Page 46 of The Perfect Rom-Com

“We just believe it’s critical that you are prepared at all times for the myriad of questions you are going to face at these events over the next two weeks,” Mona says. “Statistically speaking, we believe it would be more detrimental to your career at this point to accidentally reveal the situation going on behind the scenes than to cancel this tour altogether. We are open to you canceling—”

“No,” Amelia spits out.

“In which case, we need to find a creative way to try to keep our ends covered. This is that plan. Bryony by your side for the tour—hearing the questions. You being fed answers to those questions that could trip you up. Maybe she’ll look like she’s your personal assistant. Nobody will notice. A win-win for everyone really. Bryony will assist you.”

Why does it sound like I’m being kidnapped here?

“She will be there to help you however she can.”

I cut my eyes to Jack. “You want me to just drop teaching for two weeks to be Amelia’s lapdog? Jack, did you know about this?”

He shakes his head. “No, I know we discussed some changes and going over the Q&A tonight—”

“Consider it more like a luxury paid vacation with a sprinkle of work,” Mona interjects.

“There are some lovely stops,” Susanna chimes in softly with an eager smile.

I’ve seen Amelia’s RV bus. The one wrapped in a giant picture of Amelia with her skinny arms crossed over her chest in a bright pantsuit, book titles sprawled over the windows, a three-foot-wide smile on her lips. I wouldn’t step inside that thing for the world.

I stifle a cynical laugh. They’ve got to be kidding. “And how exactly does having me standing beside Amelia, giving her answers to questions about her book, prove to the world she doesn’t have a ghostwriter?”

“Ugh, I hate that word.” Amelia pinches both temples. “Don’t use that word.”

I press my lips together. I have had it up to here tonight. “What word?”

Her eyes become slits. “You know the word.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. You’ve just said a lot of words. To which word specifically are you referring?”

“The G-word,” she says forcefully.

“Which G-word?” I snap back. “Ghostwriter?”

“I need to get out of here,” Amelia hisses, eyes roving around for the door. “I have to speak in twenty minutes.”

It’s simple, really. I’m just not going to do this.

I can’t stand forty-two minutes with her, much less two weeks. We’d kill each other.

I shrug again, forcing myself to release my pent-up energy. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m contracted to write the books, nothing more. You will simply have to come up with another idea.”

There. It kills me to be the one to kill their plans, but I have to do it. For my own sanity. And believe me, were it anybody else, I probably would have said yes. The idea of jumping on a bus and getting away for two weeks sounds nice. The adventure, appealing.

I yelp as Amelia sprays yet another shot of her beachy perfume onto her neck and nails me in one eye.

But for her.

Mona gives a little cough, and with my one good, uncovered eye, I watch her shoot a message telepathically to Jack.

He rubs the back of his neck.

Gets up from the booth.

Motions for me to move out after him.

Ticks his tongue. Thinking.

“Well, that’s the thing, Bryony. There’s the whole part about publicity in your contract.”