My brother laughed. “I take it your meeting didn’t go well?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I told you that you should’ve led with an orchid and not a succulent.”
“I don’t think it was the plant, Carver.”
My brother snorted. “Fine, fine—so what’s the situation? Was he hot?”
I pulled out a book that didnotbelong in political thriller—Red, White & Royal Blueby Casey McQuiston—and decided to walk it back to the romance section where it did, in fact, belong. “Okay, we havetwosituations.”
“Oh Lord, he’sthathot?”
“You know that book I let you borrow? The one by Sally Thorne?The Hating Game?”
“Tall, stoic yet quirky, has a bedroom wall painted to match her eyes?”
“That’s it! Thoughhiseyes are brown. Likechocolatebrown.”
“Godiva?”
“No, more like melty Hershey’s Kisses on like the worst day of your period.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, and when I introduced myself, I said my name—twice.”
“You didn’t.”
I groaned. “I did! Andthenhe didn’t give me another extension on my novel. I have to finish it. And it has to have a happy ending.”
He guffawed. “He said that?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if that turns me on more or less...”
“Carver!”
“What?! I like a man who knows what he wants!”
I wanted to strangle him through the phone. Carver was the middle of the Day siblings and the only one who knew I ghostwrote—and I made himswearto secrecy or I’d print all of his embarrassing middle-grade fanfic starring Hugh Jackman in the town paper. Friendly sibling blackmail and all that. He just didn’t knowwhomI ghostwrote for. Not that he didn’t constantly guess.
I made my way into the romance section, half-naked menglowering down at me from their shelves, and slipped the book into the M section.
Carver asked, “So, I hate to bethatperson, but what’re you going to do about that manuscript?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. The titles on the shelves all seemed to run together.
“Maybe it’s time to branch out again?” he suggested. “Obviously, this writing gig isn’t working for you anymore, and you’re too brilliant to be hiding behind Nora Roberts.”
“I don’t ghostwrite for Nora.”
“You wouldn’t tell me if you did,” he pointed out.
“But it’s not Nora.”
“Mm-hmm.”