Page 8 of The Write Off

Rilla looks at me for a long moment before bringing her coffee cup to her mouth and gently blowing on it. I ignore the way my chest tightens at the sight of her full, puckered lips. She may be a mess, but she’s a stunning one. Wide eyes and high cheekbones that make me want to grab a sketchbook and draw her, despite having zero artistic ability. She takes a sip from the cup before bringing it back to rest on her crossed legs.

“I can understand how you could perceive a few small gaps with the storyline. I believe I can fill them in without jeopardizing future storylines and character arcs. With that said, some of the changes that you requested will interfere with the main and sub plots for the subsequent novels in the series.”

This is going to be like pulling teeth.

“I can work with that,” I say with more enthusiasm than warranted. At this point, I have to take any crumbs she decides to throw in my general direction just to keep the conversation moving. “Why don’t we start with what we can fix?”

She raises a wary eyebrow at me. “Nothing is broken. Let’s use the term ‘adjust.’”

Well, now she’s just being petty. Frustration needles me and I arch an eyebrow right back at her. “We’re not going to get very far if you keep interrupting me to criticize my choice of verbs, Rilla.”

Her eyes widen in mock surprise and she tilts her graceful neck ever so slightly to the side. “Now Logan–are you telling me you don’t enjoy having your words picked apart and judged?”

Touché.

The muscles in my jaw tense involuntarily and I force myself to relax them. “Not at all. Let’s start over. This is your manuscript, so why don’t you run point on this?”

Her face scrunches in distaste. “I don’t follow football, nor do I understand the terminology.”

“Basketball,” I correct.

“Same thing.”

“Very different, actually.”

She shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”

What?

“How can you possibly disagree with me on that? They are completely different sports.”

She takes another long drink from her coffee before shrugging again. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. Everyone says so. Basketball and football are different sports. This is not up for debate.”

“And yet, here you are debating me about it.”

Jesus, she’s right. I’m sitting here arguing with her like a fucking child.

But she started it. Wow, I really just illustrated my own point perfectly there.

I close my eyes and take a deep, centering breath. I’m not a person who is easily rattled. I was raised to always keep my emotions in check and to be professional at all times. But five minutes with this woman and my blood pressure has skyrocketed. As I exhale through flared nostrils, I open my eyes and find Rilla watching me with the smallest of self-satisfied smiles.

She’s been irritating me on purpose. And I played right into her hands.

I sit back in my chair and force my face into what I hope is a neutral expression. “Where would you like to start?”

She leans forward and places her empty coffee cup on the edge of my desk. Then, after kicking off her hiking boots, she pulls her long legs underneath her on the chair, resting one elbow on the armrest while she appears to think my question over. “I think the most sensible place to start is with the civil unrest amongst the elves.” She runs her thumb over her full bottom lip while she mulls it over and my breath hitches.

Christ. She is beautiful. I find myself tuned into her every move, every slight change of expression on her face. My body may react to her like she’s a living fantasy, but thankfully my mind recognizes her for the walking nightmare she is.

She pushes her hair back from her face and meets my eyes again. “I’m not saying I need to change anything, but I admit that some aspects could be filled in and others tightened up.”

This is as close to a collaborative compromise I’ve gotten with her in the months I’ve been attempting to work with her. Fuck it. I’ll take it.

“Alright then,” I say, accepting my fate and settling in for a very long afternoon. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter 5

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