Page 73 of We Met Like This
“The internet is very permanent,” he said, then looked around his office like he was seeing it for the first time. “I know. It’s cold and impersonal, but working from home, I had to make my office feel like a different place or I was less productive.”
“That makes sense.” I’d never thought about it before, but there probably was some psychology behind that. I pointed to the walking pad. “Do I have to walk while we design the website or do you?”
“One of us does, that’s how I power the computer.”
He said it with such a straight face that for a split second I thought he was serious. But the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes clued me in to the fact that he was kidding. “I mean, you are an engineer, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“You have no idea what I do for a living, do you?”
“All I know is there are ones and zeros involved.”
“I take it back, you know exactly what I do for a living.”
I bowed like he was being serious.
“I’ll grab an extra chair from the kitchen,” he said.
When he got back, he flipped the walking pad onto its side, slid it beside the desk, and replaced it with the chair he’d brought back. He pulled out his fancy chair and gestured for me to sit.
“This is amazing,” I said, settling into the soft leather.
“A good chair and a good computer are the top two factors of my success.”
I spun once then stopped it with my feet. “Maybe you should sit here, then, so you can make me the best website in the world.”
He sat on the chair from the kitchen, picked up my beer from the desk where I’d set it, and twisted off the cap. “I’m good here.” He handed me the bottle, then pulled his chair closer to mine. So close his scent invaded my space, made me want to lean into him, breathe him in, try out some red tab scenes from the book he was reading.
I picked up a container of cinnamon Altoids that sat next to a wooden box of pens. “The mystery is solved,” I said.
“I didn’t realize it was a mystery,” he returned.
“It was,” I assured him.
He smiled. “I already got started on the generic layout. Do you have your business license and tax ID number yet?”
“No,” I said. “Probably in the next day or two.”
“Okay, I’ll change all the info over to you when you have that.” He moved the mouse, the black computer screen lighting up with his action. The wordsLove Litwere at the top of the page, a placeholder in boring black font.
“Oh, I decided to go with Hart Lit,” I said.
“Really? Sloane talked you out of the name you wanted?”
“It just makes more sense.” Not only was it my last name but it could refer to stories with heart.
His eyes traveled down my body and to the small backpack I’d brought with me. “You have ideas?”
I took a sip of beer. “So many ideas.”
“You can’t just use anyone’s pictures on the internet,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. The action made the muscles in both his arms pop. “You have to pay for pictures.”
I knew that. Of course I knew that. I worked in publishing, after all. And the amount of times people stole clients’ books and posted them on illegal downloading sites was sickening. “If we change them up a lot? Obscure faces?” I asked. We’d been working for two hours and were so close to finishing. We were down to the header. But even as I made the suggestion, I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking someone’s image without their permission. “You’re right, that won’t work,” I conceded. My mind spun, trying to figure out another solution. It landed on “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Just one pic and you’ll be backlit so nobody will know it’s you.” My idea for the header was an open door with a man standing in it, his arm high on the doorframe in a lean. The room bright behind him. The name of the agency would be spelled out in shadows on the floor in front of him.
It would stand out. It wouldn’t be a stuffy, boring website. The right clients would appreciate it… I hoped. Besides,attracting readers to my website to check out clients’ books was an important part of agenting as well.
