Gretchen pulled her laptop open and sighed. “I’m pulling up the document as we speak, Kat. I promise.”
“Good. Think you can send it to me by tomorrow?”
“Ummm.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t tell me otherwise.”
“Okay.”
“Since I have you on the phone, I did have a chat with Preston.” Kat paused for dramatic effect.
Gretchen racked her brain for a moment. “Preston Stewart’s the editor for the new publisher, right? What was the name again?”
“That’s him. Bellefleur Publishing.”
“Uh-huh. Did they ask for me because the Astronaut Bill stuff is pulp and I’m used to writing in some sex?”
“Huh? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The letters. Does he know these are dirty letters?”
Kat spluttered. “Say what?”
“I’m serious! The trunk is full of letters between a gal named Lula and her boyfriend, Ben. It took years for them to be together, and so apparently they spent all that time in-between visits sending dirty recaps to each other. Want me to read you a page?”
“Dirty letters? Are you sure?”
Gretchen picked up the letter on the top of the pile. “My dearest Ben. I woke up this morning, my woman’s flesh aching with need for you. I dreamed that you were deep inside me, your rod—”
“Okay, okay!” Kat laughed wildly. “Oh, man. Well, that’s going to be a wicked cool marketing angle, that’s for sure.”
“If you say so,” Gretchen said, amused. “Apparently these two lovebirds went to a lot of Victorian house parties and used every excuse to sneak off and make out while there. They’re kind of creative with things. It’s rather inspiring.”
“I’ll say. Anyhow, back to Preston. He’s super excited about your book, too. How’s it feel to be a lead title, kiddo?”
“I . . . haven’t given it much thought.”
“You haven’t?” Kat gasped. “What’s going on with you, Gretchen?”
“I’ve been, um, distracted. I met a guy.”
“A guy? Audrey told me all about that horrible butler. Don’t tell me you fell for him?”
“Jeez, Kat, when did you talk to Audrey?”
“We went for lunch the other day. I had some books for her to pick up for the charity and we ended up going out for drinkies.”
“I think I need to widen my social circle,” Gretchen muttered. “And no, I didn’t fall for the butler. But I just might be kinda-sorta shagging his boss.”
“You what? The billionaire?”
Count on Kat to be fascinated by the amount of money he had instead of asking anything about him. Gretchen rolled her eyes. “He’s different, Kat. I like him.”
“Of course you like him. He’s rich!”
“Can we talk about something other than how much he makes?”
“Sure. What kind of car does he drive?”