We were both too busy eye-fucking each other.
Logan—I bet he has her number. There isn't a single woman in NYC who isn't in that guy's contacts list. You think I'm joking? That guy gets around.
I scroll through my phone, find his numbe
r, and call him up.
He picks up on the second ring. "Miss me already?"
It's still morning, and he sounds like he's been drinking. Or fucking. Or maybe both.
"Funny. Look, I need a favor," I say.
"Well, well, well … look who gives me a call when he's in a pinch," Logan laughs.
"I'm serious. I need to get in touch with Lana Hartley. Could you give me her number?"
"Lana?" he asks, his tone suddenly serious.
"Yeah, she gave me a manuscript to review at the convention and it's fucking amazing. Grade-A stuff," I say. "I want to help her."
"Is that the The Virgin Market manuscript?"
"You've heard of it?" I ask.
He's silent for a moment, and then continues. "I think I overheard Lana talking about it at the convention … or something."
There's something about Logan's voice that's strange, but I ignore it. I'm on a mission.
"Anyways, can I get her number?" I ask, bringing him back to the point of my call.
"I don't have it," he says flatly.
"Bullshit, Logan! C'mon man. I just need this favor," I plead, trying to not sound desperate.
"Sorry, I uh—I—really don't have it," he says, his words coming out in short, halting bursts.
We hang up, and I can't help but think that Logan is hiding something from me. But why? Why would he care if I talk to Lana? Is he fucking her or something?
I ignore that thought. I can't worry about what's going on in Logan's life. Not now.
I find Lana's website, and click on her contact link, writing her a quick message and being sure to include my phone number. After I send it off, I think about her manuscript again.
The thought of it makes me shake my head.
I think back to the books that have jaded me, and after reading Lana's manuscript, it dawns on me. I realize why I got into this business in the first place.
It was never about the money.
It was never about the fame; I never did it for vanity, or status.
It was never about the pussy (even though there's a lot of it).
No, none of that.
It was always about the stories.
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