“Fine.” The word tastes bitter coming out of my mouth, like a sour lemon.
Lily slips out of my office, already typing away on her phone. I look back at my screen.
So. Many. Blank. Pages.
I have one week to submit this manuscript.
I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.I repeat Thomas Edison’s famous words in my head.
There’s always a way to find the story. I just don’t have all the facts I need in this mystery to solve it yet. And I really don’t need Rachel Perry distracting me from figuring it out.
I undo the top three buttons of my collared shirt, feeling as if the cotton is beginning to shrink and choke the life out of me. I stand from my chair, take a deep breath, and do fifty quick squats. Fitness is something I squeeze into every spare moment of my day when I can. I refuse to become the kind of writer that looks as if I sit behind my desk all day.
I hear Lily’s shrill shriek of excitement soak through the paper-thin walls. Rachel must be here.
I slowly tiptoe to my office door, pressing my ear up against it so I can hear their conversation.
“You must be Rachel!” Lily squeals. “I’m a huge fan. First, of your fanfic. You make Barrett a heartthrob, and I adore it. Secondly,hugefan of the message you sent Evan.”
“Oh, well, I…” Rachel stutters.
I imagine her cheeks are flushed pink from being called out on the message she sent me. The message that hadn’t been subtle at all. She’d been direct and lethal. I’m used to bad reviews. For every hundred glowing ones, there are always a few that should have never picked up one of my books in the first place. But Rachel’s words were different. The fact that she’d called herselfThe Better Barrettwas one of, if not the biggest, insults I’ve ever received.
“Had every right to write that message,” Lily finishes the sentence for her, and I roll my eyes as I continue to listen.
I hear Lily’s chair roll out and bump into the wall behind her. “I’m Lily. Evan’s a-sis-tant. Get it? Sister and assistant? A-sis-tant?”
I shake my head, wondering what Rachel really thinks of Lily. Most likely she adores her. Everyone does. Lily is a no-nonsense kind of person, who also loves all nonsense.
“That’s cute,” Rachel replies, and I wonder if she’s smiling genuinely or politely, although I shouldn’t be wondering if she’s smiling at all.
I also shouldn’t be wondering what she is wearing or if she smells like gardenias and sunshine like she did last Friday.
“When you work for Evan, you have to find the fun when you can.” Lily giggles. “It seems you two have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“My feet are just fine,” Rachel replies matter-of-factly. “It seems his are the ones that have stepped out of line.”
I take that as the perfect cue to step out of my office.
Rachel’s wearing a dress again. This time it’s bright yellow with flowy sleeves, and it hugs in all the right places. I hate myself for noticing. The blazer is gone though. Instead, she has a large pink coat draped over one arm while holding a small tray with two coffees from the coffee shop down the street. Her hair isn’t wild and free today. It’s pulled back with a few wispy pieces framing her face that is, indeed, flushed.
“Hello, Rachel,” I say smoothly, greeting her.
I watch as she bites at her bottom lip that is free of any color.
“I brought lattes. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got vanilla,” she stammers, and I blink away the thought that I think it’s cute she’s showing nerves. Nothing is cute about this woman. This woman is fire and sharp words. “I hope that’s okay.”
“I don’t like sugared-up coffee drinks. A lot of unnecessary things added in something that should just be coffee,” I reply flatly.
I watch as her teeth sink deeper into her bottom lip before she takes a deep breath through her nose, then looks back up at me, her green eyes sparking. She glances over at Lily. “That makes sense. Would you like a latte, Lily?”
Rachel takes one of the cups and hands it over to Lily, who is nodding energetically.
“What do you mean by ‘that makes sense’?” I question.
She’s smirking now as she takes a sip of her own latte.
“That you wouldn’t like something sweet. It would compromise your bitterness,” she answers, looking directly into my eyes, anything that had been cute and anxious completely gone from her demeanor. “And wouldn’t that be such a shame? You’re such a pleasant person to be around as it is.”
