Page 10 of Rewrite the Rules

This was one of the few lessons my parents took the time to teach me. Both writers themselves, they believed in uniting people with words. Our hearts hold truths and the written word is the vessel in which we deliver them.

My parents, however, are serious writers—travel writers. They’d never waste their time with fiction. Especially not something as whimsical as romance. Somehow, I wanted to be so much like my parents and yet nothing like them at the same time. Hell. Even if my mind is wired identically to theirs, I’d never know. I barely know them. Tempted as I may be to ask, they can’t provide any guidance on the question that’s etched in red writing in my mind.

So I turn to my real family. I love my best friends unconditionally. We’re not perfect. We fight, we get catty, and we all are monsters on our periods. But we forgive. We’re steadfast, we’re loyal. I know aboutthatkind of love. But what do I know about the other?

Nothing.

What do I know about romance?

Nada.

What do I know about lust?

Since Joel’s arrival on Monday—just a little more than I had before.

But it’s definitely not enough knowledge to base an entire novel on. I barely have enough material for an opening chapter. All innovative credit forToy With Mebelongs to Tessa.

Tessa Rayne. Nowthat’sa story worth telling. Once upon a time, one fateful day about six months ago, Tessa Rayne entered my world. More accurately, she plummeted like an asteroid into the surface of my earth with such cosmic force that the dinosaurs would fear a second round of extinction. She blew up my life, shattering the glass wall I built around possibilities. Tessa challenged me to begreat.

To be like her.

Tessa is one of the most celebrated women’s fiction and romance novelists of the decade. She could sneeze on a book and turn it into a best seller. Her words have a presence on the page. Every sentence commands attention.

I thought it was a hoax when I first saw her calling-all-writers post on the platform that I use to scour available ghostwriting jobs. I read all of her books and finding out that she was a fraud would’ve destroyed me. Luckily it wasn’t the case…

Ping!

A text message from Joel distracts me from my contemplative zone-out.

That’s odd.Joel is hosting a meeting in his office with Jimmy Denton, some big-time FinTech startup CEO who’s seeking a heavy round of investments. Joel is normally laser-focused when he’s in meetings like this.

Mr. Joel Lewis:May I ask you a favor?

Me:Yes. Why are you texting me? I’m watching the team chat.

Mr. Joel Lewis:Because it’s a personal favor. I need your help.

My stomach backflips at his response. Oh no, Mr. Lewis! What’s wrong? Did you feel something bite you? Do I need to bolt into your office, remove all your clothes, and check you thoroughly for ticks?

Me:What’s up?

I tap my fingers impatiently against my desk as nerves pulse through me watching that damn response bubble on the message screen populate, then disappear. Joel is typing…then not typing…then typing.

Mr. Joel Lewis:I am starving and this guy in my office, who can’t take a hint, is droning on. How good are you at acting?

How good? Well, I’ve been pretending all week that I’m not remotely affected by your smoldering sexiness, so I’d say pretty damn good.

Me:Oscar-worthy good.

Mr. Joel Lewis:Perfect. Can you barge in here with a fake emergency and save me?

Me:Are you thinking dark, like film noir?

Me:Or something more dramatic, like telenovela?

Me:I am completely capable of faking tears.

Mr. Joel Lewis:Adler. Quit playing. Please. Hurry.

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