Page 50 of Saving Ian Pope

Keys scraped in the lock, and Chloe blew into the house like a Santa Ana wind, hot and fierce. “I cannot believe this client. He didn’t like any of my proposals. I wish I could cancel our contract. I’m sick of wasting my time.”

Chloe ended her tirade in the middle of the living room, and shoved her sunglasses into her sleek, black hair. She seemed to notice me for the first time. “What are you doing?”

“Writing and eating some ice cream.” I waved my spoon in the air.

“That’s not justsomeice cream—that’s a pint.”

I looked at the carton in my hand, studying the nutrition information printed on the side. “Ooh, that’s a lot of fat and calories.”

“Exactly.” Chloe wedged a hand on her hip.

“Eh, it’s Friday night. I deserve it after working so hard all week.” I dipped my spoon into the creamy goodness, aiming for a couple of pralines this time.

“You call what you’re doing working hard? I read it. It’s crap, Ivy. You’re writing crap.” Chloe leveled a finger at me. “You need to get your head out of your ass.”

“It’s a work in progress.” I side-eyed the ridiculous words on the screen, and my stomach churned. I put down the ice cream.

“You’re really staying in again tonight? I’d drag you out myself, except I have a date.”

“Another date?” Chloe had been going hard after she’d decided, once again, that she and Trent had hit a wall. “Hinge?”

“That’s right, baby. It’s wall-to-wall dicks over there, and I mean that in a good way. You should take a look. Although...” She kicked off her heels “...there’s another dating app I’m going to try. More exclusive.”

“An exclusive dating app?” I sucked some caramel off the end of my finger. “For real?”

“It’s called Bluefin. You have to be approved. I think they check your bank statement or something.”

“Yours should pass.” Chloe excelled at what she did, and she had a solid reputation. The money had started rolling in for her last year.

“It should, right? I heard Austin Butler’s on that app.”

I said, “Oh, well, then. You’d better get right on that.”

“In the meantime, I have a date tonight with Ryan. He’s a cryptobro, but in a good way.” She picked up her shoes from the floor and hooked the straps around her finger.

“You mean, he actually makes money buying and selling crypto instead of just talking about it?”

“Sounds like it.” She dangled her shoes in the air. “I have a favor to ask. Can I borrow those strappy gold sandals of yours? The ones with the three-inch heels, not the flats.”

I chewed my bottom lip, sweet with traces of praline. The sandals I’d worn the night of the concert when the paparazzi had surprised us—or at least had surprised me.

“I’ll take good care of them. Please.” Chloe held her hands together in prayer.

“Yeah, of course. They won’t be too small? Aren’t you a size eight?”

“They’re sandals. I’ll make it work.”

Shooing her with my hands, I said, “Go ahead. They’re in my closet.”

When Chloe traipsed into the back, I said goodbye to the awful words and deleted them. I’d never had such debilitating writer’s block. The suspense part of the book didn’t pose a problem. The romance part had proved to be the sticking point. How could I make my characters happy in love when I couldn’t manage it for myself?

“What the hell is this?” Chloe had stormed back into the living room, pinching Ian’s face and shaking it in the air.

“It’s an Ian Pope pillow.”

“What are you doing with a pillow sporting Ian Pope’s face? Where did you get this thing?”

I defended my pillow. “It’s cute, and I got it on eBay. Quite popular, too. Fourteen sold in the week before I bought mine.”

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