Page 20 of A Bookish Story

When I finally finish the book a few minutes later it’s official. I drop my e-reader. Literally drop it to the ground. This is worse than I imagined. I think every reader has had those times when they finish a book with a lousy ending and are so upset they wish to throw it against a wall. I’ve never done this, though I’ve been tempted. No, it doesn’t have the same satisfaction, but I drop my e-reader on the floor. Hard. I literally hate this book. What in the hell was Ryan thinking? What was his agent thinking?

The sound is loud enough to make Ryan turn and stare at me. Stare at the floor. Back at me. He must guess my response to his book is not good.

I throw my hands up. “Why? Just…why?”

“Why what?” His brow is doing that furrowed thing it does.

This is outrageous. No, it’s disgraceful. Brazen. Inhumane! Reaching for one of the hardcover books, of which we now have way more than we need, I flip through the pages to the end and point.

“Um, you don’t have an ending.”

“Of course I do. The ending is…up for grabs.” He shrugs. “That’s what made the book unique.”

I don’t know if he’s being serious or messing with me.

“Look, at least no one died,” he says.

“But it’s not finished!”

He wrenches the book from me, opens to the last page, and taps it hard several times. “Right here. Do you see how the words just stop and there’s all this blank space? The. End.”

“But…unless I’m missing something, and maybe I could be since I, you know, didn’t write it…you don’t make it clear that Lula chose Grayson over Derek the idiot.”

“You feel that way but it doesn’t mean every reader does. What I’ve done is let the reader decide.” He tips his chin like he’s proud of this.

“Let the reader…let the reader decide? C’mon! What are you talking about?”

“The reader will decide who Lula winds up with. It’s their choice. It will be clear to some that she obviously picks Grayson. For others, not so certain. One of the men represents security and safety and the other adventure. It’s a metaphor.”

I can’t accept that this book has been categorized as a romance. It’s not a romance in the truest sense of the word.

“This is also called in some circles a cliffhanger. No wonder readers want a sequel.”

It was the one complaint I saw on reviews. The expectation they’d find the next book on preorder.

“Excuse me,” the photographer who has finished setting up interrupts. “We’re about ready to take a few shots with the books.”

“We will table this discussion for later,” I say, pointing to Ryan.

But my stomach is churning because I hate this book. The book I will have to sell to the American public in a matter of minutes. I wanted so badly to like Elizabeth’s book, just like everyone else did.

I’ve been prepped for the morning show interview by Pepper Monahan, who is Ryan’s publicist. He gets one of those. Since she’s in New York, we met on a video call. She’s about my age with short dark hair and wears dangling earrings in the shapes of books. I liked her immediately.

“It’s really great that you’re doing this. We’re so grateful. You can’t imagine what Ryan’s work with Soulmates has meant to us. I think it’s great! Brilliant! And don’t worry, we’re going to talk you through this. Walk you through, step by step. Okay, do you have any questions for me?”

“Is your name really Pepper?”

She laughed. “Nope. But everyone calls me that because I’m spicy.”

Count on me to ask all the redundant questions, but I’ve had second and third thoughts about all this and all before I discovered I hate the book. I’ve never pretended to be somebody else except for that time I was twelve, called a boy Sofia liked, at her request, and pretended to be her when I asked him out—or she asked him, though not technically. Whatever. He fell for it, and they dated for a while, but I don’t think this will be quite as easy.

It’s so public. A couple of days ago, it all sounded simpler in theory even if every moment since then I’ve been terrified. It’s ever so much worse now that I hate the book. I read romance to lift me up, to make me happy, to inspire me. Not to make me want to cry and sob and hide under my blanket all day eating ice cream.

I’m terrified I’ll ruin this for the publisher by somehow revealing my utter disdain for the popularity of this book. But now, I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement and in a few minutes, I’ll have an interview with a former reality TV celebrity.

I’ve agreed never to disclose I’d worked with Literary Dimensions on the Elizabeth Brogan Project. Sort of like the Manhattan Project, but more literary, less harmful.

When I signed, I did so knowing Ryan had no intention of writing any more Elizabeth Brogan books, which was fine when I believed the book had a tidy ending.