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)
“Okay. Please, do tell.” I set the tea on the coaster and fired up my computer. I’d put off everything possible during the divorce, which meant I had six months of estate work for Gran to dig out of, but I was almost through it.
“So there they are on a passenger ship halfway across the Atlantic, thinking they’ve made it out, and bam! A U-boat sinks them.”
My mouth dropped open. “Well, that’s…dark.” But at least he was giving my stance some real thought, right?
“Just wait. So as the ship goes down, he gets them to a lifeboat, but there’s just not enough room, and Scarlett is torn between taking that remaining seat for William’s safety and fighting the panicked crowd for another boat.”
My brow furrowed. Wait a second.
“Throw in some action to keep the reader on the edge of their seat, but in the end, it’s just them in the water, Jameson pushing Scarlett up onto what’s left of the wreckage—”
“Oh my God, I know you are not giving me the ending to Titanic!” My voice pitched high enough that I winced.
“Hey, you wanted sad.”
“Unbelievable. Are you always this hard to work with?”
“I wouldn’t know, because I don’t work with anyone but Adam, who can’t even start editing this novel until I get it done.” His tone sharpened. “So are you ready to discuss actual options here?”
“Like what? He flies in and lands on the street in front of their house? Or wait, I know, he chases her through the port in a mad dash to catch her before she boards a boat in a reimagined rom-com from hell scene with a forties twist?” I hammered the keys of my laptop with my password. “None of that is happening.”
“I was actually thinking more of a puppy with a little key on its collar—” He’d slipped into sarcasm.
“Ugh!” I hung up.
Mom popped through the door with a smile. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just dealing with—” My phone rang again. “Noah,” I said in sheer exasperation as his name appeared on my screen. “What?” I snapped into the phone.
“Do you have any idea how childish it is to keep hanging up on someone you agreed to partner with?” he asked with a voice so smooth and unbothered, it only irked me more.
“The satisfaction it brings me is more than worth what could be seen as a lack of maturity.” Or maybe I was simply reveling in the fact that I could hang up. That I wasn’t at anyone’s beck and call for the first time in six years.
“On that note, how about we end in a beautiful orchard, where they’re picnicking—”
“Noah,” I warned.
“Only to have Jameson stung by a bee—no, dozens of bees, and he’s allergic—”
“It isn’t My Girl!”
Mom’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.
“You’re right, so let’s talk about how to really give them a happy ending readers can root for.”
“Goodbye, Noah.” I hung up.
“Georgia!” Mom gasped.
“What?” I shrugged. “I said goodbye. Don’t worry. He’ll call back tomorrow, and we’ll start all over again.” We’d been going round and round for weeks now.
“Is everything okay with the book?” Mom asked, sitting in the same chair Noah had. Things between us were still awkward—but I figured they always would be, and I had to admit, it was more than nice having her here. Knowing she planned to stay through Christmas had eased the tension and even given me a little hope that we might find some real footing. After all, we only really had each other now that Gran was gone.
I rubbed the skin between my eyes. “He’s still fighting me on the ending.”
“Is that what’s holding everything up?”
Opening my eyes, I found her staring at a framed picture of Gran and Grandpa William when he was in his twenties. I’d never known him—he’d died when Mom was sixteen.
I’d been born less than a year later.
“Well, it’s certainly holding him up, since he refuses to actually start it until we agree what should happen in the end.” I’d never been so grateful for a contract clause in my life. “If he had his way, it would be all hearts and rainbows.”
Mom’s forehead puckered as she looked back to me. “Like the rest of her books.”
“Pretty much.” A quick glance at my watch told me I had twenty minutes before my scheduled call with the lawyers.
“And you think that’s a bad thing?”
I swiveled in the wheeled armchair and grabbed the two-inch-thick binder my legal team had overnighted last week. “I think it’s wrong for this story.”
“But isn’t he…” Mom pressed her lips in a tight line.
“Say it.” I flipped the binder open.
“Well, he’s the expert, Gigi. You’re…not.”
I paused mid-page-flip at the use of that name. “He very well might be the expert at crafting his own story, but if it’s between Noah Harrison and myself, when it comes to Gran, then I’d say I’m the expert.” Page flipped.