“Now that we have the niceties out of the way,” my agent says as she pushes aside her empty plate. “I wanted to talk to you about your current project.” Her face is tight, and nothing about her smile is sincere.
“Okay,” I say the words, drawing them out because if Susan has dropped everything to fly to Chicago to meet with me, the news probably isn’t good.
I’ve been with Susan Williams, one of the biggest romance agents in the world, for almost four years. She took a chance on me when no one else would. Others claimed I was too young or too inexperienced to have a successful writing career, but not Susan.
Most of the time, I’m grateful to have her in my life.
Then there’re times like this, when she’s about to school me in the ways of publishing, where I want to cover my ears and run out of the room before she makes me feel as small as an ant.
Susan leans over, digging into her oversized purse and pulling out a giant stack of papers. “I had a lengthy conversation with your editor after you sent us the first half.”
I pull my hands back into my lap, balling them into tight fists. I’m prepping for a mental and verbal ass-beating with no recourse but to sit here and take it.
“Okay,” I repeat as my lunch churns in my stomach.
She removes the giant clip holding the sheets together and flips the title page over, exposing the first page of my upcoming book. All I see is red. Not from anger, but from the critical ink of my editor’s pen.
“I’m just going to be honest and get to the point quickly.”
I don’t know if she thinks those words are going to bring me solace, but they don’t. My heart’s pounding and my hands are sweating as I dig my fingernails into the fleshy part of my palms.
“The beginning of the story isn’t what your readers typically expect. It’s a super slow start and does not capture anyone’s attention. The entire first few chapters need to be reworked.”
“I thought it was sweet.” The smile I give her is pained.
She waves her hand over the stack of papers and shakes her head. “Sweetie, your readers don’t want sweet. They want hot and fast.”
“The story is hot,” I argue and sit up a little straighter than I had been a moment ago.
I’ve pulled out all the stops on this one, giving my readers everything I know they love. The hero is a hot alpha with a mouth on him that’ll make any woman’s heart skip a few beats.
“The beginning needs more punch, and a sex scene or two would be nice too. What’s going on in your life? Sometimes, our real world causes issues in our fictional one.”
“Nothing’s changed,” I lie.
She raises one overly plucked eyebrow. “Still going through your man hiatus?”
I nod slowly. “Sort of.”
“Oh?” Now, both of her eyebrows are up. “What’s ‘sort of’ mean, exactly?”
“A few weeks ago, I started seeing someone.”
“That explains it, then,” she says, running her hand up and down the top sheet of paper. “The chapters you’ve sent me recently have become more intense and steamier. You can clearly tell when you were without a man. It shows in your work.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Read over the first few chapters. You’ll see there’s a huge difference—and not a good one either.”
Susan’s trying to be nice, I know she is, but her words still sting. They always do. In the end, and I’ll never admit this to her, she’s almost always right. She’s never been one to blow smoke up my ass and tell me something is great. And because of her inability to lie, I always publish a better book.
“Whatever’s going on in your personal life has major effects on your writing. I know why you swore off men for a little while, sweetie, but when you’re writing spicy romance…men are part of the business. You can’t be sour on love and try to pull emotion from your readers.”
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll rework the beginning, but I’ll need a few more weeks.”
“We can give you two more weeks to get the final draft on my desk.”
I rock backward. “Two weeks? It took me a month to write those first few chapters.”
She pushes the manuscript across the table. “You better find some inspiration in the arms of that man of yours and get typing.”
I’m almost in tears by the time I hail a cab and climb into the back seat. I flip through the manuscript, ignoring the traffic and the super chatty cab driver, as I read through the comments left by my agent and editor.
Every book is a small piece of my soul, and their red slashes and critical words cut me deeply. No one wants to hear how dreadful something they’ve created is. Nothing kills enthusiasm for a writer more than being told something flat out sucks.
I’m so in my head, tears streaming down my face and clutching my manuscript to my chest, I don’t even notice Vinnie standing near the elevator when I walk into the lobby.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
My eyes shift from the marble floor to his green eyes. “Just a bad day.” I don’t know why I lie. I don’t want to be the whiny girl. The one with issues all the time. So sometimes, it’s easier to pretend everything is great.
Vinnie closes the space between us, holding my arm with one hand and my face in the other. His thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away a tear. “It looks like more than a bad day, Bianca. Tell me what happened.”
“My book is shit.” The tears flow harder as I say the words. The way he’s looking at me doesn’t help either. I sob, slurring together a string of words about how hurt I am by the comments left by my editor, but I’m pretty sure he can’t understand anything I’m saying.
“Your books are great, baby.” He gives me a sad smile, trying to wipe away the tears as fast as they fall.
“Not this one,” I sob.
He pulls me into a tight embrace, rubbing my back and whispering soothing words. The smell and feel of Vinnie calm me, making me forget about everything Susan said. “I think we need to get out of the city for a few days,” he says.
I peer up at him as I step out of his embrace. “I can’t. I have to rewrite most of this damn book.” I lift the manuscript I’ve been clutching, showing him the splotches of red everywhere.
“Bring your work with us. Maybe you’ll find some inspiration.”
“That’s not how it works. I only write at my desk.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How’s that been working?”
I grumble under my breath because it’s been sucktastic according to my editor and Susan.
“Anyway, you write with a laptop. Your desk is wherever you make it.”
“And what are you going to do? Just sit there and watch me work?”
He shakes his head. “I can entertain myself. Besides, I have a very strict workout regimen. I just want a few hours a day alone with you, and the rest you can work.”
“I don’t know. We barely know each other, Vinnie.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
He glances down at the manuscript as the elevator doors open. “Where does the story take place?”
“Tahiti,” I say, stepping inside the tiny space with him.
“I only have four days off from camp, so that’s too far, but I’ll figure something out. Leave everything to me. Just pack a bag and be ready to go in the morning.”
“Vinnie, I don’t think we should…”
He places his finger over my lips, silencing me. “No arguments, Bianca. We both could use some time away to clear our heads.”
He’s right. The last thing I want to do is sit in my loft, staring out the window as the cursor blinks on the screen like it’s taunting me.
“Okay.”
He leans forward and cups my face in the palm of his giant hand. “Thank you,” he whispers softly before pressing his lips to mine.
Suddenly, my day doesn’t seem so awful. Words can be changed, and I have enough time to do it. Whatever harsh and horrible things Susan said or the editor wrote no longer seem to sting as bad.
Our kiss is broken by the familiar chime of the elevator as we arrive on our floor. “I’ll text you in a little bit with the travel details. Just pack a few things—and for warm weather.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He smiles mischievously.
Normally, surprises aren’t my cup of tea, but there’s something about the way he’s smiling at me that has the butterflies in my stomach doing backflips. I don’t remember the last time I went on vacation. It’s been years since I stepped outside of my little world and remembered all the pleasure life has to offer.