Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“So, your next book,” I continue, crossing my arms, gaze locked on the man I used to call a dear friend. “Is it? More scintillating? More suspenseful?”
Axel hums, marinating the question, taking his sweet time with it. “As a matter of fact, Hazel,” he says, lingering on my name, overemphasizing it like he always does with names. I know why he does it, but I won’t let that soften me. “Scintillating and suspenseful is exactly how the New York Press referred to A Perfect Lie.”
Somehow, I manage not to roll my eyes as I give him an almost-real smile. “That’s sweet,” I say as if I mean it.
With a cocky glint in his eyes, Axel shrugs, accepting the comment at face value. “Thank you. That one meant a lot to me,” he says.
I stifle a huge laugh. Of course he loves reviews from pompous news outlets.
“I’m sure it did.” I lick my lips and go for the kill, “It’s sweet that you’re still as obsessed with reviews as ever.”
His expression falters, blue eyes flickering with what might be embarrassment. I’ve hit a sore spot. Good. But then his face goes blank like he’s rearranging his thoughts to hide them from me. “I’m not obsessed,” he says, defensively.
“Don’t you know by now? You can’t make everyone happy with a story.” I fight off a smile. Hell, it’s hard not to grin when I can bust him on the thing he loses sleep over—what everyone else thinks of his words. I tried to help him with this, once upon a time. Look where that got me.
Axel nods slowly, like he’s letting my comments sink in. “True, Hazel. That’s so true. And you’d know better than anyone. You can’t please everyone even if you stuff all the quirky pets in the world into your rom-coms,” he says, grabbing his own rusty knife and shoving it into me. I simmer as he taps the Lucite frame that holds the QR code. “Want to order, sweetheart? Or are you ready to walk out?”
I burn brighter, hotter. I stare hard at him. “No, Axel. That’s your style.”
Without acknowledging my comment, he asks, “So you’re leaving then?” His gaze drifts toward the door. He looks so hopeful.
Boo-fucking-hoo. I lean forward. “As if I’d give you the satisfaction.”
He laughs. “You’re going to stay just to vex me? You’ll willingly irritate yourself just to irritate me?”
I stare at him, pot-kettle style. “Sound like anyone you know?”
He shoots me a well-played nod. “Fair enough. Then, may the most irritating one win.” He picks up the frame, then looks back at me, gaze shrewd. “Or do you have more arrows in that quiver of yours to shoot my way?” He sits up straighter, almost spreading out his stupidly firm chest. “Go ahead. Hit me with it. I can handle it. Get out all your anger, sweetheart.”
I clench my jaw, inhaling sharply.
This man.
I can’t believe he used to be my confidante. My close friend. My writing partner.
But I won’t let him see my hurt. I have to do better. It’s only a meal and maybe it’ll be good practice for the reader expo we’re scheduled to helm this weekend.
“I’m all good,” I say as lightly as I can. “And yes, let’s order.”
I grab my phone, scan the code, then check out the menu, grateful for something else to focus on besides him.
He does the same, scoffing a few seconds later. Haughtily scoffing.
I take the bait. “Don’t see anything you like?”
His eyes dart around the restaurant, then he lasers in on me, lowering his voice. “No. I just wish I didn’t have to use my phone to order,” he grumbles. “I already have to use it for everything else.”
I get that. I’m a little phone-weary at the end of the day too. “Why can’t a menu just be a menu?” I ask, without any vitriol or irritation, just a little same page-ness that surprises me.
“Is it so much to ask to have my phone off during a meal? But nope. They make us use it.”
“Evidently it’s too much to ask,” I say, agreeing as I read the dinner options. They’re limited, but surprisingly…inventive. “I didn’t think a place like Menu would have roasted beets with pistachios on a bed of pea shoots.”
“Did you think it would be steak and potatoes?” he asks, a little derisively.
And…that detente didn’t last long at all.
“No, obviously I wasn’t expecting that, Axel,” I say, overemphasizing his name, like he does to me. “I just thought it would be minimalist food too. And as stark as the decor.”
“Or the company?” he asks, but it’s not biting. He sounds truly curious.
I don’t give in though. “Your words,” I point out.
“They are indeed.”
He flips his phone so the screen’s facedown, pushing it to the side of the table. I tuck mine into my purse as a man in a tailored shirt and sports coat swings by, flashing a barely there smile.