Page 19 of More Than Words

My eyes widened when he strode toward me, his shoulder brushing mine as he squeezed around me and took off down the trail. His long legs ate up the path, my shorter ones breaking into a jog behind him, trying to keep up. I knew he’d been different today, but I still had difficulty believing that this was his real personality. I’d never seen it before. Excuse me for being a little blindsided by this sudden change in demeanor.

“Wait,” I huffed, trying to keep up with him.

“Don’t bother,” he shot back when he hit the black asphalt in the parking lot and didn’t turn around. “I guess I’ll see you around, but don’t worry, I won’t bother trying to talk to you. Wouldn’t want to upset princess by trying to get to know her or anything.”

“Shit,” I muttered, slowing to a walk while I watched him angrily stride through the hotel’s front doors, leaving me behind.

Less than five minutes ago, I’d been convinced he would kiss me, but maybe I should have known better. Perhaps I was right; he was fucking with me to see if I would embarrass myself and flirt back. But his anger didn’t seem to be at being caught. I’d hurt his feelings for real.

Whatever it was, I was staying away from him for the next few days, not that he seemed too eager for my company.

Adrian made a point to sit on the other side of the room at dinner last night, and it seemed that I was still getting the cold shoulder this morning, too, as he joined a group of men I recognized as other suspense editors from various small presses around New England.

He hadn’t made eye contact with me once, not even when I passed him in the lobby. It seemed I’d hurt him when I’d called him out on the trail. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on with him, but I wasn’t about to play his games. Five years of misbehavior and making me feel like I was inferior to him wasn’t going to disappear in one afternoon.

Going through the motions, I plated up breakfast, taking a seat at a small table for two in the corner. Hoping to avoid having to interact with anyone, I strategically placed my messenger bag opposite me across the table, effectively signaling I didn’t want to be disturbed.

Biting into the chocolate croissant I’d chosen to go with over my bland breakfast of oatmeal and yogurt, I frowned as I remembered how the ones Adrian had shared with me melted in my mouth. The warm hazelnut filling was vastly superior to the small pieces of baker’s chocolate that my teeth struggled to chew through in the middle of this one. Setting it aside, I scanned the room, my eyes connecting with Adrian’s. I kept my expression neutral as I maintained his gaze, trying to show him that his brush-off didn’t affect me. I was a big girl, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t been conditioned to deal with his dickish behavior. It was par for the course at this point.

He looked away first as he laughed loudly, his mouth curving into a genuine smile as he returned to the conversation at his table full of the typical boys’ club he gravitated toward.

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Disappointment shouldn’t be something new when it came to his reactions to me, but I found myself wishing that the man the day before was real. The sparks of attraction between us couldn’t have been all fabricated. He’d felt it too.

Or was I just that big of a fool for trying to see the redeemable qualities in another loveable asshole? You’d have thought I’d learned my lesson with Grant.

The cocky, charming asshole was still an asshole when it came down to it, and one of those had already crushed me.

Keeping my head down, I vowed to avoid him at all costs, which almost worked.

ISOBEL

Bar Harbor, ME

Begrudgingly taking my seat at the side of the small conference room, I scanned the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces but not anyone I wanted to invest the effort of small talk into. I’d spent the last few days with my head down, concentrating on taking notes in the workshops I’d attended and spending as little time at the group activities in the evenings as I could get away with.

Adrian still wasn’t acknowledging me, and the cold shoulder was starting to sting. Especially since I’d be spending the next half hour listening to him speak.

When Sloane told me via email yesterday afternoon that the conference organizers had asked him to be a presenter, I was a little insulted that neither of them thought to give me a heads-up, but I guess I should be used to it by now. Adrian was peacocking and getting all the attention, and I was pushed to the side when the self-important blowhards of the other genres realized I was an editor who worked exclusively with romance. Never mind that my degree was from an Ivy League school I’d earned a scholarship to, or that I graduated with honors. According to them, I was wasted potential.

Resentment toward Sloane had been building as I stewed this morning, hearing Adrian’s door open and close before I finally headed down to the lobby. Whether I liked it or not, I was his colleague, so I couldn’t exactly blow this off.

I was so absorbed in my head that I hadn’t realized Adrian had been announced to the room until a shiver ran up my spine at the sound of his voice over the speakers.

“One of the most important things I’ve learned as an acquisitions editor is to divorce myself from the notion that authors should have impeccable grammar,” Adrian started, and the room was silent. I almost felt bad for the tepid reception he seemed to get, but he didn’t look fazed. “I’ve learned that grammar and fluidity in storytelling is something that can come with practice and some not-so-subtle hints at continuing education in the craft.”

“What letting go of the technical details allows you to gauge in a story is how it makes you feel,” he explained, and I saw several heads nod in my periphery. “The first time you lay eyes on a manuscript, you’re a reader, not an editor. You need to approach it as such.”

I had to admit; I wasn’t expecting Adrian to suggest something quite so astute.

“Of course, you want to see how the story flows, how the characters develop, and that the arcs have a satisfying conclusion. But the most important thing is that the story resonates in your heart.” His palm settled where I’d always thought his was absent, and he looked straight at me.

Until now, I’d thought Adrian left all this to his interns, but clearly, I’d misjudged him. I didn’t like the feeling of warmth that spread in my chest at the discovery. A few sentences in, and he was softening the armor I’d tacked into place over the last few days.

“If you have the gut reaction that the story has the potential to move people, then sign the damn manuscript. Lock it down. Because you can always polish those words until the story shines.”

“Conversely, a beautifully grammatically structured story with no heart might look good, but everyone knows that a bright and sparkly turd is still just a turd—only with glitter.”

A few chuckles arose from the crowd, and I rolled my eyes. Only he could get away with calling a manuscript a turd in a room full of publishing professionals.

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