Emery waited until she was halfway down the street before she let out a small, disbelieving squeal. She'd just accepted a job at a bookshop. A job she absolutely did not need. A job that would take precious time away from her already overdue manuscript. A job that would put her in intimate contact with the most beautiful woman that she’d ever seen. She squealed again, making a mother and child take wide steps to avoid walking too close to her on the pavement.
And it was all because of a pair of dark eyes and a French accent.
Her phone rang, and she pulled it out to see Domi's name flashing on the screen. The momentary elation drained away, replaced by dread. What had she just done? What had she spent the entire day doing? Was she crazy? Or just heading in that direction?
“Hello?”
“Are you dead?” Domi demanded without preamble. “Because that's the only acceptable reason for what happened today.”
Emery winced. “I'm so sorry, Domi. I got the wrong address, and then…” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Save it,” Domi said. “Jax already gave me the stomach bug story. Though I don't buy it for a second. You've been avoiding me for weeks, and now this? What's going on, Emery?”
Emery ducked into a quiet side street, away from the bustle of the main road. “I've been stuck, alright? Completely and utterly blocked.” Honesty being thin on the ground for the day after pretending not to be Emerald Pearl, she thought she might give it a shot for now.
“And missing your signing was supposed to help with that how, exactly?”
“It wasn't,” Emery admitted. “But, um, something else might have.”
There was a suspicious pause on the other end of the line. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! Well, not exactly nothing. I sort of… got a job? At a bookshop?”
The silence that followed was so complete that Emery checked her screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped.
“Domi? Are you still there?”
“Let me get this straight,” Domi said, her voice dangerously calm. “You missed your signing at one bookshop because you were… getting a job at another bookshop?”
“Yes. No. Well, not exactly. Sort of? It just sort of… happened?”
“Things don't 'just happen,' Emery. You make choices. Bad ones, apparently.”
Emery leaned against a brick wall, closing her eyes. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It doesn'tsoundcrazy. Itiscrazy. You have a manuscript due in less than two months, which, might I remind you, you haven't even really started. And instead of writing, you're playing shop assistant?”
“It's research,” Emery said. Which it sort of was. “For the book.”
“Research.” Domi's voice was flat with disbelief.
“Yes. Research. There's this woman, the shop owner, she's… she's fascinating. Exactly the kind of character I need for my next book. Strong, independent, passionate about literature…”
“Right.” Domi didn't sound convinced. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't dated in what, two years?”
“Three,” Emery corrected automatically, then winced. “And no, it doesn't. Definitely not. This is purely professional.”
“Right. Professional.” Domi sighed heavily. “Look, I don't care if you're researching or flirting or whatever the hell is going on. But I need pages, Emery. Actual words on actual pages. Soon.”
“You'll get them,” Emery promised. “In fact, I'm feeling really inspired now.”
“You'd better be,” Domi warned. “Because if I don't see a draft soon, I'll personally come to this bookshop and drag you out by your curly hair. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Emery said.
“Good. Now go write something that doesn't make me want to fire you.”
The call ended abruptly, and Emery exhaled. That could have gone worse. Though not by much.
