“How considerate,” says Priscilla. “Even if you scared the shit out of us.” She waves a hand. “But the power’s back on now...”
Sienna frowns, watching something pass between the two of them—not a spark but the opposite, achill, which strikes her as odd, given that he’s the man deciding their future, their fate. She thought Priscilla was just a stickler for the rules, but there’s clearly something else at play. Then again, Priscilla is a Black romance author. Maybe she simply knows how much the blind part of the judging matters.
Rufus nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I should be getting back. Behind the curtain, so to speak.” He gets to his feet, only to groan, and sway a little. Malcolm and Cate rush forward to steady him.
“Easy now,” says Malcolm. “You’d better stay here for a wee while. Let us keep an eye on you. Make sure there’s no lasting damage.”
“Yeah,” says Jaxon, a little too chipper. “I bet you could use a drink... I knowIcould.”
Priscilla stares, icy air rolling off her. Until she notices Sienna watching. Her mouth twitches, trying and failing to find a smile.
Rufus nods. “Well, I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt.”
“Not as much as a pool cue to the head,” says Kenzo dryly. No one laughs. “What? Too soon?”
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, THEY’RE ALL BACK INthe games room.
The offending pool cue has been returned to the rack, and Rufus is sitting in the middle of the sofa, pressing an ice-cold bottle of vodka to the side of his head. His outfit really is peculiar. Burgundy silk pajamas and a paisley smoking jacket, slippers muddy from the walk up from the cottage. And even though he’s clearly in his thirties, Sienna can’t shake the image of a kid playing dress-up.
The others flit around him dotingly. Cate’s the one who fetched the cold bottle. Millie keeps asking Rufus if he’s warm enough. Even Kenzo—Kenzo, who was all aboutnotpandering to the editor—asks Rufus if he wants something to eat. Sienna shakes her head. The ass-kissing could not be more overt.
“What’ll you have, sir?” asks Malcolm, rounding the bar. Rufus opens his mouth to speak, but Malcolm cuts him off. “Wait, let me guess. You strike me as a whisky man.”
The editor swallows and manages a wan smile. “Guilty as charged,” he says as Malcolm strolls over, holding two glasses, each with no ice and what looks like averygenerous pour. He hands one to Rufus and clinks with the other, even though Sienna’s pretty sure that the last thing Malcolm needs is more Scotch.
The editor takes a sip and nearly chokes, grimacing visibly. “Oh, wow. That’s—smoky,” he coughs. Priscilla snorts, then plucks the vodka bottle from his hand and pours herself a drink. She lifts the bottle Sienna’s way in silent question, and she nods, abandoning the wine she was about to pour.
It’s been a weird night.
Millie and Cate perch on chairs, and Kenzo and Jaxon lean side by side against the pool table, nursing beers, the confrontation from the kitchen seemingly forgotten. Or at least, squashed in the editor’s presence, everyone suddenly on their best behavior.
The resulting atmosphere is... awkward.
“Can I just say again, that was totally my bad?” It’s the fifth time Jaxon has apologized to Rufus.
And like the last four times, the editor waves it away. “It’s my fault. I should have announced myself instead of just barging in.” He rubs at the bloodstain on the thigh of his pajama pants.
“So tell me, Rufus,” muses Malcolm, who’s already emptied his glass and is filling it again. “What doyouthink makes for a good relationship between an author and their editor?”
Sienna notices the pointed use of singular.
“That’s a very good question,” Rufus says, rolling the whisky between his hands. “A very good question indeed. What I’d say is...” He pauses, checking that he has everyone’s attention. And of course he does. Everyone’s hanging off his every word—or pretending to, at least. “I always say that a good author/editor relationship is like a good marriage.”
“That issointeresting,” says Sienna. “I’ve never heard that before.” The sarcasm rolls off her tongue before she remembers she’s not talking to Malcolm, but thankfully, Rufus doesn’t seem to clock the tone. He looks around the room. “So, how are you all getting on?”
Priscilla clears her throat, and he flashes her a smile. “Not that I’m asking about the work, of course. I’m sure it’s going swimmingly.”
Kenzo stifles a short, sharp sound, halfway between a cough and a laugh, and at the same time Jaxon grins in a way that makes Sienna think,Oh no,right before he declares, “Penn Stonely broke up.”
If looks could kill, Jaxon would be a bloody carcass on the floor. Instead, Sienna and Malcolm can only glare. Rufus’s face is the picture of surprise.
“What? Really?”
And since there’s no point in hiding now, Sienna takes her shot, plunging into the fray.
“I know we were invited as a team,” she says, “but given the situation, I was hoping it would be okay if we each submitted a sample alone.”
