Page 38 of Elevator Pitch

“You don’t like to talk about it?” Ross questions, his tone almost hurt. Like he really wants to know more, but he’ll respect if I don’t share.

“I’m just not used to discussing it.”

Staring at me like he’s trying to read me, I don’t give him any hints to better understand me. I don’t want to discuss Cameron right now. That isn’t who Ross and I are, and in order to protect my heart, we probably shouldn’t discuss the difficult stuff.

Like old loves, big hurts, and larger disappointments.

“How did the woman who wanted to be shared by two men turn out?”

My laughter is more of a choking sound. “You remember that?” I still can’t believe I told him the plot I was considering.

“I told you I remember everything. And why do you think I was looking for your book in a bookstore?” He smiles. “I was riveted and invested in knowing how things worked out for her.”

His confession only makes me laugh harder.

“But seriously, why didn’t I find Verona Huxley in a bookstore?”

The question sobers me up a bit. “It’s complicated, but I’m independently published, which means I’m the CEO of my own publishing company and the author. Kind of like the publishing house, production team, marketing department, and the creative.” I pause, wondering if I’d already lost him, searching for signs of glazed-over eyes, a look Cameron would get whenever I spoke to him about the process and procedure of self-publishing.

Finding no visual evidence that Ross has checked out on the conversation, I continue. “So, not all my books are on the shelf, as the industry calls it. Your typical large scale, or even small business bookshop, isn’t going to carry my work.”

“Why the fuck not?” His sharp intonation along with the hint of outrage warms my heart.

“It’s just how it works, I guess. Plus, even though romance is eighty-something percent of the fiction market, it takes up only a few shelves in most bookstores.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know.” My own voice rises with indignation. “But the truth is, there just isn’t space for everyone. So, I live off digital copies, audiobooks, and paperback sales directly from my website.”

“You have a website?” His surprise isn’t condescending. He’s impressed I have my own space on the internet in my name.

“Yep.” Pride fills my voice as he moves from stroking one hand to the other. I use my now relaxed hand to lift my wineglass. Cheers to me for working hard. Sometimes it’s exhausting, though, being a lone ship in a sea of successful storytellers.

“So, if I looked up Verona Huxley, I’d find you on the internet.”

“Actually, I write under V. C. Hux.”

“Ah, a pseudonym. Very clever, and mysterious.” He shifts his voice to sound both impressed again while a bit deceived, almost scandalized. When he wiggles his brows, I’m not certain I’ve ever seen him so relaxed or playful.

“And she’s who will tell me what happened with the woman who wanted two men at once?”

I snort, covering my nose with my hand.

“A snortle. The story must be a good one.” Ross winks, and I might melt into a puddle right here on the tile floor.

“Just tell me what happens. Does she choose one of them over the other?”

I shake my head, zipping my lips, like they are a vault, before teasing him. “You’ll just have to read the book.” Although I didn’t write that story, and I know he won’t read a book of mine anyway.

“Okay, Coach. I’m assuming you’re here for a second night’s sleep beside me.”

Ross lowers his eyes sheepishly, glancing at his near empty wine glass. “Well, if there’s space . . .”

“Says the man who hogged my side of the bed last night,” I tease.

“I’ll try harder to not cross the line tonight.” He turns his hand sideways and draws an imaginary line on the counter.

I shrug. “You’re fine.”