‘You alright?’ Jake asks.
I inhale shakily.
‘Yes.’
Jake doesn’t look convinced.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m fine. I’m just… allergic to lying,’ I explain.
I never lie to Andy. This is all new to me.
‘Well, you did a great job,’ he assures me. ‘You act like that for Arty Morgan, I might get my lodge after all.’
And I might get my book deal. Even if it’s the only thing I can get, it’s worth it. It has to be.
16
It’s hard not to stare at the whiteboard behind JJ, the one that reads:Reality TV star murders everyone on set. I’m almost certain it must be a pitch for a novel, probably ‘written’ by one of her reality TV celeb clients (although almost certainly secretly written by an author who could never get the same kind of marketing under their own name), but with JJ and her general clientele (obviously I’m her one boring author) you never know, it could be a new headline she’s trying to get ahead of. Surely even JJ would struggle to spin something like a murdering spree, but if my money was on anyone being able to do it, it’s her.
A close second, obviously, is her making it seem like Jake and I are not only engaged, but madly in love. Now there’s a story that’s going to take some selling. With our ‘proposal’ we got lucky – everyone has a phone in their hands all the time, you can’t get away with anything these days, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the internet, it’s that the facts rarely matter. People watch a video and see exactly what they want to see, and with Jake and me, they chose to see a love story. Whether or not that’s good business for both of us is one thing, but if people saw the reality, that it was a series of events that came from me being desperate, low-key pathetic and incredibly clumsy, well, I’d never be able to show my face again. Better I try to get to grips with the positive spin than show the world how unemployable I am, right?
Jake is sitting beside me, his body relaxed but his brow furrowed as he stares at the whiteboard too. I don’t suppose he has the context I do, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s not running out anyway.
‘Do you watch much reality TV?’ I ask him, making conversation.
‘No, ma’am,’ he replies. ‘And if that’s what I’m missing, I don’t reckon it’s for me. I’ve seen crime shows start like that…’
I laugh.
‘That’s privileged material,’ JJ says, ticking us off, spinning the whiteboard around, only to reveal that someone has drawn a huge penis on the other side.
My eyebrows shoot up. Jake stifles a laugh.
‘Come on now, let’s concentrate,’ she says, oblivious to what’s behind her. ‘Here’s what we’re working with. Whit, you are a romance author whose life has turned into a romcom. Publishers don’t simply want good fiction any more, they want proof of concept, a real story to sell from a marketable person – which, no offence, you are not.’
‘None taken,’ I announce, although my voice betrays me.
‘Jake,’ she says, turning her attention to him. ‘You want to buy part of Rosewood – the lodge and the equestrian business, correct?’
He nods.
‘But, Arty Morgan, the owner, wants to sell to a family man, not a smoking-hot bachelor,’ she continues. ‘So with each other on your side, your stock goes up, you’re exactly what you need to be.’
I sigh.
‘Always so glad when a man can solve all my problems – no offence,’ I add – now it’s my turn to say it.
‘That’s alright, I’d be frustrated too,’ he assures me.
‘So…’ JJ turns around, pen in hand, stopping in her tracks when she sees the penis on the board. She cocks her head – no pun intended – for a second, then springs to action. ‘I’ll rub this off – no giggling at the back, please.’
I purse my lips, trying to give off an air of class and maturity in front of my accidental fiancé.
JJ writesThe Love Storyin big letters on the board – you can still see the tip of the penis, just at the end of the word ‘story’.
‘We want people to buy into your love story, establishing your individual narratives to your individual happy ever afters,’ she explains. ‘Whit, you’re the romance writer living in your own cowboy romance trope. Jake, you’re the sexy rancher looking for a homestead to hang your hat and raise your family. Whit, you get your book deal. Jake, you get your farm, or whatever it is.’
