Page 12 of The Dead Romantics

Of course it didn’t. Why else would I be making depressing mac and cheese? I gave a shrug. “It went fine.”

“Florence.”

I exhaled through my mouth. “Ann has a new editor. I think you might know him or something—he seems familiar. His name is Benji something or other. Ainer? Ander?”

Rose gawked. “BenjiAndor?”

I pointed at her with the wooden spoon. “That’s it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not.”

“Lucky!” Rose barked a laugh. “He’shot.”

“Yeah I know—how doyouknow?”

“He was in a whole Thirty-Five Under Thirty-Five thing inTime Outa year ago. He used to be an executive editor over at Elderwood Books before they folded. Where were you?”

I gave her an exhausted look. She knew exactly where I was a year ago. Making depressing mac and cheese for adifferentreason.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, it’s nice to see he’s still in publishing, but at Falcon House’s romance imprint? Wow.”

I shrugged. “He probably likes romances? Do I know any books he worked on over at Elderwood?”

Rose put the packet of powdered cheese back into the box. “The Murdered Birds?The Woman from Cabin Creek?”

I stared at my roommate. “So... gothic murders?”

“Gruesome,morbidgothic murders. Like I’m talking Benji Andor is a modern-day Rochester, but without the wife in the attic. I hear he even had afiancéeonce, butheleftherat the altar.”

I gave Rose a look. “Do you even know what happens inJane Eyre?”

“I’ve sorta half seen the movies. Anyway, that’s not the point. So, you have publishing’s hottest bachelor editing Ann’s books now. I can’twaituntil he gets to your sex scenes. Seriously, they’re some of the best I’ve ever read, and I read alotof smutty books. And fanfic,” she added as an afterthought.

“He won’t,” I deadpanned. “I have until tomorrow evening to turn in the book.”

“Wow, you really couldn’t get another extension, huh?”

I groaned and put my face in my hands. “No, and if I don’t turn it in, he’s getting legal involved. And then the cat’s out of the bag! Hi, I’m the ghostwriter! But I can’t even doghostwritingproperly, and then they’ll start wondering where Ann is, and then some really grizzled detective will come around questioning me and then everyone’ll start wondering if ImurderedAnn Nichols—”

“Hon, I love you, but you’re jumping the shark here.”

“You never know!”

“Isshe dead?”

“I don’t know! No!” Then, a bit calmer: “Probably not?”

“Why don’t you just tellyour editorabout being her ghostwriter?”

I sighed. “I couldn’t. You should’ve seen the way helookedat me when I asked to write a sad romance instead. It was like I killed his favorite puppy.”

“You say that like he’d have more than one puppy.”

“Of course. He seems like a multi-dog kinda person. But not thepoint. The point is, I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

“So instead, you’re going to ruin your career and disappoint youroneliterary hero.”

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