. A moment where the simplest thing makes a huge impact on me. He’s dressed in his normal athletic wear. But today, his face is clean-shaven. And while I love the scruff he let grow while we were kicked out of our bathroom, I realize he’s even more handsome without it. And that’s saying something. I think most every hero I write in a book has the perfect amount of sexy scruff. God, he has a pretty face. I touch my hair, knowing I probably look like a disaster, but for once in my life, I don’t care.
Phoebe rushes up to him and gives him a nod. Like, Task performed, master. She’s up and moving.
He scratches the top of her head. “She wants breakfast. I told her I couldn’t order until Mommy woke up.”
“Mommy?” I say, taking in a sharp breath.
“I, uh … sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he says. “I don’t know why I just said that.”
“I would love to be Phoebe’s mommy.” Tears fill my eyes, causing the dog to rush over and lick my face.
“I think she wants your first task to be to order her some food,” Matt says with a laugh.
But then our gazes meet. And lock. And I can see our entire future.
He gets out of his chair, walks to me, and kisses me fully on the lips. It’s an emotion-filled kiss, and it gives me an immense amount of joy.
We get to the business of placing our room service order, and then Matt’s cell phone rings. I assume it’s a work call even though it’s only a few days before Christmas. Three, to be exact. Nothing like cutting it close. Tomorrow is the 23rd. We’re supposed to go to my grandmother’s for Christmas Eve and then have her and Peter along with Matt’s family, who I finally get to meet, to Christmas dinner at our place.
“Hey, Jack,” Matt says when he answers his phone. “Uh-huh. Okay. I understand.”
Crap. It was all going good until the I understand part.
I’m basically holding my breath, praying my holiday plans aren’t about to go up in smoke. Although we do have a backup plan of holding both at Grandmother’s, so it will all be okay. It will be beautiful whenever it takes place.
“That was Jack,” Matt says.
“Uh-huh,” I say, scarcely able to get the syllables out due to lack of oxygen.
“Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock.”
“We get to see it tomorrow night? They are actually going to get it done?”
“Did you doubt me?”
“You?” I say, sauntering up to him and dropping my robe. “Although you were quite the sexy construction worker, you didn’t do any of the work.”
His eyes go straight to my chest. So do his hands. He raises his eyes at me just as the doorbell rings, causing Phoebe to go ballistic.
“Saved by the bell,” I tease Matt, giving him a quick peck before pulling my robe back on and answering the door.
We eat breakfast, and then I get dressed, so we can take Phoebe on a walk through the park. It’s chilly and damp, and there’s a chance of snow for Christmas. Everyone we pass seems to be cheerful.
At least, I know I am.
I’m officially a dog mom. And for some reason, it feels like an even bigger step than moving in together.
Although I think I know now how Matt met so many women. Phoebe seems to have a fan club that includes everyone she comes into contact with.
They all comment on what a pretty dog she is. How good she is. Her silky fur.
And I have to say, I feel damn proud.
When we get back, Matt tells me he’s going out. And he’s being very vague about it.
“Where are you going?” I ask again.
“I can’t tell you that. It will ruin the surprise. And in case you forgot, you like them now.”
“Dang it,” I tease. “That’s fine. I actually have a little shopping I need to do myself.” And I do. I want to find the perfect outfit to wear for our first holiday together. I want to look gorgeous on Christmas Eve and approachable, friendly, and lovely on Christmas Day.
“I thought your shopping was done?”
“I thought it might be fun to have something new to wear. You know, to meet your family.”
“They’ve never met you, so they haven’t seen any of your clothes.”
“I know that,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“It’s a girl thing, right?” he says.
“Exactly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Nine o’clock can’t come fast enough,” I tell Hayley.
She has arrived in California and sounds delir
iously happy to be back in Nicholas’s arms.
“I can’t wait to see it,” she says.
“So, what do you think of California so far? Hate it?” I tease.
“I think I’d go anywhere with this man,” she says in a dreamy voice.
And for the first time in my life, I totally understand. I feel the same way.
“Hey, you’re with Nicholas,” I say.
“Uh, yeah,” she replies, sounding confused.
“And it’s Christmastime.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re with your sexy Santa. You have to make him dress up. I mean, he’s St. Nicholas, right?”
“The man is probably going to have to be a saint to put up with me while I’m pregnant,” she says. “I am having some cravings. But he says we should go for it. Enjoy all the fun parts of pregnancy. Did you know that during the first trimester, besides morning sickness, many women have an, shall we call it, enhanced libido?”
“I did not know that. Good for you.”
I hear a horn honking in the background.
“Wow,” I say. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in New York.”
“No!” she replies. “It’s just our Uber driver. We’re going, uh, somewhere.”
“Somewhere?”
“Yes. It’s a surprise. St. Nick is surprising me,” she says.
“Well, okay then. Have fun! But you should know that I’m making Matt take me out for nachos tonight before we go home.”
“Cool,” she says, practically hanging up on me.
I guess Santa couldn’t wait.
I bought four new outfits yesterday, complete with accessories, shoes, and a handbag. It’s not something I normally do, but I feel like I need to look nice for my new house.
Like I want it to have a good impression of me the first time we meet again kind of thing.
I also possibly racked up some credit-card damage in the lingerie department. I’m talking it’s a whole new me underneath my clothes. If I’m going to sleep in a gorgeous four-poster bed every night, I need to look the part.