Page 4 of No Shelf Control
This does not bode well for me.
Chapter Two
River
"Your editor called to confirm your meeting next week," my assistant, Samantha Goines, says, her high-pitched voice crackling over the headset. "And your publisher reached out to confirm whether you're still working on the Cladian series again."
Dammit. I forgot I was supposed to meet Alice next week.
"Add Alice to my calendar," I mutter, stretching my legs in the cramped diner booth. "And tell them yes, for the thousandth time." I pause, glancing at Samantha on my laptop screen. "Unless they ask again, and then I'll burn this fucking manuscript."
"No, you won't," she says without even batting a lash. "You'd never burn a manuscript. But I'll let them know that you're still working on it. Please send me the latest version so I can file it with the others."
"I'll do that as soon as we hang up. Thanks. Anything else?"
"Yes. Your inbox. It's a nightmare, River."
"I'll get to it."
"When?"
"Eventually."
The frustration in her heavy sigh comes through loud and clear. "Today?"
"Definitely not. I'm writing."
Some days, I wonder why she puts up with me. This is one of those days. I know I'm a pain in the ass. But Samantha has been with me for the last five years, and she never complains…much. She just handles everything that needs handling and doesn't bat a lash when I'm too buried in my next book to remember a goddamn thing I should remember—like the meeting with Alice.
"Fine. Tomorrow, then. I'm blocking time on your schedule."
"Jesus Christ, don't do that."
"Too late. Already done."
"But—"
I'm talking to dead air. She ends the video call before I can fully register my objection. I'm not entirely surprised. My inbox is a goddamn nightmare. I only go in there when forced…and, apparently, I'm being forced.
I mutter a curse and pull off the headset, glancing around the diner. At a little after ten in the morning, the place has mostly cleared out. Everyone has gotten breakfast and gone to work for the day, leaving only the usual suspects scattered at booths around the retro diner. There's Audrey Goodson, mopping the black-and-white tile floor while her husband, Eli, watches out of the corner of his eye. Daniel Stern, a local retiree, is buried in the local paper near the front door. A couple of tourists tucked into a booth in the far corner near the jukebox, pore over a map, sharing a plate of fries. Denver Jackson is on a stool in front of the windows, watching his girl's shop across the street like usual.
It's quiet, peaceful…exactly what I need to get some work done.
Except the words aren't flowing.
It's not burnout. It's not writer's block, either. No, this is something worse. It's the aftereffects of meeting the sassy little ballbuster with the pretty blue eyes and smart mouth, Jasmine Knudsen. It's been three damn days since she threatened war, and I haven't written a single fucking word since.
I blame her for that. It's not even her declaration of war that's bugging me. It's everything else about her—the mischief in her smirk, the exact shade of her eyes, how goddamn soft she looked…the way her round ass swayed when she stomped away from me. Hell, even the way she called me out is doing it for me. No one ever busts my balls the way she did. It should have pissed me off. Instead, it has me hard enough to pound nails.
I've been hard for three fucking days straight.
It's impossible to write when all my mind wants to do is conjure up fantasies of her in my bed, going wild for me. And I'm guessing that isn't an option, considering that she didn't seem to like me much.
I'm not entirely surprised. I'm not a likable guy.
I'm just a motherfucker who knows how to write. And somewhere along the way, I realized that romance about women falling for aliens is what I wanted to write. Who the fuck wants to write about Joe Blow or John Doe when they have never been the most interesting characters in a novel?
It's women who fascinate me. They have deeply rich inner lives, thoughts, dreams, and goals. They're fucking smart, far smarter than most men. They're intuitive, innovative, passionate, beautiful. Crafting romantic adventures that center them and their desires is fascinating to me.
