Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
I really hated the fact that it was affecting me this much. I’d always had a little bit of disdain for people who wanted to be on television. When Holli would go stand outside the Today Show windows, trying to get “discovered” when we were in college, I would roll my eyes and silently congratulate myself on how above it all I was. If I saw a movie being filmed on the street, I didn’t go out of my way to try and insinuate myself into the background, the way some people—mostly tourists—did. I was happy being mostly anonymous.
But all of that would change soon. People were going to read my book. They were going to know things about me. I’d been all right with that for a while. As it got closer to becoming a reality, though…
“Are you all right?” India looked alarmed. “You’re absolutely colorless.”
“I’m sorry, I just had a thought about what’s going to happen when I marry Neil. That’s going to be kind of public news, isn’t it?”
“It will run in all of the social columns, yes.” Her forehead creased. “Sophie, you didn’t think of this at all?”
“No… Where I come from, when you get married, you put an announcement in the local paper. Maybe get a ‘congratulations, Sophie and Neil’ billboard put up, if you’ve got money and want to show off. Maybe he goes out with his friends and spray paints your name on a rock by the highway.” I thought I might hyperventilate. “Seriously, people are going to care?”
A smile tugged at the corner of India’s mouth. “There are a lot of very wealthy women in New York who are going to be fuming mad over your engagement. Prepare to be hated.”
“He hasn’t told his ex-girlfriend yet. I think she’ll be the lead pitch fork holder.” I groaned and slumped down a little in my chair. “Do you really think I’m going to be enemy number one?”
“No, honey. Far from number one. But you just wrote a book about the well-known and influential bachelor you landed. You already put yourself out there.”
“I would have much rather put myself out there as a four times a year beauty segment host on a morning show.”
“Well, it fell through. Be disappointed about it. Drink and cry and listen to sad music and pretend no one understands you. But in the morning, get your ass out of bed and start coming up with an idea for a follow up book. People are going to ask about that when you do press.” India’s practical response was strangely soothing. She gestured to the waiter and said, “Look, I think we’re going to need some drinks here. Scotch. Doubles, neat.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
India gave me a look that would have stopped a charging elephant. She leaned forward and fixed me with a hawkish gaze. “We’re going to start brainstorming. Right now.”
And I was way too frightened to say no.
* * * *
India’s method of making me feel better by steering me toward the future was well-meaning, but ultimately I left our lunch feeling worse than I had over the rejection. I was beginning to feel like it was a mistake, leading off with the cancer in my very first book. It was difficult to top.
Was every job I had going to be a one-hit wonder? Would I just flit from industry to industry until I was completely unemployable?
My pity party continued on the cab ride home. To add insult to injury, when I arrived at the apartment, Emma’s mother, Valerie, was there.
Over the past year, Valerie and I’d had our rocky moments. She believed I’d tried to sabotage Porteras, and I believed she was trying to sabotage my relationship with Neil. After I had put my foot down about the strangely close relationship she’d still had with Neil, we were on more even footing.
Still, we didn’t like each other, and I wasn’t thrilled that I was coming home from bad news to have to put my nice face on.
Neil, Valerie, and Emma were in the dining room, the massive, fourteen-person table covered with more paperwork than it takes to buy a damned house.
“What’s all this?” I asked with a forced smile to announce my presence.
Neil looked up from the glossy pamphlet he’d been frowning at. He wore the thick-rimmed reading glasses that looked so impossibly good on him, and the sleeves of his gray button down were rolled back to his elbows. He smiled, looking utterly relieved to have an excuse for escape. “How did it go? Did she hear anything about the audition?”
I didn’t want to discuss it there, in front of Valerie. And not in front of Emma. She was trying to plan her wedding, not hear all of my problems.
Luckily, she jumped in and rescued me with a perfect mocking imitation of her father. “Darling, glad you’re home. In answer to the question I so rudely ignored, we’re having a small crisis with the menu. And I’ve invited my intelligent and beautiful daughter Emma and her mother Valerie to stay for dinner.”