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She stares at me for a long minute without speaking, though the look on her face is not one of a woman who is cheery.
“No, it didn’t work. I’m not a charity case, Bryan. And how does this help me? It doesn’t get me my job back. I don’t plan to post any more Byron videos, so what does it even matter? All it does is get free publicity… for you.”
“I don’t need free publicity. For one thing, they’re my followers. And I’m not even selling the Byron model. I’m focusing on a new bot that’s supposed to revolutionize?—”
“I don’t care about your bots,” Jane shouts. “What did you think? That coat-tailing on your fame would somehow fix my life? That a few likes and comments would make everything okay?”
I don’t know what to say to that, and Jane doesn’t give me time to worry about being speechless.
“I’m not a damsel in distress. Well, technically, maybe I am, but that doesn’t mean I want some guy I just met to send me his pity followers, thinking that will somehow save me. I don’t want to be famous, Bryan. I want to be a librarian.”
“But—”
“Bryan.” Jane takes a deep, calming breath. “I’m sure your heart was in the right place. But if you think this”—she points at her phone—“helps me, no amount of sharing a love of books or amazing orgasms will make us a good team.”
Jane gets to her feet, and the thought of losing her sends panic coursing through me.
I try to stay calm as I push my chair back. “Just tell me what I can do. Tell me how I can help. Help me understand. Please.”
Don’t go, I silently add. Please, don’t go.
Jane sucks in her lower lip and shakes her head.
“Come back to my place so we can talk. Help me understand.”
“Bryan, you’re a good guy. I know you didn’t intend for your robot to replace me, and I had a nice time tonight. But you and me, as a thing, won’t work. Not now. Not when I’m about to be unemployed and my life is literally upside down. I don’t think you understand… but I don’t want you to try to fix my life. Or buy me my job back. Or make me famous on QuickStar. I need to figure this out on my own.”
She swallows hard, wipes a tear from her cheek, and runs from the restaurant. And I watch her go, completely at a loss for the first time in a very long time. I have no idea how to make this right—and Jane doesn’t want me to.
JANE
It’s been three months since my last official day at the Maple Valley Library, but I’m still here every day, at least for a few minutes. At first it was painful to come in as a patron, but I’ve gotten used to it.
After I got my last paycheck, Amelia volunteered to take over Book Talk with Byron. She lasted three episodes. She hated every moment, and the followers rebelled big time. Amelia begged me to come back as a volunteer. I couldn’t think of any good reason not to, since I missed making episodes and I had nowhere else to go. And within a few weeks, to my utter shock, I was offered my first sponsorship. It was enough money to pay my mortgage for a month. Then another sponsorship came in and another. Now, Book Talk with Byron is paying so much that, for the first time in my life, I have money in my savings account—and a plan for how to use it.
I wander over to the librarian’s desk where Tabitha is labeling new titles and drop my elbows down, chin in hands. I should be excited about my success, but I’m not.
“You smell nice,” she says.
“Thanks. It makes no sense. Why pay me five grand to wear book-scented perfume in a video? No one can even smell it!”
“I can,” Tabitha grins. “I ordered a bottle. Amelia did too.”
“You did not.”
“I definitely did.” Tabitha inhales deeply. “It smells just like walking into the stacks.”
“So you basically want to smell like work… at home?”
“Can’t help loving what you love.”
“No truer words have ever been spoken.” My shoulders droop.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never felt so miserable reading a book before.”
“What’s the problem? Slow plot? Bad editing?” Tabitha puts the label maker down. “Tell me what kind of book you’re in the mood for, and I’ll recommend something you’ll like. Or you could try Abigail Cameron’s latest?—”
