Page 54 of Rivals to Lovers
“I am not going to call him. It’s, like, threeAMthere.”
“You could text him.”
“I’m not going to text him!”
Anna grabbed the phone out of Mo’s hand and scrolled through the contacts. “Oh, he’s been texting you. And you’re seeing him next week?”
“Maybe.”
“For a date?”
“No.” She didn’t know for sure. She didn’t tell her sister how much she wanted it to be but how weird they had left things. Wes was a nepo baby, a publishing insider. Wes was her rival. Wes had read her first book. Wes had punched an asshole and gotten himself fired. Wes didn’t know how to let things not be perfect, but what if she couldn’t be perfect? What if complication really was all she was set up for?
Before she could ruminate more, her sister pointed meaningfully at her phone. “You have him in here under his full name? Wesley Spencer? What is he, your insurance agent?” Anna tapped for a minute, then handed it back to Mo.
Mo glanced down, where Wes’s name had been changed toLover Boy Hot Sex XXX.
Mo tried to shove her but was laughing too hard. They walked back to the bar, which was closing, to scoop up theother two bridesmaids. The Killers singer gave them an enthusiastic goodbye outside the bar, with an impromptu toast to Anna better than any Mo had thought up so far. “May your love be an example to others, and an example to yourselves. Let your love today and on your wedding day change and grow, and be for others a beacon of charity, hope, and joy.”
“He’s better than my Unitarian minister,” Tiff informed the group as they ambled to the hotel. Mo was sober enough to check them all in with the night clerk. Tiff and Lainey went to their double-occupancy room, and Anna and Mo went to theirs. It was, Mo mused, the first time they had shared a room since visiting their grandma at the pig farm all those years ago. As she fell asleep to the familiar snuffles from her sister across the room, Mo wished she were sharing the bed with someone else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Wes
The best days as an agent were days where Wes got to call a client and tell them that their book had an offer from a publishing house. An editor at a major imprint had offered mid-five-figures for a client’s debut novel-in-verse, and they still had four submissions outstanding. The client was understandably freaking out in the best possible way. “I’ll be in touch soon with more,” Wes promised.
Wes sent nudge emails to each of the remaining editors, and he posted the news to Slack while his colleagues all celebrated remotely. They could talk shop in Slack, make bets about what editors might want to offer based on recent projects they had seen announced on Publishers Marketplace. Usually, even with a ticking clock for other editors to respond within the week, he wouldn’t hear things for days. Midmorning, he finally calmed his nerves enough to get back to work, but then his phone rang. It was one of the remaining editors in the running, Elena Evans.
They made small talk for a minute or two, then she asked if Wes was free for lunch today. He was—even if he hadn’t been, he would have made time to be. They made plans to meet at a restaurant halfway between their places. Wes posted the development to Slack, and his colleagues were atwitter about it. Elena had been promoted to senior editor at Wildman, an imprint specialized in emerging voices in literary fiction. It was a connection that, whether for this project or another, Wes was desperate to foster into a good relationship. These kinds of editorial chats could be an X-ray into the industry. Yes, the agency had contacts at every publishing house, but an editor who would sit down for fifty minutes to give insight into recent acquisition meetings? Priceless.
Wes arrived early at the restaurant, a Thai place he’d been to many times when in Midtown. Despite being early, Elena had already snagged them a table. As Wes got closer, it became more and more obvious that Elena was pregnant. Her stomach was rounded enough to bump up against the table, even with her scooted half a foot back from it. He sat across from her and kept his gaze level with her face.
But she had obviously noticed his glance. “Ha, elephant in the room: I am basically an elephant now.”
“Congrats, Elena. When are you due?”
“End of August. It’s my second—he’ll be my second baby—so I’m showing a lot earlier this time.” She sighed and laid a hand across her belly. “I’ve been craving Thai, so thanks for agreeing to this spot.”
They ordered, then found their way to the business of the meeting. Over spring rolls, they discussed the client’s book, and she revealed that she’d been prepared to make an offer identical to the one Wes had already received. “I don’t know if we’reprepared to go higher. I’ll certainly be taking it back to the team, but as you can see, I wouldn’t be the one primarily involved in its editing and production. The timing’s kind of off on this.”
“I understand,” Wes said.
“But I wanted to meet today because the last four projects you’ve submitted to me have all been exactly to my taste. I’ll be honest, it’s only that we’ve been outbid and no one else was as passionate about the project as me that I haven’t already bought one of your books.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“And now that I’ve been promoted, well …” She brushed her long, wavy hair over her shoulder, then picked up her fork. After swallowing a bite of pad see ew, she smiled. “I’m hungry. Let’s say that. So, what else do you have?”
The emphasis onyoumade Wes stop momentarily. He did have a book, a book that, honestly, she would be the perfect editor for. His book. And they had a certain back-and-forth, a budding friendship. What would it be like to dip his toe in the water for something that would be cautiously proceeding in a few months anyway? He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. He put down his fork and leaned across the table. “I could let you in on the ground floor of something, but it’s still very hush-hush.”
“I feel like you’re about to offer me Bitcoin or drugs, and I’m not interested in either.”
“What if I told you that I used to be the agency representative for the E. J. Morgan estate, and what if I could say with surety that the estate is vetting projects to adaptThe Proud and the Lost?”
She almost spit out her lunch. “Areyou telling me that? Is that a sure thing?”
Wes nodded. “It’s not common knowledge, but I’m sure it will be in the next month or so. I’m giving you a heads-up, not because”—he gestured at her pregnant belly—“but also because I remember the piece you wrote aboutP&LinThe Atlanticaround the ninetieth anniversary.”
