Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I watch him pile his plate high and we talk excitedly about publishing while he eats. For the past few weeks, he has been schooling me daily on the ins and outs of self publishing. He’s a surprisingly good teacher, but I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked. The man did start a publishing empire with his friend from the ground up. Of course he knows all about how to get a book off the ground.
It feels surreal, but the work is almost done. My book is finished and edited. I have a cover I’m in love with, but still able to tweak up until the last minute. I’ve written blurbs, advertising snippets, and helped a designer come up with cute images to promote the book. I even set up social media pages and a website. Both are sort of bare bones at the moment, but Jameson tells me I can take my time and build as I go.
“You look happy,” Jameson says around a mouthful of carrots. For some reason, he went back for seconds of carrots with ranch, of all things. “I like seeing you this way.”
“Get used to it,” I say, hugging his arm and biting my lip. “I think it’s your fault.”
“For once, somebody is blaming me for a good thing. I could definitely get used to that.”
“You really think it’s ready?” I ask.
I don’t have to specify what I’m talking about. As much as getting back with Jameson has been huge, the impending launch of my book has gradually bubbled up to the forefront of both our minds, especially the past couple days. It’s getting so close. We’re going to launch three weeks after Christmas. Give everyone time to calm down from the holidays and then hit them with the book.
“It’s ready. You’re ready,” he adds, squeezing my ass. I’m not sure if the gesture is supposed to be reassuring or if he’s just enjoying my ass. I’ll take either. “And I’m proud as hell. You had to fight through so much shit to get to this point, but you did it. You’re here.”
I melt into him, hugging his arm even tighter. “With your help,” I add.
He makes a dismissive sound. “I’m helping with the easy stuff.”
We both go a little more rigid when Vaughn Vanderlesh passes in front of us. He’s walking beside his father, Griffon, and they’re arguing about something.
I haven’t seen Vaughn since the Halloween mixer, and the past few months have not been kind to him. He’s not freshly shaven, his eyes look dark around the bottom and sunken, and his posture is less upright and proud. He looks like a defeated man, and part of me almost feels sad for him.
And then he decides to erase any sympathy I may have when he breaks away from his father and approaches us.
He sneers at me, then at Jameson, then at my hands where they are wrapped around Jameson’s arm. “You two came here to gloat, did you?”
“I came because this is a joint party between my company and your father’s, actually. I brought my girlfriend because she’s my girlfriend, and I actually invite her to social events. I like to show her off.”
Vaughn’s lip turns up at that. “So you complain about me to him, huh? Kind of sad, really. You’d think she would move on after so many months. But I guess it’s hard to get me out of her head.”
I know Jameson probably wants to defend my honor, or whatever he may think of it as, but I decide this one is my pitch. “Actually,” I say. “Remembering you existed was a constant challenge. It was a challenge I would’ve failed if you hadn’t shoved yourself back in my life with your childish attempt to steal my book. If I had thought of you since the breakup, it would just be to feel bad for you. Because it really is sad, isn’t it? You can’t even manage to make it as an agent in your father’s own company. And when you realized you were terrible at the job, you tried to cheat it. But you weren’t even good at cheating–on multiple levels,” I add, sniffing with amusement and disgust. “So, no. It was actually very easy to get you out of my head.”
Jameson gives my ass a reassuring squeeze. That, or he’s bored and just enjoying my ass again. I really can’t say with him.
Vaughn’s face has gone a little whiter by the end of my tirade. The old Vaughn would just puff up larger and spout some arrogant line about how I could kid myself but I really admired him, or whatever bullshit he came up with. The new Vaughn just deflates a little.
“Feel better, now?” Vaughn asks, as if he was doing me a favor by letting me say what I said. “Anyway, I decided to make you an offer. I’ll represent you and your book the old fashioned way, if you’re interested. I heard you haven’t had any big bites since you started shipping it to the boutique publishers. I could get you noticed. I could make the book a hit.”