Page 19 of The Perfect Rom-Com

And there it is again. That little spark that lights in Jack’s green eyes as I butt up against him, surprising him with a challenge. “I can give you fifty thousand on the advance and 15 percent royalties, but that’s the highest they’ll go—”

The numbers quake in my ears. If I were completely honest with myself, I would’ve taken a five-hundred-dollar offer for my manuscript, and Gloria would’ve thrown me a party like I belonged right up there with Stephen King. But this isn’t my manuscript, is it?

This isn’t even about my book.

“Allow me to be clear.”

My chest is banging so hard, my white T-shirt is making little hiccups. Painfully obvious hiccups. To the point his eyes flicker down.

“I don’t want your money.”

He raises his eyes back to mine, a dubious expression etched on his face. “Is that so?”

“I’ll take no royalties. And I will write this one book for Amelia, and one book only, while you take the time to find a proper replacement moving forward. One you apparently don’t want to date. Maybe just play it safe and find a man. But what you will give me in exchange for my work is representation. You will take me on as your client, and you will represent me and my manuscript until Water Under the Bridge finds a good publishing home. That’s my deal.”

Jack purses his lips.

His hands steeple together again and he leans back, surveying me for so long I see the sign for the airport out the window.

It’s terrifying, actually.

He’s not breaking eye contact.

And now he’s gone quite immovable. Even at a turn that swings us hard left enough that I grab for the handle, he sits unmoved.

A sense of dread comes over me.

I’ve gone in too strong. In this game of poker I’ve played too hard and said the wrong thing and bargained too high, and now I’m going to lose it all.

My thoughts are reeling as I think through all the should-haves and could-haves.

Then he throws his head back and laughs. “You know what? I’ll take you and your little book on, Bryony Page, but you’re getting your fifty thousand and your 15 percent. Actually, what the heck. Just for this book let’s make it twenty.”

“What about fifteen being the highest you could go?”

And then he pats me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Bryony Page. You are now in the inner world of publishing. Don’t trust anybody or anything they say. I have a feeling we’re going to have a great time.”

Chapter 4

Two years later

“Oh, the inspiration for The Seven-Year Holiday was a fun one. Every winter my family has this sweet little tradition of heading to a tiny town in the mountains of Vermont, also called Stowe—”

“It’s Woodstock, Maine,” I murmur under my breath.

“And”—Amelia throws out a hand—“of course you know where this is going.” She has a lilt in her voice, as though she’s sharing a cute little secret with the crowd. “There’s the most charming little café in this community—”

“It’s a bookshop,” I growl-whisper.

“Where everyone gathers around, just like every day after a long day of skiing, and it’s surrounded by these people who become like family after so many years of wintering together. The Barnhartts. The fabulous Donohues. And . . . and everybody else. That’s when you realize what it’s all about. That this—” Amelia’s shiny blonde hair and shiny blue eyes and shiny white teeth practically shimmer as she draws herself up even farther off her chair and gives a commanding pause. Those in the room collectively hold their breath.

Eighty people in the eighty folding chairs of the crammed bookstore grip The Seven-Year Holiday hardback in their hands as they lean forward, waiting for her never-before-heard wisdom and never-before-heard words.

I clench my teeth from my perch in the back.

I also clench my book. Clenching so tightly that the shiny, slippery cover is tugging off and crumpling in my hands.

She lets the silence sit for an eternity. Like she’s waiting until she actually can, in fact, hear a pin drop. Her eyes peer through the bookstore windows behind us, as if she is actually expecting every taxi in New York to come screeching to a halt so we can all hear her very important point.