by Jillian Dodd
I shake my head. “Oh crap. I forgot about it. I think Lois said the crew is coming over around ten, so I’d better hurry up, take a shower, and get ready.”
“You want me to come over and hang out while it’s happening? I don’t have anyplace else to be.”
“Honestly, I’d probably only be more nervous if you were there.”
“Got it.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. Just fine. Nervous.”
“Don’t be.” He comes to me and takes my face in his hands, and things feel okay again.
“You know how worried I am about the interview.”
He strokes my cheeks with his thumbs, leaning down until our noses nearly touch. “I know, but you’ll get through it, and you’ll completely kill it. And when it’s over, you’ll feel a hundred times better, knowing you were brave enough to do this.”
“Thank you for being here for me.” I cover his hands with mine, looking up into his eyes. “Always. You’ve always been here. Even when we were fighting or generally annoyed with each other, I could always count on you.”
“And you still can. Forever.” He wraps me in his arms and holds me close while Phoebe runs in circles around us.
I guess we don’t need to figure out everything all at once. We can take our time. Right now, this is enough.
CHAPTER NINE
“Now, all you have to do is look pretty and smile for the camera. You can do that, right?”
Lois hovers over me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, which the hairstylist only moves again. I’m surprised she doesn’t swat my agent’s hand away, but then Lois is an older lady. One doesn’t swat away an older lady even if that hand is threatening to undo a lot of very careful work.
“Something tells me I’ll be doing a little more than smiling.” I sit up as straight and tall as I can, hands folded in my lap. There’s a soft blue backdrop behind me and a ring light positioned in front of me, behind the camera, which will beam my face to however many thousands or even millions of people who will eventually watch this interview.
Good Lord. So many people. Watching me, listening to me.
There’s a reason writers sit behind computers and don’t have to watch people reading and reacting to their stories. There’s a reason we have the opportunity to polish our words, to write and rewrite them until they shine.
“She’s sweating again,” the makeup girl says.
Surely, I’m not her first nervous client.
“Sorry,” I whisper to her.
She applies more powder at my hairline before backing away.
Now, I wish I hadn’t told Matt I could handle this on my own.
“I could offer a little extra confidence,” he reminded me just before I left his apartment to get ready for the hair and makeup people.
I still turned him down though since it felt like this was something I should handle on my own.
I know it was the right decision. No matter how supportive he wants to be, it would only make me more nervous to have him here. I would rather get this over with in front of as few people I know personally as possible. Not even Hayley’s presence would calm my nerves.
“Kitty? Can you hear me?” The voice in my earpiece makes me jump, but I smile for the camera anyway.
That’s maybe the most unnerving part about all of this. I’ll be talking to a camera, not an actual person. I’ll only hear the voice of my interviewer, Hugh Pearson, through the earpiece. I could be anywhere in the entire world, but I have to pretend that I can see him. That I’m talking to him.
How do people do this all the time?
“I can hear you,” I assure him.
And now, I am kicking myself for not looking up a photo of him, so I could put a face to the voice and imagine that he was actually here.
And then I realize that’s exactly what I do when I’m writing. I imagine. And I have a good imagination. So, I look at the camera and pretend to see a face. The handsome face of an older man. A man like Peter. Yes, Peter is kind. He’s sweet. He makes me feel comfortable.
I can do this. I can.
“Okay, Kitty, we have thirty seconds. Just relax. Don’t overthink it.”
It’s like he’s reading my mind.
“Just pretend we’re two friends sitting in your living room, talking about your career.”
“If we were friends, wouldn’t you already know about my career?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Forget it.” Wow, I’m already off to a great start. Maybe it’s better for me to get all that awkward nonsense out of the way before the interview officially goes live.
“I don’t know that she’s meant for on-camera interviews,” Lois says.
Why she has to be here, I have no idea.
Hugh pipes up again, “Okay, Kitty, we’re going to lead in. Take a deep breath and relax, and it will all be over before you know it.”
Isn’t that the sort of thing doctors say to patients before they’re about to have a procedure done? I have to bite my tongue to stay quiet and press my folded hands between my thighs to keep them from shaking. Besides, I don’t know what to do with them. I tend to talk with my hands, and something tells me that won’t go over well during an interview where I’m supposed to be very sophisticated, worldly, and intelligent.
My readers have no idea what they’re in for.
“Bookworms, I’m Hugh Pearson, and I have a treat for you. I’m here with New York Times best-selling author Kitty Valentine.”
I smile big with my teeth clenched.
“Relax,” Lois whispers from somewhere behind the camera.
I can’t really see her with the ring light in my eyes, but I take her advice and loosen my jaw slightly. Now, I might actually be able to talk—with the added bonus of getting through this without cracking any teeth.
What I imagine is Hugh’s cheesy smile shines through in his voice.
No, picture Peter. Sweet Peter.
“Kitty, thank you for taking time out of your busy writing schedule to talk with us today.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.” That sounded almost normal, didn’t it? “Sometimes, it’s nice speaking to another person instead of making up conversations in my head.”
Note to self: quit while you’re ahead. It’s like I can’t make myself stop talking.
At least I don’t have to look at what I can only imagine is a blank expression from the man doing the interview.
He recovers quickly. “So, tell me a little bit about this unconventional arrangement that you and your publisher came up with.”
Yes, because I have to pretend it was all my publisher’s idea. At the end of the day, they have to be the big hero. “They wanted me to add more heat to my books, and it was suggested that I gain a little real-world experience by choosing the most popular tropes in romance and dating men who aligned with those tropes.”
“And can you explain that to me? The concept of a trope?”
We’ve been through the questions already, so I’m not speaking completely off the cuff now. Knowing at least most of what I’m going to say keeps my pulse from racing too far out of control and helps my voice stay even.
“If you take a look at my list of most recently published books, you’ll see what I mean. There are a number of popular characters in romance nowadays, the sort of characters readers expect to see. A firefighter, a doctor, an athlete. It’s the same with movies—the lonesome cowboy, the hard-working cub reporter, looking to make a name for himself. We went for the most popular, most in-demand types of characters, and I set out on finding real-life inspiration. For research purposes.”
“So, you have a few more notches in your headboard now, is that it?”
My smile slips. Actually, it drops off my face with a resounding thud. This was most definitely not on the list of questions, and I can feel my face starting to heat up. “Not necessarily,” I manage to say. “There’s something to be said for fiction and a writer’s imagination.�
��
“Come on. You mean to tell me that you didn’t take any of your book’s steamier scenes from real life? I have an excerpt from one of them here, if you don’t mind me reading it out loud.”
I can hear Lois muttering something behind the ring light. I don’t have to make out her exact words to know she’s not happy with the way this is going. They must’ve given her an earpiece too. But she’s not wearing a microphone the way I am, which is probably for the best. They would have to bleep out some—most all—of the words she’s saying.
A nervous, choked little laugh escapes me while I stare blankly into the camera and wish I could strangle the sneaky, awful man conducting the interview. “Honestly, I don’t know—”
Too late. “He lowered his head between her thighs and …”
He goes on, and I want to slide off my chair and keep going until I sink straight into the ground. I’m blushing—I know I am—and I can only imagine how it must look for the people watching. Like I’m so embarrassed by my own work that I can’t bear to hear it read out loud.
It’s easier just to sit here and let it happen without arguing. I manage to keep a smile on my face as the interviewer reads a few more lines. He has to stop eventually since things heat up substantially, because there’s got to be a limit to what he’s allowed to say.
He chuckles on finishing. “Whew! You mean to tell me that didn’t happen in real life? You had to make that all up in your head?”
“Writers have been making up situations like that and many others in their heads for a very long time,” I point out. “For as long as the romance genre has existed in fact. I doubt every single author draws their work from real life. Otherwise, how would they have any time to get work done?”
I can hear somebody snorting somewhere in the room. It gives me courage to keep going. “I hate to burst your bubble, Hugh, but the life of a romance author isn’t lived between the sheets. I spend most of my days in front of my laptop, trying to make sense of the words coming out of my head.”
“You mean to say you’ve never had any fun during any of your dates?”
“Oh, sure, there’s fun, but then there’s the sort of fun you were just talking about. I enjoyed dating every single one of the men who inspired my work. All of them brought something different to my life, and they inevitably taught me about myself. I feel like I’ve grown as a person and as a writer, thanks to them.”
“What do you think about the news that just broke regarding one of your past subjects?”
“I … don’t quite know what you’re talking about.”
“So, you aren’t aware of allegations by Dustin Grant, who claims you promised compensation for the use of his likeness in your book?”
That jerk. This is the first I’m hearing of it, but I believe it. It’s just the kind of thing he would do. “It’s news to me, I can honestly say.”
“Would you like to let your side of the story be heard here and now?”
There’s like, and then there’s like.
Yes, I would very much like to let my side of the story be heard here and now. I would very much like to tell the world about good old Dustin, who figured I would reinvigorate his career. He wanted to use me, nothing more than that. The loser.
Then again, something tells me neither Maggie nor her bosses would like it, no matter how much my interviewer would. Something tells me he would like it a whole lot. Because it would make for a juicy story—no pun intended.
I can see Lois waving her hands back and forth. She doesn’t want me to say a word. And I’m not about to.
“I don’t feel at liberty to speak on it right now, and I think it would be better for my publisher to do the talking.”
Is he going to argue with me? Will he press the subject?
Thankfully, no.
Or so I think.
“Maybe you have something to say to Dustin then. Dustin? Are you on with us?”
I don’t care that I’m live and everybody can see me. I look over the camera to where Lois is frantically punching numbers into her phone.
“Actually, no, Hugh, I have nothing to say to Dustin.”
“Kitty, let’s not be that way,” Dustin says. “We had a lot of fun when we were together. I only want my share of the book’s profits. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Oh, he makes my blood boil over, but I can’t look that way on camera.
“What do you think, Kitty?” Hugh says. “Does Dustin deserve a cut of your royalties since you took so much of the book based on your relationship from real life?”
I can’t sit here and not say anything, can I? Who would put up with this and not say a single word? My head’s spinning, thoughts colliding, and the tiny part of me that’s still operating from good sense is dwindling to the size of a pinprick in the face of cold, hard disgust.
In other words, I want to tear this jerk a new one.
Instead, I lift my chin and resolve to be as dignified as possible. I might not always say or do the right thing, but I can be dignified when I have to. Thank you, Grandmother.
“We discussed this at the time we parted—and I wouldn’t call what we had a relationship. We dated casually for a little while. I changed nearly all of the facts and circumstances for the sake of keeping it fictional. I don’t think anyone who read the book ever imagined I was writing about Dustin Grant. Because I wasn’t.”
“That’s what you think. I can’t tell you how many people pointed out the similarities between the main character and me,” Dustin argues.
I’m sure he can’t tell me because it never actually happened. Good Lord, how did I ever feel he was worth the time of day? What was I thinking?
Hugh is loving this. I don’t have to see him to know he is. “What do you say to that, Kitty?”
My mouth opens, but Lois makes a strangled noise before I can tell both men just exactly what I have to say to that. Good thing since what is on the tip of my tongue is most certainly not viewer friendly and might get me fired.
“I say, speak with my publisher, as I’m sure they’ll be better suited to have this conversation than me.”
I hear Dustin snort while Hugh sighs, but he accepts what I said. “Fair enough. One question: who are you dating this time? Who can we expect to see in your next book?”
God, this is so fake. I feel like the biggest phony in the entire world, like an idiot, even while my skin crawls and sweat runs down the back of my neck.
“You’ll just have to wait for the book to come out, same as everybody else.” Do I sound a little snippy? Probably, and I don’t care.
It’s such a relief when the interview ends, and I can’t wait to tear the earpiece out of my ear and the microphone from the collar of my shirt.
“What was that about?” I ask Lois, who’s already getting on her phone.
“I don’t know, doll, but I’m about to get to the bottom of it. Open a window, get some fresh air. You look like you could use some.”
I could use more than fresh air. I could use a drink, maybe two, and a certain has-been musician’s head on a stick.
CHAPTER TEN
“What a disaster,” I groan, dramatically tossing myself across Matt’s couch and telling him what just happened.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he says.
I raise my hand from across my eyes and shoot him a look. “Really? Because I heard he’s doing an interview for some online tabloid next.”
“Let him do all the interviews he wants. Something tells me he’s going to end up shooting himself in the foot.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“For one thing, you never used his name in the book.”
“That’s true.”
“So, right there, he’s going to make himself look like an idiot for jumping on your coattails and trying to steal a little of your fifteen minutes of fame.”
“You think it will only be fifteen minutes?”
He groans with a gentle snicker at the end. “That wou
ld be the part you latched on to, wouldn’t it?”
I nudge him with my foot, which happens to currently be in his lap. “Okay, so let’s say he comes out and complains more that I wrote about him. Or he says I made things up to make him look bad.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I can think of a couple of things that happened in the book that he could say I tore from real life to make him look bad. I wish I had never met him.” I cover my face with my hands again. “And to think, I was so excited about it at the time.”
“You were pretty excited, weren’t you?” His voice goes high-pitched. “Oh, I get to date my first big crush! I get to live out my childhood dreams! If only the mean girls I went to school with could see me now!”
“Please. And I’m sure you wouldn’t be thrilled to meet a girl you had a crush on when you were a kid.”
“I was more into worshipping my favorite athletes. Hockey players, football players, baseball players. Now, that would be cool to meet some of them.”
“What if they turned out to be jerks who would step on your neck if it meant getting themselves ahead?”
“I don’t think I’d be too surprised.”
“That’s because you’re such a cynic,” I say.
“Sometimes, that’s what happens to a person when they get kicked in the teeth one too many times.”
I nudge him again, but this time, it’s to make him look at me. “I’ll never kick you in the teeth.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“I mean, I’ve wanted to in the past,” I say, a smile crossing my face and making me feel better.
“That comes as no surprise.”
“Tell the truth. There were times when you wanted to get on my nerves.”
“Please, I lived to get on your nerves for a while there. I wanted to get your attention any way I could.”
“I thought so.”
“Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re pretty cute when you’re fired up.”
“I feel like that’s supposed to be a compliment, but I don’t feel super great about it.”
He laughs. “You should.”
