Billionaire Novelist 2 : Spanking the Billionaire Novelist(7)

Cassie looked thoughtful. "A lesbian love story? I'd like to write one about young lovers, only I'll switch it up and let both of them live."

They both laughed.

"I don't get it," I said.

"It's a trope," Smith explained. "One of the lesbians has to die, tragically. I wonder if it's because it's the only ending a male author can stomach."

"Let's not be sexist," Cassie said. "Plenty of dramatic dyke deaths are penned by women."

"Hmm," he said, and they both stared thoughtfully at each other.

Again, my feelings of jealousy raged within, like a tornado in a ketchup bottle. I liked Cassie, but why did she have to be there all day? And did he actually like her that much, or was he trying to annoy me?

As we were clearing up the lunch dishes, I said to Cassie, "Would you tell your handsome brother I said hello?"

Smith winced as he heard this, but didn't comment.

"He's so cute," I continued. "Does he have a girlfriend? He's probably way out of my league, but  …  put in a good word for me."

She gave me a twisted grin, glanced over at Smith, and said, "Sure will. Hey, you should come into town tonight. The Chamber of Commerce is putting on our annual all-night Picnic in the Park." She turned back to me, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. "Tori, it's so much fun. We have movies projected onto a big screen, and there are fireworks."

"Fireworks?" I looked over at Smith. "Sounds like fun."

"We'll be there," Smith said to Cassie. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

We worked for a few more hours on the novel, about average productivity, then had dinner. Smith fired up the outdoor grill and baked a foil-wrapped piece of salmon that Cassie had brought over. I complimented his cooking, not that he'd done much beyond adding the sauce that was provided.

I took a second helping, saying, "I don't usually like fish."

"This is real fish, Tori. Not those frozen deep-fried fish sticks your mother made you as a kid."

"You couldn't be more wrong," I said. "I grew up on chicken strips, not fish sticks."

"Noted," he said with a smug grin.

The only other thing we talked about for the next twenty minutes was the novel, and by talked about, I mean Smith rambled on about possible twists and future events that made no sense to me, since I hadn't gotten there.




 

 

I pushed away the plate of crumbs from the slice of cheesecake I'd had for dessert and said, "I don't get it. Are you wanting feedback from me, or are you just thinking out loud?"

He blinked at me, as though he'd just realized another person was in the cabin with him. Cassie had left about an hour earlier, and it was just the two of us, though I was starting to realize that Smith's imagination was like a parallel universe for him.

"Relax and eat your cheesecake," I said. "Mine will have zero calories if you eat the same size slice."

He grunted and kept staring through me, blinking, his gold-brown eyes unfocused.

I snapped my fingers. "Stop thinking."

He said, "What am I thinking about now?"

I stared into his warm eyes. "You're thinking about what amazing young writer Cassie is, and how she has such a great spark. Not to mention those legs that go on for miles."

"You, my dear Tori, could not be more wrong."

I grabbed my salad plate to distract me from the other slices of cheesecake that were calling me from the fridge. I picked up the fork and stabbed at the spiny lettuce I usually left behind, then stuffed it in my mouth. Why did they put that stuff in mixed greens, anyway? Was it to make the other lettuce more delicious in contrast to its bitter awfulness?

Smith said, "I was thinking about root beer floats. Still am, actually. We should share one tonight, in town."

"I'm not going."

He seemed surprised by this. I was too, since I'd been planning to go, but it did please me to tell him no, to disrupt his plans.

"I know you want to go," he said. "You've been in a mood all day, and you're being argumentative. You're such an only child. I should have hired someone who was raised with older siblings. They're much more malleable."

"How do you know I'm an only child? You don't know anything about me."

"I know plenty. I know you never wear your hair short."

I crossed my arms and waited for him to explain, but he didn't. He just smiled.

He was right; I'd never had my hair short, but it was such an odd thing for him to say. Of course I wanted to know why he'd said it, but he wanted me to ask, so I was not going to bite. Try again, Smith.

"You can stay behind and keep an eye on the cabin," he said. "I may spend the night in town, and I'd feel better knowing someone was here, in case something happens."