“Because I wanted to hear it from you. How you’re feeling about it. Literary stripping—it has a nice ring to it.”
“Are you ladies talking about stripping?” A sexy waiter sidles up beside Hayley, and she giggles at his flirtation. “You two need anything besides a pole?”
I have no choice but to lay my head on the table in despair. I don’t even have an appetite anymore.
Though Hayley doesn’t know this. “We’ll start with the spinach-artichoke dip,” she announces. “Then, two burgers cooked medium. One with no bun, one with no onions. Fries. And another round of drinks.”
I manage to lift my head off the table just enough to observe, “You ordered for me.”
“Like I don’t know exactly what you’d order by now.” She smirks. “But you’re in way too dramatic a mood to think clearly. It’s not like you, Kitty. I know you love writing sugary-sweet romances, but this might be what you need to take your career to the next level. You could go from movies of the week to red carpets and box-office movie deals. You’re a good writer. You have a fantastic imagination. But I have to agree with one thing your publisher says.”
“What’s that?” I ask with a sinking heart. Isn’t it always easier to ignore compliments and focus on the negative?
“You need inspiration.” She pushes the prize wheel closer to me. “Which is where this gadget comes in. We’re calling this dating roulette. After talking to Maggie, I did a little research and looked up who’s hot right now. Each one of the types of men women want to read about is represented here. You spin the wheel, and the ever-wise wheel will tell you which type of man you’re going to date and write about.” She pats herself on the back. “Good job, Hayley. You’re the best, Hayley.”
She’s adorable, and I love her, but I’m not quite at that point yet.
“I’ve been thinking about that, and it won’t work. Readers expect happy endings in romance books. Even the super-sexy books. I’m not going to have a happy ending with all these guys.”
I’m surprised her eyes don’t fall out of her head as she rolls them so hard.
“Kitty! It’s not supposed to be autobiographical. These men are inspiration. They’re research. You’ll write a happy ending for the characters in your book, based off you and the lucky fella you choose.”
There’s not a chance she’ll ever lose a case. Not once she flashes that smile of hers, which she’s turning on me right now. Full force. The girl could sell water to the ocean.
“Take a drink and then spin the wheel.”
I would, but our appetizer arrives. Just when I thought I had no appetite left, the sight of so much creamy, cheesy goodness went and barged into my life. The server doesn’t even have the plate set on the table yet before I’m grabbing for a warm tortilla chip and scooping an obscene amount. “I’m starved.”
“Try to leave the bowl behind at least.” Hayley smirks. “Come on. You’re not leaving until you spin. Get to it.”
And I will. First, I need another chip. I haven’t eaten since … before the meeting with Maggie and Lois. No wonder I could eat even the less savory parts of a cow right now. I hope Hayley isn’t committed to eating a majority of her fries when they get here.
“I’m not easy to be friends with, am I?” I can’t help but ask, looking across the table at my best friend.
She’s wearing a slight smile, like she’s just on the right side of amused but on her way to genuine irritation at the way I’m stalling. “What makes you ask that?”
“I don’t leave my apartment for days on end. I get so wrapped up in my work that I forget where I left my phone half the time. But you never give me grief for it.”
“Maybe because I’m just as hard of a worker as you are,” she suggests with a soft laugh. “I can relate.”
She does work really long hours. The fact that she managed to find time to sit in a restaurant with me is a small miracle.
“Thank you for taking the time to do this for me.” I smile. Here I am, complaining and stalling, when she was kind enough to call Maggie and go to all this trouble. “I appreciate it so much.”
Another winning smile. “Okay, I’ll fess up. I had one of the assistants make it up for me. What can I say?” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I’m good at delegating. Though I did go through and remove anything I knew you would’ve turned down flat.”
“Like what?” I have to ask since I’m turning the wheel and watching as one trope after another goes past. There are so many! How could she have removed any?
“Being a breeder, for one.” She snickers with a wrinkled nose. “No need to bring a baby into all this. No married men.”
“Huh. It’s funny that you actually found married men as a trope since romance is generally a no-cheating zone.”
“Well, I took it out anyway.” She shrugs. “Oh, and I figured a shifter or vampire might be tough to find, even in Manhattan.”
I can’t help but laugh along with her. Maybe this won’t be such a big deal after all. I can do this. Right? What’s the worst that could happen? I might even have a little fun.
“Here goes nothing,” I whisper, closing my eyes and flicking the spinner.
“Ooh! You got Boss.” She claps. “You get to date your boss! How exciting will that be?”
“Hang on. Wait up.” I laugh, waving my hands around. “I can’t date my boss—or rather, Maggie’s boss, which I guess means my boss. He’s married with three kids, and he has a belly and only half a head of hair. I just can’t—”
“No, I’m talking the big boss.” She holds up her phone, where she was typing something in while I whined. “Blake Marlin, CEO and billionaire. Your publisher is only a portion of his media conglomerate.”
Blake Marlin. Sure, I’ve heard the name. Who hasn’t? At the tender age of thirty-two, he’s managed to amass a stunning empire. Magazines, blogs, newspapers, radio and TV stations. Hayley’s right; book publishing is only one small part of the larger whole.
He’s also handsome as anything. Big, soulful brown eyes. A killer smile. His sandy-blond hair is tousled in the picture she’s pulled up, like he just ran his hand through it. He’s an avid sportsman, and his fit body and tan skin reflect this.
“He’s a little too hot for me.” I shrug. “And fabulously wealthy. Why would he want to go out with me in the first place? Besides,” I add when it looks like she’s about to slap me silly, “that’s two tropes in one book. Boss and billionaire. They should be separate. Right?”
“I don’t know. What’s your imagination tell you, Kitty?”
“That I need to spin again. Can’t I start small the first time?” I ask, hands clasped in prayer. “Maybe just this one time, I can choose my trope rather than spinning for it. Let’s see … there’s bad boy, best friend’s brother …” I shoot her a sly grin.
“You know as well as I do, that would never work,” she warns. “He’s too deep in his frat-boy days right now. You’d practically be robbing the cradle.”