Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“What I’m saying is that I hated your plots, not your writ—” Adrienne paused. “Wait, did you say Georgia Stanton?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit,” she muttered.
“I’m probably down to thirty seconds over here.” I felt every heartbeat like it was a countdown. How had this gone so wrong so quickly?
“What the hell are you doing with Scarlett Stanton’s great-granddaughter?”
“Remember the whole complicated part of this conversation? And how do you know who Georgia Stanton is?”
“How do you not know?”
Ava waltzed through the entry, carrying a small tray with what looked to be glasses of lemonade on it. She shot me a smile, then slipped through the slightly open doors.
Time was running out. “Look. Scarlett Stanton left an unfinished manuscript, and Georgia—who hates my books—is the one to decide if I get to finish it.”
My sister gasped.
“Say something.”
“Okay, okay.” She went quiet, and I could almost see the gears turning in her quick mind. “You tell Georgia that under no circumstances will Damian Ellsworth be allowed to direct, produce, or sniff around the story.”
My brow furrowed. “This has nothing to do with movie rights.” The guy was a shitty director anyway. I’d already shot him down on more than one of my options.
“Oh, come on, if this is a Scarlett Stanton finished by you, it’s going to be huge.”
I didn’t argue with that. Scarlett hadn’t missed hitting the New York Times with a release in forty years. “What does Damian Ellsworth have to do with the Stantons?”
“Huh. I really do know something you don’t. How odd…” she mused.
“Adrienne,” I growled.
“Let me savor it for just a moment,” she sang.
“I’m going to lose this contract.”
“When you put it that way.” I envisioned her rolling her eyes. “Ellsworth is—as of this week—Georgia’s ex-husband. He was directing The Winter Bride—”
“The Stanton book? The one about the guy trapped in the loveless marriage?”
“That’s the one. Anyway, he got caught having an affair with Paige Parker—ironic, right? The proof is due any day now. Don’t you ever shop at a grocery store? Georgia’s been on the front page of every tabloid for the last six months. They call her the Ice Queen because she didn’t show a lot of emotion, and, you know, the movie.”
“Are you serious?” It was a clever but cruel play on the haughty first wife in that book, who, if I remembered correctly, died before the hero and heroine found their happy ending. Talk about life imitating art.
“It’s sad, really.” Her voice drifted. “She usually avoided the media to begin with, but now…well, it’s everywhere.”
“Ah, shit.” I gritted my teeth. No woman deserved that. My father taught me a man was only as good as his word, and that’s what vows were, the ultimate word. There was a reason I’d never married. I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep, and I’d never been with a woman I was ready to forsake all others for. “Okay. Thanks, Adrienne.” I crossed to the drawing room doors.
“Good luck. Wait—Noah?”
“Yeah?” I paused with my fingers on the brass handle.
“Agree with her.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This isn’t about you; it’s about her great-grandmother. Check your massive ego at the door.”
“I don’t have a—”
“Yeah, you do.”
I scoffed. There was no shame in knowing you were the best at what you did, but romance wasn’t what I usually wrote. “Anything else?” I asked sarcastically. Leave it to my sister to shine a light on every flaw.
“Hmmm. You should tell her about Mom.”
“No.” That wasn’t happening.
“Noah, I’m telling you, girls are a sucker for a guy who loves his mom enough to read to her. It will win her over. Trust me, but don’t try to flirt your way through, either.”
“I’m not flirting—”
She laughed. “I know you way too well, and I love you, but I’ve seen pictures of Georgia Stanton, and she is way out of your league.”
I couldn’t disagree with her there. “Nice. Thanks, and I love you, too. See you next weekend.”
“Nothing extravagant!”
“What I buy my niece for her birthday is between her and me. See you then.” I hung up with my sister and walked into the living room. Every face but Georgia’s swung my way, each of them more hopeful than the last.
I took my time as I made my way back to my seat, pausing to examine the photograph that had captured Georgia’s attention.
It was Scarlett Stanton, sitting at a massive desk, her glasses perched on her nose as she typed on the same old-school typewriter she’d written all of her books on, and sitting with her back against the side of the desk, reading on the floor, was Georgia. She looked to be about ten.
She had the rights to her great-grandmother’s book…not her mother, who was Scarlett’s granddaughter, which meant there were family dynamics here far beyond my understanding.
Instead of sitting, I stood behind my assigned chair, gripping the sides lightly with my back to the fireplace as I studied Georgia like I would a cliff I was determined to climb, searching for the right route, the best path. “Here’s the thing,” I said directly to Georgia, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You don’t like my books.”