Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Unfortunately, no,” I say. It’s already June; our holidays would normally be parsed out and set in stone by now, but with my filming schedule still up in the air, summer plans are as well. “And I’m sorry, Nat, I know it’s a pain. I’ve been going back and forth with Felicity’s agents for weeks. Just make your plans and I’ll work around them.”
Nat crosses the room and sets down lunch for each of us before taking a seat on the floor across from me. Normally my daughter and I would be at my place for the weekend, but Stevie’s social circle seems to be ever expanding, with a birthday party tonight and another in the morning. Co-parenting means compromise, and I’m happy to hang out here if it means time together.
The food doesn’t hurt, either. It smells amazing; for the two years Nat and I were married I was deeply spoiled by her cooking. When we split, I had to get my shit together—I couldn’t feed my toddler ramen and Happy Meals every weekend. Now I appreciate nothing more than food I don’t have to prepare myself.
“How’s everything going with her?” she asks, pulling my attention up from the steaming bowl of pozole.
I haven’t shared much with Nat because there isn’t much to tell. Felicity has been communicating with me through her intermediaries—attorney and agents. She has me by the balls and knows it.
I swallow a too-hot bite, wincing. “She’s tentatively accepted.”
“What are the conditions?”
“Her agent is supposed to be sending them over.”
“You sound thrilled.”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Let me ask you something. Weeks ago, I asked her to do this thing. I offered—she could have turned it down but didn’t. Isn’t it weird that she still seems to be… sort of… questioning my commitment a bit?”
With a little laugh, Nat takes a bite and pokes at her bowl with a spoon. “I don’t know that much about her in real life—I mean, she shows us what she wants us to see. She seems playful and funny and adventurous, but a reality show doesn’t seem like something she’d do. There must be a reason she’s considering it, and if she called you out for seeming less than enthusiastic, you’d better get your attitude squared away.” Natalia looks at me straight on. “You’re a wonderful guy, Conn, but you’ve been acting a little snobby, like this is beneath you.”
I turn back to the puzzle. “How is it snobby if it’s accurate? I would never do this if Blaine wasn’t forcing me to.”
I know it’s a mistake as soon as the last word is out of my mouth. Even Stevie pushes a somber whistle through her teeth.
Natalia stares at me. “Connor, do you think I’m dumb?”
“What?” I say, horrified. “Of course not. You’re the smartest person I know.”
“Well, I watch reality TV. I read romance. And when you say stuff like that, it’s belittling.” She tilts her head toward Stevie, and the unspoken Especially when you do it in front of our daughter lands like a mallet.
“I just meant that it’s not my bag. Of course it’s cool if it’s yours.”
Her eyes go round. “Wow. Thank you.”
“That is not at all—”
She waves this off. “Have you watched any dating shows or read any of her books since you agreed to take this project on?”
“I ordered them.”
She looks unimpressed.
“And,” I continue proudly, “I had Brenna do write-ups on Felicity’s five top sellers.”
Stevie shakes her head again. Natalia gives me a disappointed frown.
“Okay, I hear how that sounded,” I say. “I’m the arsehole executive pawning my work off onto my assistant, that was shitty. But, Nat, the show isn’t even about Felicity’s books. It’s about her. About how charismatic she is, how good she is in front of people. It’s about the audience rooting for her.”
“Are you really so thick not to see that her audience roots for her because of what she gives us in her books?”
Before I can answer, she continues. “If you told me you didn’t like Wonderland’s music, I’d say, ‘Fine, to each their own.’ You’ve heard all their songs at least a hundred times, so you would be making an informed opinion. But you’ve never even read a romance novel or watched a reality show and have formed this opinion based on what you think they are.”
I slip another piece into place, bridging a large elephant ear to its head. “C’mon, Nat, you’ve got to admit romance novels are a touch predictable.”
“Why? Because the couple ends up together?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a rule of the genre, Connor,” she says. “Which you would know if you’d bothered to even google it.”
I wave her on, hearing the way she’s frothing up over this. “Go on. Get it all out.”
“You describe them as my ‘guilty pleasure.’ Do you have any idea how condescending that is?”