“This isn't a Nora Ephron movie,” Emery said. “This is real life. I lied to her for weeks, Jax. I was writing a book inspired by her without her knowledge or consent, after she'd explicitly told me how much that exact thing had hurt her before. I can't fix that with flowers.”
“Fair point,” Jax conceded. “But you've got to do something. And soon. Before she completely writes you off or, worse, decides to give that sleazy ex of hers another chance.”
Emery's stomach lurched. “You don't think she would?”
“No, probably not,” Jax said. “But my point stands. Time isn't your friend here.”
“Here we go,” Emery groaned.
“What?” Jax turned to look. “Oh. Domi alert.”
Domi cut a striking figure as she wound between tables toward them, turning heads in her wake. She was dressed in what Emery thought of as her 'power agent' outfit: a crisp white shirt under a perfectly tailored blazer, accessorized with a statement necklace that probably cost more than Emery's monthly rent.
“Darlings.” She air kissed them both and then looked at Emery. “So glad that you’ve decided to leave that den of filth.”
“I don’t live in a den of filth,” Emery said.
“Mmm,” said Domi. “But you’ve come to your senses. The book is fully accepted, happy endings and all. So here we all are, everything back to normal, thank god.” She pulled out a chair and flopped down into it, pouring herself a glass of wine.
“Not quite back to normal,” Jax said.
Domi raised an eyebrow.
“Emery is trying to find a way to woo her bookseller back,” Jax explained.
“Well, it's about damn time,” said Domi. “But it’s hardly rocket science. I told you weeks ago, you need a grand gesture. It's how all the best romances end. The hero running through an airport, the declaration of love in front of a crowd, the—”
“I’m a romance novelist,” Emery said. “I know what a grand gesture is.” She sighed. “But none of that feels right for this situation. It’s all just… not enough.”
Domi flagged down a waiter. “Speaking of not enough, this wine won’t do the job. I need a martini, very dry, three olives,” she said before turning back to Emery. “Look, I get it. This isn't a typical situation. But the principle remains the same. You need to show her that you're all in, that this isn't just another story for you.”
“That's the problem,” Emery said. “How do I prove that I'm not just using her for material when I literally was using her for material?”
“But that's not all you were doing,” Jax pointed out. “You fell in love with her. That's real.”
The waiter returned with Domi's martini at record speed, probably motivated by her intimidating presence. She took a sip and nodded approvingly.
“I still don't know what to do,” Emery said after a moment. “Every idea I come up with feels inadequate.”
They ordered food and talked about publishing arrangements for the new book until it arrived. Then Emery picked at her pasta, still lost in thought.
“Maybe,” Jax said between bites, “you're overthinking this. Maybe you just need to talk to Eveline. Honestly, openly.”
“After a solicitor's letter?” Emery shook her head. “She made it pretty clear she doesn't want to hear from me.”
“People say things they don't mean when they're hurt,” Domi said with unusual gentleness. “Trust me, I've nursed enough clients through messy divorces to know that.”
The meal continued, the conversation drifting to other topics. Jax's new case, Domi's latest star client, anything but Emery's romantic woes. It was almost a relief, this momentary respite from her own thoughts.
When dessert menus appeared, Emery felt a flutter of the sweet tooth that had abandoned her these past weeks.
“The tiramisu looks good,” Jax said, perusing the options.
“I'm tempted by the cannoli,” said Emery.
Domi closed her menu with a decisive snap. “Oh, for God's sake, let's just get one of everything.”
“Everything?” Jax said. “There are like eight desserts on this menu.”
