Page 10 of The Write Track
“Just because you like torturing the HOA ladies.” Brody shook his head. “It’s ridiculous. We need to be under one roof.”
“And I told you, just as soon as I figure out an action plan, we’ll do that.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s fine,” she assured me. “We’re working it out.”
“Of course.”
“It’s actually like theater,” Nathan whispered to me. “I find the whole thing hilarious. They don’t realize they’re going to move to Bree’s house yet. I can’t wait for the day they do.”
I matched my tone to his. “If Brody’s house is better, why would that happen?”
“Because Bree needs to win. Brody knows that. He just hasn’t come to terms with it yet. He will, though.”
“Huh.” I tried to wrap my head around that. “So you’re saying he’ll give up his house just to make her happy?”
He smirked. “Oh, most definitely. Don’t worry. She’ll give up stuff for him too. That’s how it works with them.”
Had Preston ever given up anything for me? I couldn’t think of a single thing.
Instantly, I wanted to smack myself for thinking of Preston. He was out of my life. I didn’t need to think about him. In fact?—
The sound of somebody—a man, for sure—clearing his throat from the other side of the table drew my attention. Expecting the server, I glanced at my menu. I needed to decide on a cocktail so I wouldn’t hold things up. It was rude to be the last one to order because you were lollygagging.
It wasn’t the server though. The man who had spouted that nonsense to me years before was standing at the edge of the table.
My mouth went dry. My heart sped up for reasons other than happy excitement. Just seeing him was too much.
“Preston.” His name eked out of my mouth.
Like a human cyborg, Rose snapped her eyes to where I was looking. “Preston,” she growled. She said his name like it was like profanity.
And just like that, my eight-month clock of freedom ticked back to zero.
3
THREE
She was pretty in a way I couldn’t put a name to. She wasn’t tall and willowy, which was my usual type, but petite and delicate. Her hair was auburn and hung well past her shoulders. Her nose was turned up in a charming little ski slope. It was her smile that continuously hit me in the sternum, though. She had the best smile.
Bella Oakley was adorable. But I didn’t go for adorable. It wasn’t my thing. I liked tall and slinky. Heck, I liked my women wearing skintight… well, it didn’t actually matter what was skintight. I liked it all.
Still, there had been something there for a moment, something I couldn’t describe with words despite being an author. It had been shut down into polite interest almost as quickly. That told me it had been a fluke. Maybe Hayley was right. I should start widening my dating pool. Not to Bella or anything, but to someone.
All of that reasonableness flew out the window when a man walked up to our table. Bella had looked over, as if expecting a server, then lost every ounce of color in her face. Somethingvery wrong was going on here. I couldn’t put my finger on what, though.
“Preston Martin Charles III,” Rose said, her voice full of ice.
She’d become my agent the year before, after I’d grown disillusioned with my previous one. He didn’t think horror writers not named Stephen King could break into the mainstream. Rose had nothing but faith in me.
In the time we’d spent together, I’d grown to appreciate her take-no-prisoners attitude. She was funny without being crass—although I was fine with crass—and she was a force to be reckoned with when it came to negotiating deals. She was fierce but friendly.
The look on her face now sent chills down my spine. She was the exact opposite of friendly.
“What—” That was all I got out before Rose took charge.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded.
The man—Preston Martin Charles III, and what a douchebag of a name that was—looked innocent. “You’re Rose McGovern, correct?” he asked. “You’re just the woman I was coming to see.”
Rose’s demeanor didn’t soften. “Oh, I just bet.”
