Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Looking down, I check to make sure that they’re not. “Well,” he says, “at least she’s pretty.”
My mouth drops open. Is he fucking serious right now? Now I truly understand what people mean when they say never meet your heroes. Malik Ellis’s books have been comforting for me to read. I’ve learned a lot from his writing, and some of my favorite fantasies are influenced by his books.
That’s pretty much ruined now.
Straightening my spine, I stare him down. “I’m so relieved that you approve of my appearance.” Every ounce of sarcasm that I have laces the words. “Thankfully, me being pretty has no bearing on whether I can write a book. Maybe being nominated as Publishing's Most Eligible Bachelor has eaten your brain from the inside out? If you’re so stuck.”
He’s frozen, and then he looks over at Michael. “You’re going to let her talk to me like that?”
I don’t give Michael room to answer. “In case you’ve forgotten in the last couple of minutes, I’m an adult and I’ll speak to anyone whichever way I please."
"Are you?" Malik muses. "An adult, I mean."
I curl my upper lip but press on. "Considering I’m actually doing you a favor, maybe you could get your head out of your ass and speak more than a sentence directly to the person who’s going to save said ass.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smirk that he barely hides. “What’s your name?”
“Erin Bailey.”
He glances at Michael again, and in the corner of my eye I see him nod. Our shared agent isn’t going to let him get away from this. “I guess I can sit down with you at the very least and see what you’re made of.”
“Here,” Michael says. “You can use the conference room. I’ll have coffee sent up.” When Malik shoots him a scowl, he shrugs. “You forget that I’ve known you too long, Malik. I’m not going to let you invite the girl out for coffee and then magically disappear before you talk to her. You’re doing this. Go to the conference room.”
Malik bristles. His jaw tightens and his fingers curl. But he goes, and I’m left with Michael. “That went well,” I say sarcastically. “When you offered me the job I kind of assumed that he already knew that he was going have a ghost?”
“Malik has a unique temperament sometimes. Very artisan. Usually with him, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. Something that you should remember when you’re writing for him. If you think that something needs to happen and he doesn’t? Do it anyway. He’ll change his mind if it really fits and he sees that it works.”
I’m still reeling over all of this. First, I’m good, then I’m only good enough, then I’m supposed to not listen to the man whose book I’m actually writing. At this point I’m not even completely sure what my job is supposed to be. Except to apparently write a book. “When is the book due?” It’s the last thing that I can think to ask.
“Three weeks.” Michael takes a sip of the whiskey.
“Three weeks?” I gawk at him. “That’s not possible.”
He fixes me with a stare. “For that amount of money, it better be possible.”
I’ve never written a book in three weeks. Most people haven’t. That’s like being the world champion in the hundred-meter dash. Way too fucking fast compared to us mere mortals. But he does have a point. The amount of money they’re offering is well worth it. I’ll just write all day.
That will work, right?
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
A thin smile. “You’ll have the contract by tomorrow.”
I nod, sensing the dismissal. I leave the office and head toward the conference room and the man who doesn’t want me there. Someone that I really should be avoiding at all costs.
2
Malik
Well, that was a disaster. I roll my eyes as I walk down the hall to the plush conference room that’s going to be my prison for however long I have to be in there talking to the literary equivalent of an ambulance chaser.
No matter how gorgeous she is.
The one thing that’s gone right today is that I wore dark jeans that didn’t immediately show my hard-on. Because that girl—Erin? — is exactly my type. I teased her about being a brat but in my heart, I was smitten by her youth.
Brunette. Bookish. Curves that go for miles under clothes that disguise them. It’s like she’s trying very hard to make sure no one notices her body. But any man I know would be salivating over her the minute that walked past.
Within the first three minutes of looking at her, I could see a hundred scenes featuring her and me in various positions. All of them with her absolutely wrecked by the pleasure that I’m giving her.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t actually help the writer’s block. Those scenes are hot, but they don’t fit the book. And as infuriating as it is that Michael is doing this, he’s not wrong. I am in trouble.