“The top twelve books in the rom-com category were: one,Aggie the Horrible versus Max the Pompous Assby—”
Stone grunted.
Sophie paused and glanced at him. “Comment?”
“Sorry. The title just surprised me.”
She gave him a benign smile and continued. “Two,Anyone But The Billionaireby Sara L. Hudson. Three,Funny Storyby Emily Henry. Four,Falling for My Enemyby Claire Kingsley. Five,Things We Left Behindby Lucy Score. Six,The Magnolia Chroniclesby Kate Canterbary. Seven,Love Hackedby Penny Reid. Eight,Made in Manhattanby Lauren Layne. Nine,The Bride’s Runaway Billionaireby Pippa Grant. Ten,Most Eligible Billionaireby Annika Martin. Eleven,Single Dad on Topby J. J. Knight. And twelve,Tangledby Emma Chase.” She showed each book cover as she read the name of the book and its author.
“I read half those books on vacation last summer,” Isabella said. “I can see why they were chosen.”
“Of course you’ve read them. It’s not like being the editor-in-chief of the digital side of things is too demanding. I, on the other hand, have no time to vacation, let alone read,” Frankie said.
Isabella scratched her nose with her middle finger but said nothing.
“Since Stone wasn’t here to hear your original pitch,” Ms. Birdie said, “explain a little about your proposal.”
Sophie clicked to the next screen. An image of the cover forAggie the Horrible versus Max the Pompous Asspopped up. “In this book, the business tycoon hero has a meddling grandmother who has manipulated his need for a temporary assistant to push her latest matchmaking efforts upon him. As a result, he’s quite a total bosshole to the heroine, all in the hopes she will quit.”
Maybe Sophie should be a bosshole to Stone to get him to quit, should he decide to take the gig.
“Bosshole?” Stone asked.
“Nice word for asshole in charge,” Sophie explained. Who was she kidding? Life was too short to fake assholeness.
Stone rubbed the back of his neck, bringing her attention to his bandaged finger, but said nothing.
“My thought is to have Isabella do a podcast asking all of Manhattan to anonymously nominate their favorite bossholes with hero possibilities—given the right person—to be spotlighted in my column.”
“Hero possibilities?” Stone asked, frowning.
“Most men—abusers and narcissists absolutely excluded—can be salvaged if they’re willing and able to be educated on what it takes to be a living book boyfriend, a.k.a. a swoony hero.”
“Lucky them,” he said sarcastically.
She ignored his tone. “I’ll interview the nominees, weed out the stinkers”—she glanced at Stone—“and declare one a book-boyfriend match. Midway through the column’s run, Ms. Birdie has agreed that all the book boyfriends who have been discovered by that point will be required to participate in her annual bachelor auction. My Book Boyfriend Twins will go to the highest bidders.”
“Auction?” Stone asked.
“A charity auction,” Sophie said. “The money this year will go to Childhood Cancer Research.”
“I was so thrilled when I learned of your idea,” Ms. Birdie said. “I predict it will be our best fundraiser ever. A date night with your book boyfriend will sell out faster than any other auction we’ve ever hosted.”
“If this is the entirety of your plan,” Stone said. “I see no reason to be your bodyguard. You won’t need one, and I won’t take money that’s not earned.”
“Sophie, tell us a little about each type of man you will be scouring the five boroughs to find,” Ms. Birdie urged. “I do believe that will help Stone get a better grasp on just why it is you need protecting.”
Sophie nodded. “In the bookTangled,the boyfriend trope is a New York City playboy, so I’ll be on the hunt for one of those. The novelFunny Storyrequires me to find a living, breathing, lovable cinnamon roll.”
“A what roll?” Stone asked, his brow creasing.
“Cinnamon roll. Those are the nice guy heroes. They’re not broody, or snarly, or anything that is off-putting. Instead, they have a gooey heart and are just waiting for the right person to appreciate their niceness.”
“Good God,” he shuddered. “I pity the poor fucking man who gets described as a cinnamon roll. Could you be any more cruel to their ego?”
Sophie frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
For a moment, Stone looked confused by her outrage. Then he grimaced. “Pardon my language. I hope I’ve not offended your sensibilities.”
