Billionaire Novelist 4 : Every Romance is a Revenge Fantasy(7)

"You told them?"

My mother looked guilty. "I didn't say who it was."

"Only because you didn't know."

She looked even more guilty, twisting her lips from side to side.

I thought about how fun it would be to see the looks on all their faces if I told them I'd been working in close contact with one of their favorite authors, the creator of the Detective Smith Dunham series.

Then I thought about the non-disclosure agreement I'd signed.

Then I thought about Smith Fucking Wittingham and all the twatty things he'd done, including tossing a lamp across the room like a spoiled brat and scaring the shit out of me.

One of the ladies complimented my mother on the "fancy" cheese she'd put out.

I took a seat at the table. "Who are we discussing?"

My mother pointed to her copy of the most recent Dunham novel, little tongues of Post-It Notes peeking out from the pages. "We tried to read Cutting for Stone, because Noreen thought it was 'luminous,' but I couldn't get past the first chapter about aromatic soil or whatever. Now we're talking about our favorite bad boy."

My mother's friend Noreen said to me, with hope in her eyes and voice, "Have you read Cutting for Stone?"

"No, but I did spend the last two weeks working for Smith Fu... Uh, Smith Wittingham. Did you know he has the entire book worked out in his head, and then he recites it to someone who does the typing?"

My mother narrowed her eyes. "Very funny, miss smartypants. Don't tease us. Do you want some wine?" She shook a white cardboard box with a spigot. "It's the good kind."

"Seriously. I was working for Smith Wittingham, at his writing cabin in Vermont." I grabbed the box of wine and filled a glass for myself. "This is all top-secret, though, so it can't leave this room. His publisher could sue me if I blab about the actual story, but …  I can tell you about Smith, if you want."

The ladies peppered me with questions:

"What does he smell like?"

"Did you get a crush on him? I'd be too embarrassed to even talk around him. My heart's all pitter-patter right now just thinking about being in the same room with him."

"Is Detective Dunham ever going to settle down with one woman?"

"Is Smith dating anyone? I mean the author, not the detective. He's single, isn't he?"

"I don't think he's married. Is he, Tori? He was married to some woman. She does all that charity work, where they rehabilitate people with horseback riding. What's her name? Brynn. Brynn Wittingham."

I raised my hand to get the seven of them to shush for a moment. "One question at a time, ladies. First of all, he smells like luxury, and he showers two or three times a day. Secondly, he does have a rather charismatic presence, and it's hard not to be put off-balance by him. His eyes are the color of sapphires, for real. The author photos are not retouched. As for the detective, he'll never settle down, because it would end the series, but mostly, I don't think Smith would like that idea. Finally, he's, um … " I glanced over at my mother. "He's currently single."




 

 

My mother's cheeks reddened, and her expression became a confusing mix of emotions.

The other ladies looked from her, to me, then back again.

My mother picked up the paperback and flipped to the back page, to the author photo of Smith Wittingham looking into the camera with his trademark sexy sneer.

"He didn't take advantage of me," I said.

My mother scowled. "The man is practically twice your age, and richer than God. He had no right. No right."

I gulped down the top half of my glass of wine. "I'm twenty-three and he's forty-one. That's only eighteen years." Even as I said it, I surprised myself. Now I was defending Smith?

My mother's best friend Roberta patted my mother's arm. "She is an adult. She has to make her own choices. I might remind you, my daughter's dating a drummer. A drummer! He has more tattoos than a junkyard dog has fleas." She moved in closer to my mother, putting her arm up around her shoulders. "Actually, I suspect the drummer has fleas as well. He's got such long hair, and talking to him makes me itchy."

My mother smiled at that. Roberta had a way with her, whereas I had more skill riling her up than calming her down. The other ladies laughed and started trying to one-up each other with stories about the awful people their kids were dating.

My mother took a closer look at the photo of Smith. "If he's so great, why's he not here with you?"

I sipped the wine. "I don't know if I ever want to see him again."

Now I had their full attention.

"Start from the beginning," my mother said.

"We're going to need a lot more wine."