The Randy Romance Novelist (22 page)

I understood that very clearly.

What I accomplished only a few days ago was a feat on its own: writing a novel. I poured my heart and soul into it, exposing my flaws, my insecurities, and some of my most embarrassing moments.

And once I published my book, I wouldn’t sit there and look at the sales page, trying to figure out if this would be a future I could pursue. Instead, I would sit back and be proud of my accomplishment.

I wrote a book.

Even if only one person bought it, I would still consider myself an author.

“Are you okay?” Wendy asked, coming up to me from behind.

I wiped my tears away and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve just been emotional lately. A lot’s been going on. I needed this day. I feel refreshed, I feel welcomed, I feel like I’m a part of something.”

“You are,” Wendy smiled at me. “You are very much a part of this world. I actually have a couple of ladies I want to introduce to you.” Wendy turned me around to two authors I couldn’t even fathom meeting.

Debra Anastasia and Helena Hunting.

They didn’t know it, but I stalked them. I stalked them hard.

I stood there, frozen, unable to speak. All that flew through my head was yeti’s and pads, yeti’s and pads.

“Debra, Helena, I want you to meet my friend, Rosie Bloom. She’s an aspiring author and just finished her first romantic comedy. I’ve had the privilege of reading it, and I’m going to tell you right now, this girl is going places.”

I held out my hand and started to babble, cutting them both off before they could introduce themselves. “I want a pad; can I have a pad? I need a sanitary napkin with your signature on it. I actually have one; will you sign it, Debra?” Without even looking, I reached into my purse and pulled out one of the pads I kept on hold for my bruised vagina. I didn’t care if my pubic bone had to sit on hard wood today, I would be getting these ladies to sign my spare pussel pad. “And Helena, sign my boob, or my armpit. Yes! Sign my armpit! I haven’t shaved in two days so it resembles a yeti…in a way. Will you sign my armpit?” My arm flew straight up in the air—the one holding the sanitary napkin—and I pulled down my sleeve with the other, exposing my hairy armpit to Debra and Helena . . . the book world’s salt and pepper. I had zero shame and my self-respect flew out the window the minute I stepped into the room.

Kindly, they both looked at each other and then laughed. Debra stepped forward and pet my armpit hair. She turned to Helena and said, “I think this one is a dirty slut.”

“I cuncur, Pepper!” Helena reached out and gave my pit a pat. “That’s some serious armpit hair you’ve got going on. Soon you’ll be able to braid it like you’re on a tropical vacation.”

“I heard that if you like to swallow semen that the hair around your erogenous zones grows faster. It’s a hold over from the dinosaur years.” Debra pulled down my arm and pushed my face in her bosom.

“Is that a fact? I suppose it makes sense, seeing as body hair would’ve been integral to the whole staying warm business back then, eh?” Helena strokes my hair affectionately, while Debra continues with the forced boob nuzzles. I’m unsure if I’m supposed to motorboat.

Helena didn’t end up signing my armpit, but they both did sign the sanitary napkin I toted around with me. We talked about my book briefly and the romantic comedy genre, what books I should read, and the authors I should get to know better. They encouraged me to start thinking about a website and a Facebook page, as well as how to go about spreading the news about my book. I stood there mesmerized, trying to soak up every little fact they gave me.

We talked for a good ten minutes before Tara Sivec and Katherine Stevens came running up behind them, interrupting our conversation in the most perfect way possible. Slapping both their asses, Tara said, “What’s up, sluts? I’ve got a bottle of vodka with Helena’s beaver wrapped around it calling our names. I say we put on my meerkat suit, Katherine has her sloth pants on, and we scare people in the hallways. You in? Jimmy’s got the camera all ready.”

Debra shook her head and laughed. “Why not? It will make a great post for the Backdoor Comedy Club. Rosie, it was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck, and if you need anything, don’t be afraid to email me.”

We said our good byes and I watched in awe as they walked away. I wondered if one day, I would be able to be the one whose ass Tara slapped.

One could only hope.

Pillow Beating Beelzebub

HENRY

Rosie: Are you coming home soon? You were going to help me with these bachelorette party bags.

I was letting her down left and right. Every chance she gave me, I wasn’t there to help. I felt like the biggest ass ever, but I was so close to closing in on this account, I kept working late night after late night to guarantee a run at the position.

This campaign hadn’t been the easiest one to work on, especially since Derk predicted Rosie was pregnant. It was so obvious to me now, all her emotions, her erratic behavior, they all made sense. It was like the puzzle pieces of a crazy person finally came together. Now I just needed to secure this job so I could provide for the three of us.

Since I had to create a campaign for condoms—ones that failed me—I decided not to focus on their ability to be a solid form of birth control, but instead, focused on their “luxury.” I developed two separate campaigns, one to cater toward men and one toward women. They were vastly different, but had the same effect.

With the men, I focused on a slogan, “The Man, The Legacy.” I hated everything about it; it read like an ad for a massive tool bag. It actually was the slogan for Freddy, who inspired it all for me, but Eric and, so far, the board loved it. I just had to fine-tune my campaign geared toward women. I could have gone the route of talking about the different kinds of ribbing on each condom or special lubricants, but I didn’t. Instead, I focused on the “quality” (snorts) and how each woman only deserved the best. No vagina should settle for less.

Talking to the design team, I had them create the condom brand into a luxury item by developing mock-ups using black, gold, and silver. The font I chose screamed exuberance and the images we used all revolved around luxurious pillows and silk.

After reviewing the mock-ups, I knew this was going to be a winner, no doubt about it. I just had to hang on a few more days.

Luckily, Freddy was able to get a scoop on what Tasha had been working on. I gave the guy a high five about lifting over three hundred pounds, and he was so excited he offered to scope out the competition by using his “sex appeal.” I didn’t oppose, and for some odd reason, it worked. Freddy was able to woo Tasha enough to check out what she had been working on. She was doing a joint campaign based around lovemaking. It was cute and fresh, but it wasn’t Legacy.

“You ready for the party tomorrow? For the grand reveal of both campaigns?” Eric asked, as I started to gather my phone and wallet so I could take off.

“I am. Mock-ups are done and being held by the design team. I feel really confident.”

“Good,” Eric nodded. He leaned up against my cube with his arms crossed. “You’ve been putting in a lot of time at the office lately. Is everything okay at home?”

He was staring at the picture I had of Rosie on my desk. I glanced at it and inwardly smiled. She was my entire life, her and the little one growing inside of her.

“Everything is great. Just wanted to make sure I nailed this campaign. I want this job so damn bad.”

“You deserve it. You’ve really shown some impressive work, not just on rebranding, but on your marketing plan and attacking social media. I’m impressed, Henry. I truly am.”

“Thanks, Eric.” I stood from my chair and grabbed my bag. “If you will excuse me for the night, I have a girlfriend to get home to.”

Sweeping his arm out for me leave, he said, “Enjoy. I’ll see you tomorrow for the party. You’re bringing Rosie?”

“Most definitely, but if you don’t mind, can we keep this whole possible promotion to ourselves? I don’t want her getting excited in case it doesn’t work out.”

“Not a problem.”

We shook hands, which was odd because we never really did that, and then I took off toward the elevator. It was seven already, and I knew Rosie was freaking out about the bachelorette party and being ready for it. I called the other day to cash in a favor on a local bar I knew would be perfect for the party and was able to book a private room for the girls. Rosie was grateful. From the list Delaney had, I knew Rosie was still behind, but I had confidence she would be able to take care of everything.

The elevator opened, greeting me to begin my descent down to the streets of New York. I pressed the ground level button and watched the doors close, just as Tasha stuck her hand in to stop the elevator. The doors opened back up and she walked in, brushing off her skirt and eyeing me.

“You could have held the elevator.”

“Didn’t know you were coming.”

Turning toward me, she gave me a suggestive look. “Oh, you always knew when I was coming.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Tasha. Give it a rest. I’m happy, more than happy, I’m completely overjoyed by the fact that I am with Rosie. Nothing is going to change, so get that through your head.”

“You’re full of yourself. I was just joking, Henry. Are you bringing her tomorrow?”

Wishing the elevator would hurry the eff up, I answered impatiently. “Yes.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait to catch up with her.”

There would be none of that. The last thing I needed was for Tasha to start talking to Rosie at the party. Not that I was hiding anything, because I wasn’t, I just didn’t trust Tasha. Knowing her, she would say some bullshit lie about us spending almost every night together working, when in fact, I didn’t even talk to the wench.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t talk to her . . . or me.”

“And why is that, Henry? Because you’re afraid she’ll see the way you look at me?”

“The way I look at you? And how would that be? Because all I see is a gold-digging slut-bag willing to flirt with anyone to get ahead. Don’t think I don’t see the way you talk to Eric and the male board members. Unfortunately for you, Tasha, this company was built on hard work ethic and innovative ideas, not how many times you can show your cleavage in one passing.”

That felt good. The bitch had been getting on my nerves ever since she stepped foot in the building.

She folded her arms over her chest, displaying her breasts once again; luckily for me, she didn’t affect me with her feminine wiles. “You really think you’ve won this account, don’t you?”

“Based on what I’ve heard about your campaign, uh . . . yeah.”

She laughed just as we hit the ground floor and the elevator doors opened. “You’re so naïve, Henry. While you’ve been working in your little cubicle, staring at your annoyingly adorable picture of Rosie, and talking to douche bag Freddy, I’ve been hosting lunches with all the Legacy executives. It’s not always about the campaign, but about who will lead the campaign and who meshes well with the customer.” She pressed my chest with her nail and then took off. “See you tomorrow, Henry. Can’t wait for you to meet some of my friends over at Legacy.” She walked backward while she continued to talk. “Oh, and if you change your mind on our relationship, let me know, maybe I can convince the board to throw you a bone, and you can be my assistant.”

A devious smile was plastered on her face as she walked out of the building.

Mother Fucker!

I ran my hand over my face, feeling like the wind was just knocked out of me. I tried to tell myself not to let her get in my head, that she was just throwing me off my game—job well done.

She had nothing. Her campaign wasn’t nearly as clean cut and refined as mine. I had statistics to back up my presentation; I had proof in the pudding that my campaign was the clear-cut choice.

But there was that annoying voice in the back of my head, that voice of self-doubt that told me maybe I didn’t have it all figured out. Maybe the past month had been a waste of time, spending long nights at the office when I could have been wining and dining the clients.

Shit.

I never thought about a working relationship with them. I just assumed I was a likeable human who could get along with any client, a little self-absorbed, yes, but I hadn’t had any complaints yet.

Work weighed heavily on me as I faltered in the entryway of my office building. I looked over at the elevators and contemplated going back up to my cube to double-check everything. Even though the thought of going back up to my cube crossed my mind, I knew it was useless. Tomorrow was the reveal; there was nothing else I could do. The decision was in the board’s and Legacy’s hands now.

I just hoped I didn’t focus on the wrong thing this go around.

The walk home was lonely. I kept kicking myself in the ass for not thinking about meeting with the clients more. What the hell was I thinking?

Clearly, I wasn’t. I was off my game, and there was only one reason why: Rosie.

She changed me, she helped me relax, she allowed me to love so deeply, I got lost in the world we were living in. There was no doubt in my mind I had been distracted, especially by the sex.

Sex, fuck did I miss it.

I missed getting lost in Rosie’s scent, in her touch, in the sexy little sound she made when she came.

I wasn’t ready to have sex with her until she saw a doctor, though. I didn’t want to chance anything. I just needed this whole campaign to be over so I could put my sole focus into my girl. One more fucking day and then this would be all over.

***

“Drop it. I’m not kidding,” Rosie shouted, just as I walked in the apartment.

She was holding a rolling pin in one hand, making whacking gestures, and a colander in the other. She was wearing one of my T-shirts and her hair looked like it shook strands with an electrical outlet. Her bare feet bounced up and down on the hardwood floor while she made scooping motions with the colander.

“You little spikey-dicked bastard. Give me the penis crown and I won’t have to try to strain you through this colander.”