Page 134 of Story of My Life
“I refuse to say it out loud. Paragraph four.”
“Whitehead doesn’t represent clients who write romance. According to him there’s no long-term gain to be had in what he calls the ‘churn and burn’ genre. Instead, he guides clientsthrough the more subtle complexities of literary fiction. ‘They’re writing the gritty, worthwhile stories. It’s not all happily ever afters and sex. They’re telling the important, legitimate stories. These are the kinds of books the world needs, ones that dive deep into the human condition.’”
It was douchey and out of touch, but pretty on-brand for Jim. Nothing worthy of homicide. My eyes skimmed lower and snagged on my name. I tensed.
“Just look at my ex-wife, Hazel Hart. She put herself in a position where, in order to succeed, she had to pander to a base demographic with an insatiable need for content. She couldn’t keep up with that need, and now she’s been dropped by her representation and her publisher is making similar noises. I tried to guide her toward a genre with more serious, dedicated readers, but this is what happens when you don’t take publishing seriously. You get chewed up and spit out.”
“That son of a bitch,” I announced.
“Who’s the son of a bitch?” Gage asked. “Who are we murdering?”
Levi poked his head into the room. “Someone saymurder?”
“You know what? Death is too good for him. Torture is the better option. I’ll start by pulling out his toenails, and then I’ll attach jumper cables to his nipples.” Zoey plotted as she paced.
“‘I’m not saying she’s a has-been exactly. I’m just saying she could have benefited significantly from my experience,’” I read out loud. I got out of my chair and joined Zoey in frantic pacing. “Shit.”
“We’re lucky it’s some snooty-ass journal only snooty assholes subscribe to, but I’ve already gotten two calls and a half dozen emails from other publications sniffing around for a battle-of-the-exes story,” she said.
“I’m not battling it out with him,” I said grimly. I didn’t know how to battle it out, as evidenced by the divorce settlement.
“The fuck is going on?” Cam demanded from the doorway.
“We’re murdering someone,” Gage said.
“I would give anything to wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face,” Zoey said. She stopped and grabbed me by the shoulders. “This book has to be a mega bestseller. It has to be the kind of book that camps out on the bestseller charts for so long people get sick of seeing the cover. I want Jim to feel physically nauseated every time he attends an industry function because everyone will be talking about how successful you are without him.”
“I need to start shopping for my revenge dress when I hit theNew York Timeslist,” I joked.
“Who the fuck is Jim?” Levi asked.
“The ex-husband,” Cam filled in.
All eyes slid to him.
He shrugged. “What? It was in her bio on the back of the book I borrowed from Laura.”
“You couldn’t afford to buy a copy?” Zoey complained.
I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “Focus, Zoey. What do we do about this?”
“Why are we murdering ex-husband Jim?” Gage asked.
She handed him her phone. “Paragraph?—”
“Four. Yeah. I heard,” he said. His brothers peered over Gage’s shoulders as he scrolled.
“I personally want to burn his world down,” Zoey told me.
“Mm-hmm, because that always works out well.” If I was occasionally impulsive, Zoey was a hothead. My gut instincts were usually pretty decent. Zoey’s were terrible.
“I don’t want to take the high road,” she enunciated.
“Where does this fucking fuck live?” Cam demanded.
“I mean, say you do write the best book of your career. Even if they rush it with a short print run, we’re going to have to wait like a year before we make him eat his words,” Zoey complained.
“It’s the price we pay for being mature adults,” I reminded her.
