“Oh,” said Jake. “I thought you meant bow as in crossbow.”
“Or bow-tie pasta,” said Chuck.
“None of you has any romantic soul,” said Tabby.
“I do!” said Sunny, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “Who’s the beau?”
“Yeah, who’s the lucky man?” said Cooper.
“Oh my God, you guys,” said Sam.
“Wait for it,” said Tabby. She cupped her hands around her mouth and stage-whispered, “WILLIAM. CORWYN.”
Daisy squinted. “Isn’t he that uber-bestselling dude who writes as a woman?”
“You’re dating a cross-dresser?” said Joe to Sam.
“Noooo,” said Lavinia. “Hisprotagonistsare women.” She turned her laptop to the room, the screen showing William’s Wikipedia page.
“Ohhhhhhh, that guy,” said Daisy. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“Me too,” said Sunny. “Isn’t he pretty famous?”
“This is not a good use of our workshop time, people,” Sam said.
“Hair, acceptable, check,” said Iowa. “Teeth, check. Stern yet pensive expression, check.”
“Bro has like 14K reviews on Goodreads for his latest book!” said Jake, eyes popping. “And it just came out this month!”
“And some not very nice ones,” said Cooper. “I hate the way this guy writes—did he swallow a dictionary?One star.”
“I didn’t actually read this book,”read Daisy, “but I don’t think I’d like it.One star.”
“My copy arrived damaged!” read Birdy, laughing. “Oh, buddy. One star!”
“But thousands of good ones,” said Jake. “AndThe New Yorkercalls him The Virtuoso.”
“Ohmy,” said Sunny, fanning herself.
“Virtuoso, play my heartstrings!”
“Virtuoso, tickle my ivories!”
“Arrrr, that’s for piano.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You are all beyond help,” said Sam, as the novelists continued their William roast. “I’m going to step out and call Amelie. Stalk amongst yourselves.”
In the hallway she permitted herself a snicker and pulled out her phone. There was a text from the man himself:Thanks for the delectable photo, sugarplum. You know what’s missing? My handprint, right on your—Sam swiped this away before she could get distracted. Nothing from Amelie. Sam looked up Amelie’s number—unlike the rest of her novelists, who’d worked together for years, Amelie was a recent addition to class. All Sam knew was that Amelie was mid-forties-ish, quiet, withtattoo sleeves and black hair so shiny it looked oiled, and that her historical pirate series had been published by a small press before it went under. Her goal was to bring her buccaneer to the Big Five, and Sam thought it was possible. Amelie had talent.
Amelie’s phone went straight to voicemail. Sam scrolled quickly through Amelie’s social to see if she’d taken an ill-timed road trip. Amelie’s profile photo showed her wearing a leather bustier and clenching a cutlass between her teeth at something called PirateCon. “Whoa,” said Sam. Apparently shy Amelie had a whole different life outside of class. But the conference had been a year ago, and Amelie’s last post, about a romance panel, was a month old. Sam went back into the classroom.
The novelists had tired of William and were now playing that ever-popular game, The Top Ten Things Writers Least Like to Hear at Parties.What’s your book about?... Have you written anything I might have read?... Are you any good?... Can I buy your book in stores?... Can you actually make a living as a writer?... I always wanted to write a novel, but I never found time... Maybe you could write my novel for me!... I have a book for you to write!Sam smiled around at the bright, beloved faces. If they only knew! What would they say, her people, if they knew how paralyzed Sam was, that even after over twenty years of being in this business, her position was so precarious? Not just because of the industry but because of her own doubt. Although Sam of course had not mentioned it to Mireille or Patricia,The Gold Digger’s Mistressfelt pretty much DOA. William’s idea—or rather Sam’s upcycled concept, the historical novel about the rumrunner—that might have legs. Sam wasn’t sure. She’d started kicking the idea around with William, on FaceTime and on the phone, test-driving the ideas while he listened attentively.What if it’s near the Great Lakes, so the rumrunner is importing moonshine from Canada?What if it were set during Prohibition?It was productive, and yet Sam still felt uncomfortable, as if she were wearing ill-fitting clothes. She just wasn’t sure what she was going to do, which novel she would bring to Patricia at their New York meeting, and that meant she might be on the verge of torpedoing her career.
“What’s up, boss?” said Jake, and Sam realized the room had gone quiet.
“Just checking again to see if I’d heard from Amelie.”
