"No, Grady," I tell him coldly. "I'm the one that's sorry."
And then, the fateful words. "Consider this visit my termination visit for any arrangements with Bad Boy Publishing."
I turn around. Really, that's all I really need to do here. Very simple. Very civilized way of saying fuck off.
"Abby, you can't fucking leave," Grady says, his voice reaching ever higher octaves.
I turn around to look at him.
Don't get me mad, Grady. Please don't go there.
"We had a deal," he tells me. I look at him to see if he's really being serious.
He's not joking.
"You can't back out now," he says to me.
"Really? I can't back out of an arrangement that specifically says I can back out at any time?" I ask him, cocking my eyebrows.
"If you back out now, then it'll look very bad for my career, babe," he tells me, completely serious.
I swear to God, Grady has made thinking only about himself an art form.
I reach down and grab his pants and his boxers and bunch them up. I take Alyssa's short skirt. I bunch all of it together into a tight little ball.
"I can't leave?" I ask him, walking toward him.
"Not if you want to keep your end of the bargain," he says to me, sagely.
I smile and go toward his window that's cracked open slightly. The cold New York City air is coming in. Helps the building save on air conditioning.
Then without a second glance I stick my hand out the window.#p#分页标题#e#
Alyssa gasps because this is the hand that has her skirt, her thong, Grady's pants, and his boxers.
And I let them go.
They flutter in the wind, dropping down toward the ground.
"That's what I think of my fucking end of the bargain," I tell him. "And it looks like you have a bigger problem at work than worrying about losing me as a client."
And that's it.
My exit. I head to the door.
"You're going to regret this, Abby," Grady says to me.
"Fuck off and die, asshole," I say without turning back. "You're the one that'll regret it if you come after me."
Don't look at me like that babe.
I may be an angel most days.
But fuck with me, and I'll go from sweet and cute into the Angel of Death.
3
Aidan
"Un-fucking-believable," I say, releasing my grip from the pull-up bar.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and I wipe it off. "Did you call the right people?" I ask.
My PA, CJ, looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
"What kind of a question is that? Of course I did, and I'm not going to lie," CJ replies. "The situation is bad. I made over a hundred calls yesterday. That's a hundred and counting Aidan! Do you know how long that takes? And not a single person wanted to work with you. The numbers aren't good. I'm beginning to get worried."
"What about the author I modeled for last week?" I ask. None of this makes sense. Not after the fucking applause I received at the RAGA conference. Say what you will, but the audience fucking loved me.
"That author's moved on, mumbled something about wanting to take her book covers in another direction," CJ replies.
"That's a fucking joke."
"Joke or not, we need to figure something out, and quick. Your reputation in the Romance book industry isn't good."
I jump back up on the pull-up bar and proceed through another 10 reps. So what? I may have fucked more women than I can count, and sure, I may have burned a few bridges, but those fucking flames are just lighting the way for others. People should be thankful, really.
"Can you just stop for a second? This is important," CJ says, her hands on her hips. The look on her face is all business, and the way the sun hits her auburn-red hair makes her look fiery. She's always been blunt with me; that's what I fucking love about her and why I fucking pay her the big bucks to be my PA. She's kind of like an over-protective older sister. But if she thinks I'm going to stop, she's wrong. Time is money, and because I get paid to make girls' panties wet, I can't afford to skip a few crunches.
"I'm listening," I say through exhales.
"The only gigs you're getting paid for now are erotica covers."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Was that your plan all along? Erotica is limited; if we're gonna get you more gigs, we need to expand," CJ says matter-of-fact. "We really need to stay in the Romance market. That's where your real money will be, and always has always been."
"How hard can that be? I mean, look at me," I say, flexing and planting a kiss on my right bicep, and then my left. I watch as CJ rolls her eyes.
"It's hard, Mr. Muscles, if no one wants to work with you. The shenanigans you pulled at the RAGA didn't help."