Page 9 of The Perfect Rom-Com

All of these little facts lead to the glaring, waving red flag that is Jack Sterling. And all of this is what I want to cry out to the people eyeing me and say, “I was number seventeen! He really was the only one left!”

The doors give a painfully loud creak and every face in the world seems to turn, looking for the person who is actually leaving—what time is it now? I cast my eyes to the clock above the door and feel a thud—with nine minutes and five seconds left.

Unbelievable. Someone has jumped up to ask conference staff if she can take my spot in the remaining minutes.

The conference vultures really need their own reality TV show.

The staff member gives an exasperated sigh, as though tired of dealing with a bunch of lunatics, which is entirely what this place makes you become. “No. That’s her time. If she wants to leave during it, that’s her decision.”

I nibble on the bottom of my lip.

A thought bubble forms.

It is, though. Isn’t it?

It’s my decision to leave.

Agent Sterling didn’t officially throw me out. He didn’t say, “Nice to meet you, now leave.” In fact . . . My wheels are turning, my breath coming more quickly as I begin to pump myself up. There is a real chance that the pitch regulations require that agents and editors allow the full fifteen minutes. Maybe he isn’t allowed to force me out. I’ve paid all this money. Maybe he has to let me give my full pitch.

My insides are gnawing at me.

It’s a painful, hopeful plan I’m drawing up.

Putting my foot down isn’t my strong point.

Being an inconvenience to someone, or even thinking about the possibility of being an inconvenience to someone, is right up there with dropping into a tank of jellyfish. Unacceptable.

Standing here even considering being a five-minute inconvenience to Jack Sterling is enough to make me queasy.

I feel a buzz in my dress pocket and pull out my phone.

Gloria’s text comes in. GO BRYONY. THIS IS IT! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gloria tends to demonstrate how much energy she is giving toward something in the number of exclamation points. It’s actually a bit of a problem in her line of work. The lawyers don’t exactly love it in their transcripts.

But sure enough, her text is just enough of a kick to get me to put my hand on the door handle. And once that is done, enough people’s eyes are on me that I feel myself propelled to open the door.

Step through.

Force my shoulders back a little more.

And march straight back to Jack Sterling’s table, steadily ignoring everyone’s gaze along the way.

I may not like him.

I may not actually want to work with him.

But with dozens of auto-response rejections in my inbox, three agent rejections down, and a thick manuscript I’ve spent years writing in the dead of night on my desk, Jack Sterling is quite literally my last shot for getting my little (fine, massive) book out in the world.

So, Jack Sterling, move over. Because here I (politely) come.

Chapter 2

“So you were saying?”

I’ve decided the least explosive way to restart this conversation is by pretending the break in between never happened.

Oh, ha-ha. No, silly. I never left. That was just a little bubble in your imagination. You were daydreaming. I’ve been here this whole time. In fact, you were saying very nice and encouraging things to me before you daydreamed off. And the casual smile on my face, as if we are having the most mutually lovely conversation of all time, is proof of it.