Page 86 of Kill Your Darlings

“Well,” Adrien said briskly, “What it means is W&W’s catalog has become formulaic, prioritizing safe, brandable, mass-market crime fiction over interesting or risky voices.Their books are all spine.No heart.”

I nearly choked on my tortilla chip.

“You asked,” he said.

“I did.Don’t hold back.”

The truth was, as a successful bookseller, Adrien had a perspective unlike any other author on my list.I was interested in what he had to say, particularly since he’d already articulated one of my greatest fears.

“They treat indie bookstores like a necessary evil.Their reps don’t visit, their discount terms are insulting, and they never return emails unless you’ve sold a thousand copies of their latest airplane novel.”

I swallowed.Reached for my margarita.

“They’re allergic to queer protagonists unless they’re dead, closeted, or were clearly only created for diversity points.And if they do publish something queer, it gets quietly buried under a cover that looks like a parking ticket.”

“I won’t argue that.But I think that’s an arena in which I can have influence.”

“Maybe.I have no doubt you’ll do your best.Honestly, though, I can’t imagine you being happy in that corporate environment.You love books too much.You love writing too much.”He said almost sympathetically, “You love your authors too much.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Adrien said, “I think W&W will either burn you out or you’ll quit.Maybe both.”His expression was apologetic.“I’m not in the same position as a lot of your writers.I don’t have to earn a living writing.I write because I love it.But if I never publish again, I’ll be fine with that.I can still write for my own enjoyment.”He shrugged.

I absorbed it, nodded.“Okay.I appreciate the honesty.Have you thought about where you’ll take the next Leland book?”

“I meant what I said.I’m waiting to see where the chips fall.I don’t think you’ll stay at W&W.I could be wrong.A year from now, Rachel may be pitchingSerpent’s Toothto you again.”

It wasn’t easy to hear, but I’d meant what I said.I did appreciate the honesty.

It struck me that four of my favorite authors were technically between contracts.Vaughn and Lila weren’t going to lose any sleep over Grace Hollister and Adrien English.But Kyle had just won the Edgar and his book sales were trending up.And Finn… Was Finn Scott.

Finally, Christopher Holmes, also back to winning awards and trending up—though not technically between contracts—was strongly signaling he would not be producing if he could not get his editor of choice.

All of which, theoretically, improved my leverage.

Not that I shouldneedto improve my leverage.My track record should have spoken for itself.But somehow, every time I spoke to Lila, I got the feeling she was recalculating my value-added cost.

Anyway, from there, the conversation moved into more pleasant channels.Adrien chatted about the bookstore, his dog, his cat, and the challenges of being married to a P.I.(he made it all sound a bit like a musical comedy).It was nice seeing him looking so healthy and sounding so happy.He had to be in his late thirties by now, but he still looked years younger and ridiculously handsome.Silky black hair, eyes the same color as my Siamese cats’, that perfect bone structure—and a smile you felt in the center of your chest.His were the kind of looks that only improved with age.

And the best part was, he seemed utterly unaware of it.He was naturally funny, engagingly self-deprecating, and a genuinely good listener.

“No more amateur sleuthing?”I inquired after we’d ordered chocolate tamales and Mexican coffee for dessert.

“That’s a funny thing,” he remarked.“There was a time I couldn’t stop falling over bodies.”His smile was rueful.

“Well, you never know,” I said.“One of your suburban neighbors could be up to no good right this minute.”

“Oh, I think I know,” he replied.“But I keep an open mind.”

It wasn’t until we were walking back to the hotel, that he said suddenly, “Keiran, you know the blond tattooed guy who asked all those rambling questions during the Backstory Q&A today?”

“Yes?”I hoped I didn’t sound as wary as I felt, but there was something in Adrien’s tone.

“He’s sort of attached himself to our group the last couple of days.He seemed a little odd, but okay.Mostly quiet.But this afternoon, after the Q&A, he started asking questions about you.”

I said without any inflection, “What kind of questions?”

“General stuff at first.How long each of us had worked with you.What you were like as an editor.But then he started getting more specific: Did you live alone?Do you have a partner?Where in Manhattan do you live; did anyone have your personal email or personal phone number.Did anyone know your room number?Your floor number.Were you staying on your own or did you have a roommate?The kind of thing that set off alarm bells for everyone at the table.”

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