Page 6 of A Father's Bliss

He nods slowly, untwining his fingers and allowing his thumb to trace along his bottom lip. Though the action in itself ishot, he swallows and something about the thick bob of his throat throws me whole into the flames.

“Very good question. I’ll have to give you a list of things so you’re aware, but I mostly represent thrillers and mysteries, though I do dabble in a few others.”

“Any fantasy?”

“Occasionally.”

“Romance?”

His eyes flicker and that damn smirk appears. “As a subplot.”

“I see. Okay.”

Marcus’s head tilts the slightest, his curious face insanely hot. “I take it you’re a romance reader.”

I huff out a small laugh. “Considering I spend the bulk of my time finding up and coming indie authors, the majority are primarily romance. Do you have something against the genre?”

Internally, I brace myself to hear the first negative thing ever from his ridiculously nice lips. His son was low key misogynistic, so I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if he got it from Daddy Debois, but I’ll still be disappointed to hear it.

“Not at all. It’s much different than it was fifteen years ago.”

“Consider my interest peaked.” I shift in the chair, finding myself leaning closer.

His lips drawn down in the corner. “The open door, on page sexual scenes have gotten better. More imaginative. More…realistic.”

My mouth clamps shut. There was a million different things he could have said, things I assumed he was going to say, but that was most certainly not fucking one of them.

Marcus goes on. “The inclusivity is beautiful as well. Ten years ago, I feel as though I could have taken any carbon copy Abercrombie and Fitch models and put them on a cover and it would have represented couples in nearly every book. Now, that’s not the case.”

Against my will, my eyes drift over his large frame before I decide he’s more of a Calvin Kline type model. He’s broad and solid, likely not having abs stacked on top of each other, but strong nonetheless. In fact, for some fantastical reason, I have a deep, gut feeling he could throw a bag of concrete over his shoulders without breaking a sweat.

I could be that bag of concrete….

“Is there anything that makes you weary about accepting the position?”

The question catches me off guard, likely because I keep getting distracted, but luckily, I already have the answer. It’s one I’ve asked my old man about plenty of times when I learned the details of his job. “Not being able to finish a manuscript. Not knowing the ending.”

I’ve been told that after we read the first chapter we should request the next five, ten, and then its entirety. Because first chapters have usually been picked through and edited to oblivion, it’s sometimes hard to tell if the rest of the story will continue to hold the same quality. Keep the same appeal. Usually by chapter ten, we know, and for me, even if the story isn’t for us, I’ll still want to finish it.

Unfortunately, this job doesn’t allow enough time to read every single script we get, and thousands of stories pass through, unfinished.

It feels like such a disservice to both myself and the author, and it freaking plagues me with not reading the ending. Guess that’s just another reason I love my position so much. Instead of reading them, I look for potential and pass the stories on.

“I can most certainly understand that, especially with the mysteries and thrillers. With time, you’ll get used to it, and hopefully one day, we see it on shelves and can read it at our leisure. As pleasure.”

I swallow when the word pleasure rolls off his tongue. It sounds obnoxiously good. “True.”

He rocks back in his chair.“Other than that?”

“Nope. Sounds great.” Shaking my head, I stand and hold out my right hand. “I’m really excited for the opportunity, and I appreciate you giving it to me.”

He accepts my hand in his and shakes. It’s firm but friendly, and I’d be lying if I said a gaggle of goosebump didn’t lift my skin.

When he releases me, I turn to walk toward the door, internally proud I made it through this meeting without making a fool of myself, but his next words stop me.

“Do you have plans this evening?” His voice is so damn smooth and husky.

“No, but I’m sure you do.”

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