5
FIVE
There was no getting out of the events. I’d signed a contract. Since this program involved a compromise between three publishing houses, it would have looked bad for me to back out. My editor’s tone on the phone told me not to push.
I was still irritated about it when my assistant and I went shopping for a golf cart the following day. “It’s exceedingly unfair,” I complained.
“Exceedingly, huh?” Paisley Parker—yes, that was her real name—grinned. “Is it ever unexceedingly unfair?”
I glared at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t on your side. I’m just … confused. You don’t even have to travel for those signings. They’re all at local bars, and they all feature smaller crowds. You hate the big crowds, so how is this not a win?”
I hated that she had a point. “I don’t want to have to spend time with Big Butt Bates.”
“Big Butt Bates?”
“His name is B. B. Bates. What else would you call him?”
Paisley actually considered it. She was younger than me by four years. I would turn thirty in a few months, and she stillacted like a teenager. She swore like a trucker when she got excited—something that offended Hayley to no end—and was always up for mischief. She texted me to go out drinking five nights a week, knowing darned well she might get me to agree to one if she was lucky. She was also starry-eyed about the whole professional-author thing. She was my assistant, but she had big dreams. Unfortunately, she refused to talk about those dreams and was terrified to actually take the plunge.
I was working on her. I’d read the things she’d written and knew they were good. She just had no faith in herself. I couldn’t tell her she was good and expect her to believe me. No, she would have to come to that realization herself. I’d yet to figure out how she was going to do it.
She would do it, though.
“Maybe he’s bashful and buxom,” Paisley suggested.
“No.”
“Or bright and beautiful.”
Sadly, Brody was beautiful. He had this nerdy, smart thing going with dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, and what looked to be a decent body. I’d seen him in khakis and a polo shirt the day before, and his legs were muscular. Unless he only spent his time biking, it seemed likely that the rest of him was muscular too.
“He’s a big butt,” I countered. “His attitude stinks.”
“Okay. If you say so.” Paisley ran her hands over a turquoise cart. “I like this one.”
I glanced at the cart. I was not an expert on golf carts—I’d only ever driven one when I was a kid and one of my mother’s boyfriends thought I might like an adventure—but this one looked nice enough. “How much does it cost?”
Paisley ambled over to the front of the cart. “Fifteen thousand.”
I frowned. “Dollars?”
“No, pesos.” Paisley gave me an exasperated look. “Of course dollars.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” I swung my head around to search for a salesperson. The fact that they actually had a golf cart showroom in Savannah was dumbfounding. “This has to be a mutant cart or something.”
Paisley chuckled. “I’m betting that’s the standard rate.”
“It can’t be. It’s a golf cart.”
Paisley lifted one eyebrow. “Do you want me to find a salesman?”
“No, I want you to find a saleswoman.” I was firm on that. “I’m not dealing with some idiot who is going to try to confuse me with horsepower and torque. I want a woman because she’ll tell me the important things, and she’ll do it in English.”
Paisley considered it, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched her go. She was a local and another reason I’d opted to settle in Savannah. She’d grown up in Rincon, a suburb outside the city. She didn’t say a lot about it, only that it was a “more affordable” subdivision. To me, that suggested it was a poorer suburb. I didn’t ask, though.
