Page 139 of One Touch

I forced a smile. “Good thanks. Just trying to compose an email. Words are . . . hard sometimes.”

She laughed, stepping into my office. “Need any help? What’s the email?”

“Oh, uh, I’m chasing up feedback on Jonathan’s novel.” A lie, but easier than the truth.

Coco perched on the edge of my desk, her saffron and frankincense perfume wafting over me. “Any nibbles?”

“Nothing yet. I don’t know if the public is ready for a horror romance featuring a were-rat.”

“It’s a tough sell,” Coco agreed, “but honestly, it was weirdly hot and scary at the same time.”

“Nothing sexier than a man-sized rat,” I said, my forced smile feeling a bit more genuine.

“Except two man-sized rats,” Coco countered.

“Oh yeah. That chapter. I’d forgotten about that chapter.”

We laughed together.

On paper, I should have been loving this new life. Discovering new authors, working with smart, bookish colleagues, attending lavish parties awash with champagne and caviar. It was the New York literary dream come to life.

The trouble was, beneath the glossy surface of my new life, I was drowning in an undercurrent of longing for a small coastal town and the family I’d left behind.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Coco said, shifting off my desk. “Sometimes I forget how new you are. You just fit in so well!”

“It’s weird, huh? Right, I better get back to the slush pile.” I gestured at a huge stack of horror manuscripts.

“Good luck!”

When Coco had gone, I slumped into my aggressively ergonomic chair and propped the horror manuscript up on my desk like a shield. With a furtive glance around the office, I slipped out my Kindle from its hiding place and nestled it inside the pages.

The familiar cover of book two of Marge Statten’s Lavender Farms series flashed up before the e-reader found my place.

“Come on, Millie,” I whispered, rooting for the plucky heroine. “Tell that sexy candle-maker how you really feel!”

I’d left my physical copy of the novel back at Ethan’s place by accident. I’d kept it under the bed, waiting for the moment I might feel like rereading it to prep for the Marge Statten event. The moment never came. Ethan had likely found it by now. I imagined him rolling his eyes, saying, “I was right. She wants a fairy tale, not real life.”

Ironically, since starting as a horror agent, my appetite for romance had returned with a vengeance. So what if the stories weren’t real? Real was boring. Real was sad. Give me a fantasy world where bad guys get amnesia and turn into good guys any day of the week.

I hated having to wait for book three in the Lavender Farms series. I’d preordered it, of course, and I’d spoken to Yolande to make sure they had plenty of stock at the bookstore. Yolande had assured me that everything at the store was ready for themaestro’s big event in a few weeks. Part of me wished I could attend, but there was no way I’d risk running into Ethan.

I looked down at my Kindle, preparing to get lost in the novel, when my phone buzzed.

Ethan?

No.

Vlad.

What the hell?

Babe. I hear you’re in NYC. I’m coming out next week. Let’s catch up. My cock misses you. ??

My stomach churned. The audacity of that cheating bastard. Without hesitation, I fired back a reply:

I literally hope your cock falls off.

“Arrogant jerk,” I muttered. My phone buzzed again, but this time it was Mary-Beth.

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