Billionaire Novelist 4 : Every Romance is a Revenge Fantasy(9)

I didn't know what to think now, about what Smith had told me. Had he really been as awful as he'd imagined, or had the grief colored everything? And if he'd been broke, like Roberta and her husband had been seventeen years ago, before Dale started his contracting company, would that have kept Smith and his wife together through the rough patch? Being wealthy would certainly make your life different. Did having wealth make it harder to have a relationship, because it was easier to walk away?

I had his ex-wife's name in my mouth, bitter on my tongue. "Brynn," I said to myself in the empty kitchen. I'd known some Briannas and a Brie, but never a Brynn. The name sounded rich and stuck-up, and really blond-like, platinum blond. She probably grew orchids for fun, or had her staff do it.

The ladies in the dining room had cheered up, and the sound of laughter trickled into the kitchen.

Noreen called for me, telling me to get my "derriere" out there.

I came out with a glass of water in hand and joined them at the table. "I'm sorry I kept you all up so late."

Noreen uncrossed her arms. "Tori, do you want to be with Mr. Smith Wittingham?"

"I don't want to be without him," I said, surprising myself at how sure I sounded, considering I'd just taken a very expensive flight to get away from him earlier that same day.

"Men make mistakes," Noreen said. "We all do, but mostly the men make the big mistakes, lummoxes that they are. Age difference or not, if your man is not on drugs, or an alcoholic, he's a better choice than most of the men I've chosen."

"Amen," said two of the other women, in unison.

One of them picked up the paperback and peered at the author photograph. "Not too shabby," she said, which made us all smile.

I picked up my purse, which felt so heavy now from the weight of the gift. Batting my eyelashes, I said, "Mommy, would you prefer to drive me home, or have me overnight as your guest?"

My mother rolled her eyes. To her friends, she said, "She claims to be an adult, but this adulthood thing is selective. Just watch, she probably has a suitcase full of laundry for me to wash."

I gasped in pretend shock. "How did you know?"

She nodded toward the stairs. "Go ahead. The guest room's all made up."

I went up to the room, took off about half of my clothes, and collapsed on the bed, face-down. My mother and her friends were still talking and laughing downstairs, showing no signs of stopping the party. I was glad to be around people who made me remember who I was. 

The idea of phoning Smith came to mind, but it was easy to flick away, since I didn't even have his number. I had no simple way of contacting him, and maybe that was for the best.

Part 4: Future Bestseller

Smith Wittingham

Though he had Brynn's phone number, Smith Wittingham (as per his first typist Lexie's suggestion, he'd happily dropped the "David" from his name) didn't call her until he'd finished the first draft of his novel. He'd put in a call to a very exclusive employment agency, and they'd sent a pleasant woman with a buzz cut and a dozen earrings to be his typist.

"Future bestseller," she'd said when they reached the end.

Smith tried to be modest, but he could feel himself puffing up and floating away on shameful pride. The man stood to inherit over a billion dollars, and he'd played no small role in the family business to build it up, yet this was the first thing he'd ever done completely on his own. Well, on his own with the help of the typist, whom he gave a generous cash bonus to before they hugged chastely goodbye and she went on her way.

He still had work to do, revising some scenes and getting the wording just right, but he had it written, and all the anxiety he'd felt about the things that were unwritten simply evaporated.

Yes, it would be a future bestseller. How big would his name appear on the cover? Very big.

He went online and started looking at photos of famous actresses, wondering who might play Detective Dunham's love interest in the movie version.

Renee Zellweger was cute, but too adorable and chirpy to play the kind of emotionally damaged young women the detective liked. Cate Blanchett was scary, but in a way that aroused him. He nearly lost his boner when he saw a photo of Charlize Theron as her Monster character, but then he found some photos of Naomi Watts that made him happy. Scarlett Johansson also made him happy, as did a dozen others.

He unbuckled his trousers and clicked through some more photographs of the current hot blondes and brunettes, gripping himself as he imagined a young, talented actress calling him aside to ask about motivation in a particular scene.

"Oh, Smith," she'd say breathlessly. "Your story moved me so deeply. I would have done this project for no money at all. I know people think genre films are no good, just popcorn fare, but your skill as an author, your sensitivity as a person, elevates everything you touch."