Page 8 of A Billion Dollar Romance
“I won’t sell.”
“I would never suggest it, sir,” she said.
“Okay, fine. We need to think of a plan, then,” I said.
“Romance is one of our big sales drivers, we need it,” Bridget said, and I nodded. “And, of course, it meant so much to your grandparents.”
I huffed out a short laugh. Of course Bridget would know that, too.
Grandmother had built that department from the ground up; it was her third child, after my father and his brother.All boys in the family, she’d always said,she needed something for herself.When Verity had just been a bookshop named after her–Vera–and not a publishing house, she’d held writers’ workshops and speaking events and book clubs…
“Start the search for a new cornerstone author. We don’t have the money to poach one,” I looked over the figures from the past quarter, the past year. “But we can find an up-and-comer, someone with potential. Or, wait–dig through the ghostwriters, see if there’s anyone there who does romance especially well and has enough experience to hit the ground running.”
“Great, boss,” Lyle said, and I just about managed not to scowl. “We can throw the marketing team behind them, say it’s a debut.” He scribbled on his own notepad. “Readers love an overnight success. It’s romantic.”
“Your grandparents’ story was arealromance,” Bridget said, smiling, and then her eyes narrowed, her head tilted to one side. I knew that face.
“What?” I asked.
“Well…” she said, pursing her lips. “Your grandparents’ story was romantic–your grandfather turned that little bookstore into an empire, all named after your grandmother. They were the real thing.” I nodded. I’d seen it. They had been.
“What does this have to do with the figures?” I asked, and for the second time, she looked nervous. “Spit it out.”
“You, on the other hand…”
I cringed. I knew where this was going.
“Well, I wouldn’t call what you do–what you allegedly do, of course, sir–I wouldn’t call itromance. The women you’re photographed with…” She hesitated.
She was right, of course. I’d spent the years since my first major literary award touring the country, going to parties, spending money and–ahem–datingmodels. There had been photos of me in every major tabloid, and all of them had featured a different woman on my arm.
And I’d been writing. Of course.
And then my grandfather died, and I’d inherited the family business, and I’d been too busy even to write.
Forget dating, I’d barely had time for a sorry few one-night stands.
Including Edie,my traitorous cock reminded me.
“You think it’s me that’s dragging the department down,” I stated. “My reputation.”
“Well, sir,” she hedged, smiling nervously, “I’m only saying that, well, you aren’t secretly engaged and planning a surprise wedding or anything like that, are you?” Bridget laughed. “That would be convenient. Give marketing an assist.Verity CEO Married in Wedding of the Year,they’d love to time a book release aroundthat.” I shook my head, smirking, and she shrugged and went back to her notes.
“Why not, though, boss?” Lyle asked, and I looked at him, nonplussed.
“What do you mean, why not? I’m not getting married because I don’t have a fiancée, or even a girlfriend, not that it’s any of your business–”
“Of course not, but–it’s like you said about the ghostwriter. You don’t need a brand-new debut writer, you need someone who can stand in for one convincingly, and hopefully do itbetter. Flashier.”
“A fake wedding?” I asked. I hoped I was misunderstanding Lyle’s idea–otherwise, the light in Bridget’s eyes was lookingdangerouslyenthusiastic.
“You don’t even need to get married, you could just get engaged,” he said, shrugging.
“No, a wedding would be better,” Bridget added. “We can time the book launch to the wedding–or, actually, the other way around, since the wedding doesn’t really matter…” She was typing into her tablet, fingers flying. “This is great–”
“No,” I said. “No. No way.”
She stopped typing.
