Page 55 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“It’s all right, Jenny, you don’t have to lie to me. I know the boy is in hiding. He wants nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not entirely true. He’s out of town right now. But I think he planned on calling you when he got back.”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and looked back at my computer. I opened up Greg’s email and smiled to myself when a picture of him and his dog popped up. Greg had blond hair and brown eyes; he almost had a Bradley Cooper type feel to him. He was quite attractive and his dog looked like an Australian Shepherd.
“I can see you’re busy, but I wanted to make sure you were okay after what happened Friday night.”
“Thanks, Jenny. I’m okay. I have a date tonight that I’m looking forward to, so it makes up for my ramped-up feet.”
“Are you done with that article?” Gladys croaked from the hallway as she walked by with her limp and strangely grey hair.
“Almost,” I called back.
“Good, have it on my desk no later than six.”
With a cough that almost sounded like the clearing of a hairball, she thumped back to her office while holding at cat to her side, Mr. Wigglebottom.
“These are terrible working conditions,” Jenny whispered before leaving, making me laugh.
It was true. There were too many cats, and Gladys was a loose cannon, carrying cats around the office by their scruff. And then there was the bullying—we were all tortured and abused by Sir Licks-a-Lot and his posse. The urge to write my book became more prevalent with each passing day. I felt comfortable with my plot. It was a going to be a New Adult story about two college friends who fall in love with each other after they graduate: kind of an ode to my relationship with Henry, minus the falling in love part.
Before I went to finish my article, I took a quick look at Greg’s message and then Alejandro’s.
Hey Rosie,
Here is Bear and me at the beach in Delaware. It’s gorgeous there. Bear loves running up and down the beach with his favorite Frisbee in his mouth. It’s not often he gets to have free range since we live in the city, but when we have the space, I let him run free. He’s always good about coming back so no need to worry.
I see that you work at a cat magazine. Does that mean you’re a cat person? I really hope not. I don’t hate cats but come on, how could you not love a dog better? They’d do anything for you.
I know it’s kind of early, but I would love to meet you in person. Are you free Friday night? If I’m too abrupt, just let me know. We can talk more about the small things until you’re comfortable.
Hope you’re having a great day, Rosie.
Greg
God, he was so cute. I wrote him a quick note back, letting him know I was free Friday. Might as well tack on one more date since Atticus was out of the picture. I hadn’t heard from Lance, which to be honest, disappointed me. He’d said he’d been really keen to ask me out, and that kiss . . . Well, yeah. But was I interested if playing it cool meant that a simple text was too much?
After quickly sending the message to Greg, I clicked over to Alejandro’s message where he gave me the directions of where to meet. We had a date for six and if I was going to make it, I had to bust ass and get this article done. Thankfully, I brought a change of clothes in case I didn’t have time to make it back to my apartment, which seemed likely.
I spent the next hour and a half writing and rewriting the last five secrets a cat keeps from you. The whole time I refrained from swearing and talking to my walls about what a stupid article it was. I powered through, printed a copy, and put it on Gladys’s desk, who was passed out at the current moment with a cat sleeping on her rather ample bosoms.
I tiptoed out of her office, and went back to mine where I grabbed my bag of clothes to change into in the bathroom down the hall from my office.
Delaney helped picked out an outfit for me. She said Alejandro would probably want to see me in something sexy and red, so we went with a pair of tight black skinny jeans, black heels, and a red tank cut low on my chest.
Changing in record time, I checked myself out in the mirror. My hair was already curled, so I added a black headband and touched up my makeup. I also added a pop of red lipstick to go with my shirt. The overall look was perfect, and I felt confident Alejandro would be impressed. Now I just had to get out of the office without getting cat hair all over my pants.
I gathered my items and opened the bathroom door to leave but stopped in my tracks when I spotted Sir Licks-a-Lot and his pussycat posse sitting behind him—staring at me.
Instantly, I was transported to West Side Story, where the Jets walked the streets and snapped their fingers as they scared people away.
I swear I saw Sir Licks-a-Lot lift his paw and start snapping as he stared me down, eying the black of my pants.
“Don’t you even think about it,” I warned. “I have a date, and I can’t have cat hair all over my pants. I didn’t bring a lint roller.”
Sir Licks-a-Lot lifted his paw at me while letting out a hideous meow. Pretty sure he just flipped me off just before he started walking toward me with his posse following closely behind.
“Don’t.” I grew panicky as the walls of the hallway started to close in. Was I really this terrified of a cat?
