Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Later, I’m out on the porch, two sips into a glass of Prosecco when I hear the soft creak of the porch step behind me. I don’t have to turn to know who it is: the jittery energy, the way the footsteps hesitate at the threshold. Only one person in the world can radiate both self-importance and deep, squirming guilt like this.
“Hey, Kat,” Jonah Everett says, hovering a full arm’s length behind me. Talon’s agent is a small, balding man, wearing city sneakers and an expensive windbreaker.
I keep my eyes on the trees, watching the ghost of my breath in the cold. “Jonah. Nice of you to make the trip.”
He sidles up, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, body hunched as if he expects the porch rail to collapse under his sins. “I know I’m not your favorite person, Kat,” he starts, and I have to snort.
“That’s not how I’d put it,” I say, voice flat. “You’re not even in my top ten least favorite people. But keep going.”
The agent lets out a tense, brittle laugh, glancing away, then down at his shoes. “You want the world’s shortest apology?” he says.
I shrug, arms folding over my chest. “If you’ve got it.”
He nods, licks his lips, fidgets with a button on his sleeve. “I’m sorry. For everything. For the setup, the Sweet Lies thing, for not warning you what you were walking into. I was… well, I was being a literary agent, which is basically being a glorified butler. I’m used to doing whatever it takes to get my authors into a groove, but maybe I went too far this time.”
He rubs his palms together, like he’s trying to kindle fire from shame. “I really didn’t think anyone would get hurt. It’s all transactional in my world. I thought Talon was just being Talon, and you have to realize we’ve used Sweet Lies a million times before. Well maybe not a million—” He cuts off, shakes his head.
“Yeah, but we’re all real people,” I say, not even hiding the edge. “Every single girl who came up here.”
At least Jonah has the grace to look ashamed.
“I know what you’re saying,” he says. “But the other girls didn’t seem to care. They were happy with their fat paychecks, and some are still working for Sweet Lies. What I didn’t expect was that Talon would fall in love. Or that you would. I didn’t know people actually did that anymore.”
I let the silence stretch. My head’s a mess of contradictory feelings: I want to forgive him, to punch him, to roll my eyes and move on. Instead I just stand there, watching the frost gather on the porch rail, arms hugged tight over my chest.
“Thank you for your apology,” I say at last.
Jonah looks up, surprised. “You’re not going to curse me out?”
I shrug. “No. I’ve had a year to curse you in my head. I’m over it.”
He breathes out, relieved but not sure if he should smile. “You’re a bigger person than I am, Kat. Seriously.”
I shake my head. “I’m just tired. I want to start the next part of my life without dragging a grudge everywhere.”
Jonah nods, then pulls out a battered pack of gum, offers me a piece. I decline. He chews a stick, hands in pockets, silent for a bit.
“You know, you’re the first person Talon’s ever written about,” he says. “I think every other character truly was fictional. And I think he was scared of how much he loves you.”
I nod. “Yes, I know.”
He smiles, small and lopsided, and it almost makes me like him.
Before either of us can say anything else, the door swings open and Talon’s head pops out. “Hey, Kitten. You want to come in? I have an announcement.”
Jonah and I share a look. I don’t like this person, but at least he apologized and will be leaving soon.
“Duty calls,” I say, pushing off the rail.
Inside, everyone’s crowded around the fireplace. Talon’s standing in the center, a bottle of good bourbon in hand, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He waits until I’m next to him, then loops his arm around my waist, holding me close.
“I just wanted to let you all know,” he begins, “that Angel’s Share has been optioned for a film. And—” he pauses for effect, squeezing my hip— “the studio wants Kat to co-write the screenplay with me.”
There’s a stunned silence, followed by a volley of congratulations. Simone screams and nearly knocks over a lamp, Malcolm gives an approving “Ha!” and even Erasmus manages a smile that cracks the granite of his face.
Renee claps her hands. “That’s amazing! Will you be the on-set couple who makes everyone else uncomfortable?”
I laugh. “We’ll try our best.”
Jonah raises his glass from the back. “Hell of a sequel, you two.”
The rest of the night is a blur of clinking glasses, messy hugs, and impromptu toasts. Simone pulls me aside and says, “You realize you’re a legend now, right?” to which I can only reply, “I’m just happy to be done with the prequel.”