Yep, it’s crap.
I’ve been secretly hoping I was just being neurotic. But that’s the thing about writing a dozen bestsellers. It tends to cure you of the kind of low confidence that leads you to underestimate your work, while simultaneously giving you the experience to know when you’re producing horse shit.
An email notification pops up.
I have a message from Owen.
Well. Maybe I’ll just check that. Because (a) I’m curious, and (b) Ireallydon’t want to start working on this.
From: Owen Wilde
To: George Knight
Date: December 21, 8:32 AM
Subject: Caffeine-Related Question
Hey, I don’t want to bother you, but I can’t find a manual for your coffee machine. Can you direct me to that, or possibly some kind of online degree program to teach me how to use this thing?
I smile.Okay, well, it isn’t urgent, but I have to help the guy, right? Coffee is a necessity. Not to mention I practically torched the man’s home last night. I owe him.
I tap out instructions, including how fine the grind should be—fine but not powdery, feeling slightly gritty when rubbed between the fingers—and my tips on how to deal with the finicky steam wand if he uses it. I really should’ve thought of this when I was getting the place ready for him, but I wasso preoccupied with—well, you name it: the book, Luca’s impending nuptials, the other book (the oneI’m not supposed to be writing), packing to live in the woods à la Henry David Thoreau. The need for espresso machine instructions hadn’t crossed my mind.I finish off the email with a self-deprecating apology and send it on its way.
I wait for a few minutes in case a reply comes back. No point in getting deep into writing only to stop to continue this email conversation. Owen might need more help or just have otherthings he wants to talk about. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a response arrives.
From: Owen Wilde
To: George Knight
Date: December 21, 8:45 AM
Re: Caffeine-Related Question
Thanks very much!
Right.Because the man wants a cup of coffee, not a pen pal.
And I don’t need a pen pal, I need a finished damn Sebastian Steele book.
I really need to get a grip. Maybe a shower would snap me back to reality. The pajamas and bedhead are probably sending the wrong message to my brain.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and as ready as I’ll ever be. But when I pick up my phone, I find I have a new email.
From: Owen Wilde
To: George Knight
Date: December 21, 9:02 AM
Subject: Not Sure I Got This Right
Maybe I could snort it?
There isan attached image of what basically looks like dark brown flour, sifting through fingers on a masculine hand. I chuckle.
From: George Knight
To: Owen Wilde
