Page 49 of A Billion Dollar Romance
I’d chatted with Flora about her kids–as an elementary school teacher, she always had a good story–and her latest read–against all odds, shehadfound a werewolf duke and although he wasn’t a mafioso (“I don’t think that had been invented yet,” she’d argued) he did run an underground gambling operation, so it counted–eaten dinner, done a “yoga for relaxation” video on my laptop and was just running the water for a bath when the doorbell rang.
There was no one there, but there was a package on my mat: a handled kraft paper bag, with a card tucked into it.Miss Taylor.I smiled, bringing it into the kitchen where I sat it on my table, just big enough for two.
I lifted up the card.Homework help. James.
Inside the bag, I found a bottle of white wine, miraculously chilled. A faceted glass bottle of silky bath oil. A huge fluffy robe. An expensive candle–I recognized the brand’s distinctive label–scented with orange blossoms.
I smiled.
He wasgood.
I collected a wine glass, the manuscript, and the accoutrements from James and retreated into the bathroom, turning down some of the lights so there was just enough to read by. I stared at the pen at the counter.
No.
This book wasn’t for editor Edie, or even Edie the writer, Edie the student, Edie the aspiring author of literary fiction. This was just for me. My bathtub, my white wine, a candle, an hour to read. I stepped carefully into the bathtub and sank into the water, just this side of too hot, and sighed. I’d been getting a lot more…exercisethan I usually did. Better sleep, too, despite the frayed edges of my own novel that lingered in my mind as I lay in bed on the nights I slept alone. The straw-colored wine in my glass glinted in the flickering candlelight, and I pulled the manuscript off the edge of the bath, propping it on my mostly-dry knees.
An hour and a half later I watched the water swirl into the drain, lost in thought. It was good. Sweet, and funny. A little unbelievable, but all the best romances were.
My own, for one, I thought, pulling the robe tighter around my shoulders. It was no replacement for James’s strong arms around me. I located my phone, and sent him a quick text.Thank you.
I held the wine bottle up to the light. The better part of the bottle remained, and I tucked it into the fridge. I would finish reading the romance tomorrow–that left me time to reread it, with an eye towards editing, between now and the conference next week.
The conference.
When he invited me, I’d imagined a conference center in the suburbs, an airport hotel. Business casual, and cocktails in a nondescript ballroom. Then he’d sent over the details. He’d be driving us two hours out of the city, to a cute little town outside of which there was… well, it was called afarm, but it was a resort. The website had been glossy and luxurious, boasting of the award-winning spa, the Michelin-starred restaurant. I should have felt nervous: it was a whole weekend of pretending.
But when I looked at the conference schedule, all I felt was excitement. Agents and publishing houses whose names I recognized, all of them sending their top people, all of whom I would get to meet. Would get to pitch, maybe. Flora had helped me put together a simple website–she’d just finished a computer science unit with her fifth-graders, thank goodness–that I hoped lookedminimalist, notspartan,and I’d uploaded a few older writing projects as a sort of portfolio.Edie Taylor,it read.Writer of literary fiction. Late one night, and with a sort of dreadful hope, I’d added the first chapter of my work in progress. In case anyone asked. Just in case.
I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, trying to come up with interesting conversation topics for a dinner with a bunch of people that I admired. Had I read any good books lately? I chuckled. I had read a lot of books lately, hadn’t I, but they’d all been while proofreading, and none of them had been particularly good, at least by these people’s standards. I’d read most of a romance novel in the bathtub tonight, and I could give a graphic play-by-play of a certain innocent ward’s–ahem–ruinationat the hands of a surprisingly honorable werewolf duke, but of course, they wouldn’t want to hear about those, either. I’d have to squeeze in some extra reading time after shopping tomorrow with James.
Adding some pretty little things to your collection, he’d said, and I smiled, burrowing under my covers.
No, I wasn’t nervous, not about the conference.
The conference days would be spent with top agents and powerhouses of publishing, James at my side.
And the nights would be spent with James, too, in a lavish suite that I knew from my research had both a fireplaceandan oversized bathtub.
The only thing I had to be worried about was how I was going to get any sleep.
CHAPTER25
James
“Where are you taking me?”Edie asked, looking out the window of the car as the driver navigated through the city streets. “Isn’t this the way to–”
“My apartment?” I asked, one eyebrow raised. “It is.”
I wasn’t much of a fashion man. At the office, I just wore suits. I supposed I picked them out, but it was my tailor who made them look good–him and my personal trainer. At the cabin, I wore… whatever. Jeans, and flannel shirts, and a ratty old sweater that had holes at the elbows. I should get them patched, I thought suddenly. That would really add to the professorial look. I fought to keep the smile off of my face.
“What?” Edie asked, smiling, bemused, at my expression.
“I’m just hoping you’ll like the surprise.”
We pulled into my building’s private garage a moment later, the car rolling to a stop in front of the penthouse elevator.
“I know I said I would take you shopping, Edie,” I said as she looked at me, confusion on her pretty features. I exited the car, coming around to open her door, then lifted her out, her slim hand in mine. “But I thought it might be nicer to bring the shopping to us.”
