Joe flinched. My first blow had clocked him right in the ego.
‘There’s a lot more to it than that,’ he replied, his tone pricklier than before. ‘It’s the cover, the typeface, the paper stock, special finishes, the marketing, the social media – anything and everything that has to do with the brand comes through me. I am the person who communicates the book’s message.’
‘Funny,’ I said. ‘I’d have thought the author communicated the book’s message.’
‘Funny,’ he replied. ‘I’d have thought you would know the author doesn’t want anything to do with the publishing process. What with you being such a big fan.’
One point to Walsh.
‘The author writes the book,’ Joe said while I focused every atom of my being on not giving the game away by blushing. I would not give him the satisfaction.‘But a hundred thousand words floating around the world on their own aren’t going to get read. You need the right cover, the right marketing, the right brand strategy. That’s where I come in. My job is to explain what the book is about, who it’s for and why they should buy it.’
‘When you put it like that, it’s almost as though you don’t need the words at all,’ I replied, snatching my book from his hand, automatically scanning the back cover copy even though I must have read it at least a thousand times before.
Jenna Johnson has only one goal for the summer; to get as far away from London and her ex as possible. A trip to Texas with her best friend sounds like just what she needs, a whole month of fun, sun and American accents, but when her friend drops out at the last minute, Jenna finds herself all alone in Austin … until she meets stoic cowboy, Eric Hall, another lonely heart looking for distraction. Irresistibly drawn to each other, the two make a pact – spend the month together without falling in love, something Jenna’s ex claims she’s incapable of. When their powerful physical connection unexpectedly turns into something more, Jenna begins to wonder – was her ex right about her icy heart or is she finally feeling butterflies?
‘The words might make it harder to sell something like that,’ Joe said with a chuckle. ‘As I said, wish fulfilment for sexually frustrated women. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.’
‘If that’s true, there must be an awful lot of sexually frustrated women out there,’ I replied, my fingers curling protectively around the spine as he held up his hands in mock surrender.
‘Don’t blame me. I can’t be everywhere at once, I am only one man.’
‘And very possibly the actual worst one,’ I retorted. He was enjoying this far too much. ‘So what if that’s part of it? How come when a woman writes about sexual frustration she’s the butt of a joke, but when a man writes about his sexual frustration, he gets an Oscar?’
‘Look, I didn’t likeThe Jokereither,’ he replied, unexpectedly defensive. ‘All I’m saying is, this kind of book, as popular as it may be, it’s not that complex, is it? Not exactly Dickens. More like dick-ins, if you know what I mean.’
‘Oh, I think I do.’ I stood so abruptly my chair toppled to the floor behind me. Enough was enough. ‘Now I think about it, St Pancras is pretty far from Brick Lane,’ I said. ‘I’d hate to miss my train.’
‘The one that leaves in four hours?’
‘That’s the one,’ I confirmed. ‘I’d love to say it’s been a pleasure but it really hasn’t.’
‘OK, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Joe spoke quickly but got to his feet slowly, confidently, like he knew I would wait. He wasn’t about to be rushed, not even in his apology. ‘I went too far. I didn’t mean to offend you, it was a joke, I was teasing. There’s nothing wrong with a book about a woman who needs a shag.’
‘Could you have tried any harder to miss the point?’ I asked, so frustrated. ‘That’s not what the book is about at all.’
‘That’s what chapter five is about,’ he replied. ‘And chapter eight and chapter ten and chapter thirteen and—’
‘It’s fine, clearly you don’t understand it,’ I told him before he could list every sex scene in my book. ‘Notthat I’m surprised, it wasn’t written for you. The sex is what happens in the book, not what it’s about.’
‘You really are a passionate fan,’ he said, refocusing on me. ‘Remind me, what is it that you do?’
‘I’m a teacher,’ I mumbled. ‘I read a lot.’
‘English teacher?’
‘Primary school.’
‘Really?’ He looked surprised, responding with one raised eyebrow. ‘Single?’
My spine stiffened. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
Joe Walsh brushed one hand through his hair, dipped his chin and trained his ocean blue eyes on mine.
‘Everything.’
There was no doubt in my mind that move would work on ninety-nine out of one hundred women but it wasn’t going to work on me. All he was doing was proving my point.
‘What I’m trying to say is, you don’t understand the message of the book,’ I shot back. ‘It’s not about a woman who just needs a good seeing-to. It’s about all the frustrations women have to put up with every day, all the things we’re expected to get on and do without complaint to make everyone else’s lives easier, all while our needs go unfulfilled which, yes, very often includes our sexual needs. We’ve been trained to be grateful for what we’re given rather than ask for what we want, notonlyin bed – but maybe you’re right. If there were a few more men who tried a bit harder, perhaps there would be a few less books like this.’
