“What’s the number got to do with anything? I didn’t lie to her, and look at her. She’s confident. Some people just need a little nudge to blossom.” To punctuate his point, he gave me a little nudge, wafting his cologne. “You did a really good job tonight. You turned what could have been a disaster into a success. A lot of Calvin’s fans are picking up Angela’s books.”
“Are you nudging me now? Giving me a little compliment so I blossom?” I’d be damned if I stood here and took his charity compliments.
“I’m taking Angela and Calvin out for drinks afterwards. Over at Midtown. You should join.” He pushed himself from the wall and congratulated Angela as she exited the stage, escorting her to the table where her books were stacked and ready to sign.
“That’s my job,” I muttered through gritted teeth, following him to the table.
Angela managed to break out of her shell and work the crowd until the last customer had left, clutching her stack of Angela Norwood mysteries and Calvin Lewis romances.
“I appreciate everything,” I said, shaking Samantha’s hand. I’d learned long ago to be the bigger person in this industry. She may need a favor someday, and it was always good to have a bookstore in your corner.
“My apologies for the trouble.”
An associate took her attention, and I turned back to Angela, who looked like she’d just seen a ghost.
“You did it!” I pulled her into a hug, breathing in the scent of White Diamonds perfume. “Are you ready for that celebratory drink?”
Grant had disappeared in the hullabaloo, and I looked around to let him know we were heading to Midtown. Oh, well. A text would do fine. He responded to say he was right behind us, and I led Angela and Calvin into the elevator.
“You handled that well,” Calvin offered. “Even if I’d have preferred to have the evening to myself. I saw a few of Ms. Norwood’s fans with my books. If I’m ever in need of a new agent, I’ll give you a call.”
My heart flipped to my stomach, but my exterior never betrayed me. This would be the biggest account at the agency, and I’d eat my best pair—well, my only pair—of Christian Louboutin heels to see Brenda’s face if I landed Calvin Lewis.
“Well, you know where to find me.” I kept a metal card carrier in my pocket and offered my contact information to him. “Angela, would you care to join me in a cab?” She’d had enough excitement for one day. I’d save the subway for her next visit.
“Got room for one more?” Calvin asked.
“Certainly!” Even if he wasn’t one of our accounts, rubbing elbows with Calvin couldn’t be a bad idea.
Midtown was packed, as usual, but it appeared as though Grant had pulled a few strings, reserving us a table in the corner. Being a literary agent rarely had pull, but Grant was known for bringing high-profile authors here for a drink, so they tended to treat him with favor. We slid into the booth, and a waitress appeared, notepad at the ready.
“What can I get started for you?” she asked, her grin saying she recognized Calvin.
“Lagavulin, neat.”
Calvin’s drink order was exactly as I expected. Brusque and sexy.
“I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”
And Angela didn’t disappoint, either.
“I’ll have a gallon of beer, please.” I didn’t even care what kind at this point.
“We only sell them in pints.” The waitress bit her lip, worried that she’d have an unruly drunk on her hands later, I’m sure.
“Then a pint is what I’ll have. I like them light and crisp. Give me whatever is your favorite.”
I dug my ID from my bag and when I turned to hand it to the waitress, she was gone. Oh, good. I’d officially reached the age where I didn’t need to be carded. Peachy.
“So, Calvin, where are you off to next?” Samantha had said he was only in town for one night, so I assumed he had an early flight out.
“Home, actually. To Portland. I flew in from London today and decided to spend the night in the city before flying back home. Now that the tour is over, I’m on deadline to produce the next book.”
I wonder if he’d like to go to Hawaii…
“What’s the next one about?” I sipped the crisp brew that the waitress set before me. It was frigid and quenched my thirst, removing the last of the day’s stress.
“I’m starting a new series, actually. I’m going in a grittier direction, so here’s hoping the agency likes it.”
“Well, if they don’t, you know where to find me.” I saluted him with my beer.
“Starting without me, I see.” Grant slid into the booth next to Calvin, his date following suit. “Everyone, this is Brittany. She’s studying English at the University, hoping to break into the writing scene.”
The waitress appeared on their heels.
“What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have whatever stout you have on draft,” Grant ordered.
“And for you, ma’am?”
“Get her a juice box.” I hid my comment behind my beer, but Angela heard it, snorting Shirley Temple from her nose and quickly dabbing her face with a napkin.
Whatever wine Ms. Brittany ordered was French, and therefore, I assumed, expensive.
“Can I see your ID please?” The waitress tucked her notepad in her back pocket and checked Brittany’s age.
“So, Grant. How did you two meet? I thought you had to stay at least 1,000 feet away from the daycares.” I raised a brow. Angela coughed beside me. Calvin stopped his whisky at his lips, cutting his eyes between me and Grant.
“Actually, we met when I went to career day at the University. She told me she was interested in publishing, and I told her to give me a call if she wanted to talk more about it. I thought she’d get a kick out of seeing this side of the industry.” Grant never broke eye contact.
“It’s nice of you to keep her up past her bedtime to see the nightlife of the publishing industry.”
Grant’s eyes grew wide. “Hey, Sophie, can I discuss a quick business matter with you for a moment?” Not waiting for a reply, he pushed Brittany from the booth, walking briskly toward the bathroom.
Poor Angela hurried from the booth to let me out, and I stomped after him.
“Can I help you with something?” he demanded.
“What?”
“‘What?’ Brittany has done nothing to you and you keep insulting her.”
“You know what? You’re right. I owe Brittany an apology. She’s not the thirty-five-year-old man parading around a sorority girl in front of not only our most important client, but a potential future client,” I spat.
“Potential future— what are you talking about? Lewis already has an agent.”
“And he’s expressed interest in hiring me as his agent if his current one doesn’t like his new direction,” I explained.
“Brittany is just a student interested in publishing. That’s it.”
“And what are you interested in, Grant?” I crossed my arms, knowing full well what he was interested in.
As I suspected, he didn’t answer, but his sigh said it all.
“Exactly.”
I stalked back to the table where Calvin and Angela were discussing the best books on the east coast. I polished off my beer and ran my finger down the condensation that was forming. This wouldn’t help my weight loss at all. I flagged down a waitress and ordered a plate of loaded fries. Neither would this, but it wasn’t like I could lose thirty pounds overnight.
“Actually, make that two. Would you like anything, Brittany?” Grant asked.
“A side salad would be great. Dressing on the side, no cheese.”
“I could go for an order of the mozzarella sticks,” Angela said.
Calvin picked up the menu, eyeing his options. “I’ll have a blooming onion, and another Lagavulin.”
Brittany wasn’t so bad once I stopped insulting her. As a matter of fact, I discovered that we had the same taste in books. She wasn’t the sharpest, but Grant had dated dumber, so I con
sidered it a vast improvement.
“All right, guys. I have a big day tomorrow, so I’m going to call it a night.” I was working a half day at the agency, and spending the afternoon bathing suit shopping. I’d rather get a root canal. I left cash on the table and thanked Angela and Calvin for being good sports about tonight.
Apparently, every cab in the city was occupied. I hated taking the subway this late, but it was better than walking. I tried one last time, and thankfully, a cab driver took mercy on me. As I gave my address, I looked up to see Grant and Brittany getting into a cab together.
What did I care, anyway? I had a pint of peanut butter and chocolate cookie dough in my freezer and a few hours of TV to catch up on. I’d have a perfectly lovely evening on my own.
3
My winking guy was on the subway again this morning, and I sat beside him in the hopes he’d spark up a conversation. We’d shared a smile when I sat, so I thought I had a chance. He was reading Dostoevsky, and I swear, I almost lost my panties right then and there. Sneaking a peek, I realized he was reading it in the original language. Now that just wasn’t fair. A man who could read classic literature in another language? Take me now.
“Dostoevsky, eh? You know he was published when he was twenty-five? I barely knew who I was at twenty-five. I was broke, couldn’t find a job in my field, and this guy gets published. That’s the year I moved here. How long have you been in New York?” I tried to lean back in a flirty, comfortable way, but I wasn’t sure how well I pulled it off.
“I love New York,” he said in a very thick Russian accent.
“Me, too. If you like New York, you should visit Hawaii.” Yeah, that was a seamless transition. Did axe murderers read Dostoevsky?
He shook his head, smiling and shrugging his shoulders. “No English.”
That sounded about right. The first guy to flirt with me and have the mental capacity to read Dostoevsky and we didn’t speak the same language.
“No Russian.” I shrugged. I wasn’t desperate enough to try to teach a man English in twenty-four hours. Yet.
The rest of our ride was silent, save for the one man in the corner who was singing show tunes to himself. He knew all my favorites, so I wasn’t mad about it. He even took a few requests. My first subway ride in the city had been boarded by a mariachi band, and it had been the longest ride of my life. I imagined how my Russian beau would react to that and tried to stifle a chuckle.
His stop was right before mine, and I was given a broken “see you tomorrow” before he left. I didn’t bother with telling him I’d be in Hawaii tomorrow. Alone. Waiting on my little sister to get married and listening to my mother complain about my single status. Maybe I’d just heave myself onto the tracks instead.
I was the first person in the office this morning, which was a rarity, but at least I could use the time to make a few phone calls without the possibility of anyone overhearing. Grant would never let me live it down if he knew what I was doing.
My dating history was rather colorful, recent dry spell excluded, and I wondered what exactly my “type” was, because it certainly wasn’t clear from my exes. I’d dated football jocks, even though I didn’t have the first clue about first downs or home runs, wine enthusiasts, even though I hated the stuff, and one freelance masseuse. I still wasn’t sure what I was thinking with that one. Wait, yes I did. Free massages. I’d tried taking the football jock to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and quickly learned what a mistake that was. He couldn’t quit giggling at the nudes and wouldn’t stop complaining about the modern art exhibit.
“Evan? Too hairy. Jake? Too married.” I scrolled through my contacts, hoping to find someone who could join me in Hawaii.
“Tanner? Let’s give it a go.” Tapping the call button, I held my breath as it rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey! Tanner, it’s Sophie. McAllister.” We’d never officially dated, but he’d been in love with me years ago. I didn’t need love, just someone who could tolerate me for a week.
“Wow, I never thought I’d hear your voice again. It’s been, what, five years? Not since that night you got drunk and went skinny dipping in the pool.”
I’d managed to block that memory, but now I was suddenly twenty-five, standing on the cold concrete, stripping to nothing and jumping into the deep end of his parents’ pool. They were out of town, and he’d invited everyone over. I’d been drunk on the cheapest liquor we could find and had just been dumped by a man who kept his deodorant in the fridge. I was in the business of bad decisions that year.
“Yeah. It’s been about five years.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping he’d quickly change the subject.
“I still remember how you looked in the moonli—”
“Well, it was nice talking to you, Tanner. You take care now.” I hit the end button too many times, just to make sure. “Gross.” I dropped my phone on my desk as if it had been the offending party.
Maybe I’d try to find someone I’d dated after moving to New York and at least somewhat getting my life together. Shawn had been a great guy. I hadn’t made a fool of myself in front of him, and the split was amicable. Who knows? Maybe we could give it another go.
“Hello?”
“Shawn? Hey, it’s Sophie. How’s everything going?”
“Sophie! Everything’s great. How are you? How’s the agent life?”
“Going great! Last night I had drinks with Angela Norwood and Calvin Lewis, so things could be worse.” Please, God, don’t let things get worse. “What are you up to these days? Besides breaking hearts the world over.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that broke my heart. And I’m actually getting ready to leave tomorrow to go on a backpacking tour of Europe with my fiancée.”
Well, things got worse. I silently cursed and tried to think of a way to subtly back out of the conversation now.
“What countries are you going to?”
God, if you are merciful, you will strike me dead or end this conversation now.
“Hey, Soph, I have to let you go. I just got paged for surgery.”
“Good luck, Dr. Baker. And hey, I’m sorry if I really did. Break your heart, I mean.” Breaking hearts was one thing I’d never been accused of.
“It all worked out, didn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Take care.”
Groaning, I dropped my forehead to the desk. “I could have had a surgeon. Buck up, buttercup. You made your bed, now lie in it. No matter how lonely it is.”
What about Eric? My head popped up and I found his number, tapping the call button. He’d been loads of fun when we dated.
“Sophie? Hey, stranger!”
I was surprised that he sounded genuinely happy to hear from me.
“Hey! How’s everything?” Just a few minutes of small talk before hitting him with Hawaii.
“Good! Great, actually. I hear you’re a big shot in New York now.” Even though miles spanned between us, I could hear the smile in his voice. Why did I break up with him again?
“Well, I’m in New York, but I don’t know about the ‘big shot’ part. What are you up to these days?” I spun my chair around, propping my feet on my windowsill.
“Oh, you know, living the dream. We’re about to record an album, and Steven said he’s got a guy who knows someone who might be interested in hearing us play.”
Oh, right. Couldn’t hold a steady paying job. That could be good news, though. No job, no commitments. He could easily take a week off.
“Listen, I know this is out of the blue, but what are you doing next week?”
“Nothing, besides work.”
“How would you feel about an all-expense paid trip to Hawaii?”
“Is this one of those scams? Is that what you’re doing in New York?”
“Not exactly. I need someone to go with me to Hawaii. I’ll pay.”
“I can’t get off work with this short of a notice, Soph.”
“You’re in
a band. Can’t you just skip a week?”
“I have an actual job. In an actual office. The band is a side gig now. No thanks, Soph.”
Dial tone.
“Damn it.”
“I’ll go.”
I swirled back around to see Grant standing in my open doorway.
“How much of that did you hear? And don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop? That was private.” At least I hadn’t asked Eric to pose as my boyfriend yet. God, I would never live that down. Trying for cool nonchalance, I opened another email from an aspiring author. At first it was difficult to dash their dreams, but I got used to it.
“If it had really been private, you would have gone out on the balcony. Like the time you had to call your gynecologist for a yeast infection.”
Blood rushed to my face and my ears flushed hot.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” My chair tipped over as I stood and made my way to him, pushing him out and slamming the door.
“But a lovable asshole,” he said through the closed door.
“No, just an asshole.” I righted my overturned chair and resumed scrolling through my prospects. Surely, I had dated one guy who would do me a favor. That favor may be pretending to be my boyfriend for a week in Hawaii, but surely there was someone.
“There’s always Kyle.” Our relationship was… complicated. More physical than anything else, and we’d never been on an official date.
As was our tradition, I sent a text.
Hey, stranger. How are you?
The Kyle from three years ago would still be sleeping off last night’s drinking.
Hey Sophie! Long time no see.
“Awake at 8am? That’s different.”
Call when you can.
My phone rang. Well, that was fast.
“Hey, Kyle. I didn’t expect to hear from you this quick.”
“I just want you to know that I have a good job now, and I accept all responsibility. You won’t have to worry about it anymore. I’m more than willing to step up. I won’t be a deadbeat dad. We can get married if you want. We always got along great, and statistics show that kids with two parents are more successful. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I’ll still be just as involved.”
Faking Paradise Page 2
