Page 52 of Quake
“The Fighter?” I asked, my mouth dropping open. If only I’d taken more notice. “Seriously? But it was in the slush pile!”
“It was a book Alexis Storm submitted to us under a pseudonym, the cheeky minx,” she declared. “Wanted to see if she could make it as a nobody. Luckily, her agent convinced her to come clean. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have a new title from her for another twelve months!” Jade slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe we rejected her!”
I studied the cover, my gaze raking over the headless, naked, torso of an extremely well-built man. His fists were clad in a pair of boxing gloves and held up in a fighting stance. I smiled, wondering if Caleb would agree to pose for an Alexis Storm cover. He certainly had the goods.
“Lesson one in marketing,” Jade declared. “What you want is not necessarily what the reading public wants…and a name is everything.”
A name was everything. I frowned, studying each cover as Jade placed them on the waiting easels.
“We work hard to build a reputation on an author brand, and I guarantee, most of our sales will come from that alone,” she went on, continuing her lesson. “There are plenty of people who know they’re in for a good time if this book came from Alexis. A perfect example is J.K. Rowling and her mysteries. No one wanted to know Robert what’s-his-name.” She flung her arms into the air. “See?”
“Then how do you know an author is going to become like Alexis?” I asked. “Is a name really so important?”
“One, we do what we can by studying what people want. There’s always an element of risk with a new book, no getting around it.” She ticked off her answers on her fingers as she went. “And two, a name is everything, Jules. A name tells the world who you are. You can’t fake genuine identity. The cream always rises…and we’re looking for the cream.” Turning to the four different cover choices that now lined one end of the conference room, she went on, “The editors find the goods. Then there’s you and me. We’re here to package the creamy goodness in chiseled abs.”
I turned back to the covers, studying the various poses and color combinations. The cream always rises…or in my case curdled when it finally got up there.
It was a pretty accurate metaphor. My life seemed full of them lately, and I wondered if I really did believe in omens, crazy prophecies, and all that mystical guidance stuff. If I stopped and listened, maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. Really, I reckoned it was practically screaming into my face, but I was too stupid to realize.
I had to confide in Caleb. I had to lay it all out before I fell any deeper. If he learned the truth and wanted to end things, then it would hurt less than if he found out from someone else. I had to face my past once and for all and tell him. Maybe then I’d be able to find some semblance of closure.
“Now,” Jade said, pulling me back to the present. “Which cover do you like? I think the focus group is going to pick number three. Nice lighting on the abs, they really pop, and the title sits over him at just the right angle. See there? There’s a great cock bulge right in the middle of the lettero.” She slapped her hand over it and smiled wickedly. “Nice, huh?”
20
Caleb
All I could think about wasJuliette.
I was beginning to understand all those idiots who always fobbed off their mates to spend time with their girlfriends. I felt like calling in a sick day and busting her out of work. Our weekend together had been really great, and I hadn’t been ready to let her go home last night.
This was how it was supposed to feel, right? When you found the one?
Monday morning? at Beat wasn’t anything special. It was the same routine day in, day out, and that was what I liked about it. Order, control, structured training toward a very specific goal. There was only one moment I could recall that had thrown a spanner in the works, and its name was Tommy. Thankfully, he hadn’t caused any trouble after I sacked him, leaving me free to enjoy my time with Juliette. ????
For once, life was good just the way it was. That was until my phone rang.
The boys and I were in the weight room, going through our daily reps, and when I saw the caller ID, I could’ve hurled my dumbbell right through the window. Dad had chosen the most opportune moment once again. His bullshit radar was calibrated, that was for sure.
Sighing, I set down the weight and rose to my feet, answering the call as I pushed out into the studio.
“Dad,” I said, my voice clipped. Seeing the cardio room was empty, I closed myself inside.
“When were you going to mention to me that you are seeing someone?”
Immediately, I pinched the bridge of my nose, a raging headache threatening to overwhelm me.
“Hopefully, never,” I retorted.
“First, you take a position at that pathetic excuse for a gym, and now you’re committing yourself to a woman. What’s happened to you, Caleb? You were always so focused.”
“Unlike you,” I shot back, my hackles rising. “Are you sure you don’t need to get your brain scanned?”
“I want to meet this woman,” he said, ignoring me. “I’ve had your mother organize dinner on Saturday night?.” ????
“How do you even know I’m seeing someone?” I demanded.
“I have my ways.” By that, he meant he’d had someone follow me. It sounded like something out of a spy movie, but unfortunately, that was how Vincent Carmichael dealt with the problem that was his wayward son. With as much tact as a limp dick with a wad of cash.
