Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
There’s no comparison though—the things that were posted about Alex and me, and those I read about Liam and his wife. Liam’s this famous musician, and Alex is a pro athlete. Surely, they shouldn’t be treated the same way when it comes to the media and popularity. And why does anyone care what Alex does?
“No comment.” I finally find the courage to say the two words most people say when bombarded with questions, but this man doesn’t give up and the questions continue in rapid-fire motion. How would anyone even begin to understand what in the hell he’s saying if he doesn’t pause and take a breath before he asks the next question?
I pick up my speed and hustle toward the restaurant where I’m meeting Basha. Once inside, I lean into the wall and catch my breath. What this was, wasn’t normal. At least, that’s what I tell myself. No one cares that much about who I am.
Basha waves when I enter the restaurant. I have my scarf removed and coat unbuttoned by the time I reach the table. “I need a drink,” I tell her as I sit down.
“I just ordered coffee for us.”
“No, something strong.”
“Why? What’s up?” she asks.
I recount my harrowing trip here and her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and then when I’m done, there’s a glint in her orbs that makes me question her insanity.
“You should write all this down. Start a blog.”
“And what? Bring awareness of what it’s like to go to a fundraiser with a professional football player?”
She shrugs. “You’re right, let’s start a podcast.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation, which the waiter thinks are a signal for him, and the poor guy comes running over with a scared look on his face. “Sorry,” I tell him after he frantically asks what he forgot. “Can I get a screwdriver?” It’s been so long since I’ve had a cocktail in the early afternoon, I figure I might as well get some vitamin C while doing so.
“Of course. Are you ladies ready to order?”
“A few more minutes, please.”
He nods and walks away.
“How was the fundraiser?” Basha asks.
“It was perfect, and Alex was hot and perfect. Geez, I need a thesaurus. It’s funny how I’ll tell an author to use another word or be more descriptive, and yet, here I am failing at it.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“I’m frustrated and angry. And upset. Yesterday, I was so angry at Alex even though I know he had nothing to do with the images online. Yet, I felt like it was his fault. Which isn’t fair to him at all. I texted the crap out of his phone, sending him snippy messages, when we could’ve easily chatted about on the phone or when he got home.”
“Except it’s not something that can wait if a journalist is chasing you down the street.”
“For what? Let’s be honest here, I have nothing to give them.”
Basha shrugs, and the waiter is back with my drink. We place our order and wait for him to be out of earshot. “People like shiny and new.”
“No, people hate change. They were a favorite couple and I feel like I’m intruding.”
“I’ll be honest, I knew who they were as a couple and was surprised when they broke up. They were local celebrities around here.”
“Great.” Except nothing feels great. I feel like I’m wasting my time in a relationship that is going to cause me more pain than anything. No one wants to spend their time wondering how they’re stacking up to the competition. Regardless of Alex and Maggie being together, I’m an outsider and to everyone else, I’m intruding.
After we eat, we sit and discuss work. We talk about the upcoming writers conference in San Diego and wonder if we should go.
“I want to,” I tell her. “Escaping some of this cold for a week would be nice.”
“We have to decide so we can set up appointments for pitches.”
“I think we should go and set up a spa day or something. I could use one.”
“Well, let’s tell Jonathan on Monday. I’m game. Do you think others want to go?”
I think for a minute and know Sibley would definitely want to join us. She’s our suspense guru and is always on the hunt for something that keeps her on the edge of her seat.
“Definitely Sibley,” Basha agrees. “I can’t imagine many non-fic authors will attend, but you never know.”
“Russ wouldn’t go,” I tell her. “He doesn’t like to travel or be in large crowds.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Okay, well it’s settled. Let’s talk to Sib in the morning and see if she wants to go with us, and then we’ll beg Jonathan.”
Basha and I pay our bill and then head toward the exit. She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the door. “Look,” she says, pointing out the window.” Outside, there’s a small group, five or six people, huddled around. Three of them have cameras around their necks, and one of them is the man who followed me here.