Marilou wraps her hand around her husband’s upper arm.“Honey, you know I read all the time.I have to do something to keep myself busy during the season.”
“I love when you read, Mar.I reap the rewards from all those words.”She gets a wink from Maurice.
I fidget with the stem of the champagne flute, remaining silent as I watch Maurice and Marilou.They’re cute together and so totally in love.
“Please tell me you don’t write murder mysteries.”Marilou rolls her eyes.“They’re so boring and predictable.”
“I write romance novels,” I blurt out because there’s nothing like ripping the Band-Aid off quickly to break the ice and get over the weird moment where everyone looks at me like I’m an easy lay.
That’s the thing about being a romance writer.Everyone always assumes I’m some sort of weird nymphomaniac, when I’m the exact opposite.No one makes that assumption about a person who writes crime novels.They don’t think they’re a career criminal based on the words they put on paper.It’s exactly the opposite for romance.We’re all slutty harlots, writing from our vast experience of opening our legs for every Tom, Dick, and Harry.
Vinnie’s fingers dig into my skin as he gives me a proud smile.“That’s my girl.”
“Oh my God.I love romance.I devour them.What’s your name?I must read your books,” Marilou says as the other women gawk at me like I’m some kind of whore, as expected.
“Bianca May.”I smile, knowing I should be proud of everything I’ve accomplished at my age.
I am.
I’m prouder than anyone will ever know, but it’s the way people’s opinions of me form as soon as they hear “romance” that still punches me square in the gut sometimes.
“Shut your mouth.”She gasps.“I’ve read all of your books.You’re one of my favorites.”
I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.“Really?”
It’s still shocking when anyone says they love my words.Every novel I finish, there’s always doubt in the back of my mind that it’s good enough or that my readers will enjoy it.
She nods excitedly.“Tempted by Fateis my all-time favorite.”
“We have a famous author at our table.”Maurice holds out his champagne glass and tips it in my direction.“Do you get your inspiration from Vinnie?”
“I get inspiration from everything and everyone around me.”
“Is writing lucrative?”Marquita asks because, of course, the stuck-up bitch is obsessed with money.“I’ve heard so many stories about how writers can barely afford to pay their bills.”
“It can be,” I tell her and bite my tongue because I want to tell her to fuck off.
“What do you do to support yourself financially while you write?”she asks with a small smirk because, again…she’s a bitch.
I don’t usually like to talk about my success and money, especially in front of strangers, but she’s such an asshole, I can’t think of anything other than putting her in her place.On top of that, I’m sitting at a table filled with professional football players who are paid in the millions.They won’t faint at the figures I’m about to throw around.
“My last book made a little over a million dollars.”I stare straight at Marquita, hoping she chokes on the champagne she’s raising to her lips.“In the first month,” I add to drive that little uptight-bitch dagger right into Marquita’s heart.
Vinnie rocks back in his chair like he’s stunned, and right on cue, Marquita chokes on that damn fancy champagne.
“Wow,” Clarence says.“Who knew there was so much money in romance.”
I nod, feeling the knots in my stomach finally start to loosen.“It’s the hottest-selling genre on the market, with a ravenous and dedicated readership.I have a wonderful publisher, which helps.”
Marquita dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin, careful not to smear her perfect makeup.“Huh,” she mumbles into the cloth.
Clarence covers her hand, silencing her before she says another assholish thing.“You must be popular to bring in seven figures with your work.”
“She’s the best,” Marilou tells him.“She’s done book tours around the world, and people line up outside the store when her new book releases.She’s a rock star.”
My face heats at her compliment.“I do okay, but I do it because I love it, not for the money.”I’ve always tried to remain humble, preferring to be alone with my computer and words instead of having readers fawn over me.
Marilou waves her hand at me.“She’s being modest.”
Vinnie leans over, bringing his mouth right next to my ear.“I’m going to have to read your books now.I want to crawl inside your dirty mind a little bit.”
I want to correct him.Tell him that my books are fantasy and nothing more.They’re fiction, after all, filled with happy endings and a lot of sex.They’re nothing like my real life.
“I think she’s a keeper, Gallo,” Clarence tells him.“Hold on to this one as tight as possible.It’s not often you find a driven, successful woman who’s willing to put up with our bullshit.”
“I plan to, Clarence.I plan to,” Vinnie says in a low, husky voice, sending goose bumps across my skin.
I’m so screwed.
How am I going to meet my deadline with the hot baller next to me trying to creep into my bed?
