Page 99 of The Perfect Rom-Com

I’m not going to do this.

Even at this cost.

“I think we got everything covered here.” I rise so quickly the chair behind my knees threatens to tip over, and Jack grabs it, steadying it.

“You know, I was surprised, Jack,” Florence says. “This project isn’t normally your . . . style.”

And there it is.

Plain as day in the way she says it. Style.

The truth.

She doesn’t like my work at all. She has had this entire conversation solely because of her relationship with Jack. I imagine it now. They pass a steady stream of clients back and forth over the years. He’s the one standing at the gate while she sits on her throne, slipping through the really relevant ones.

He’s her bouncer.

That’s what he is.

She’s the member of the exclusive club.

And I am the surprise girl strolling in with the 149,000-word novel looking entirely out of place.

His eyes stay fixed on hers now as he answers. There’s a confident smile on his face.

“Oh, Bryony is nothing like my style, believe me. She’s doesn’t hold a candle to my other clients.”

I feel a punch in the gut at his words.

Then he adds, “She’s got the whole cake.”

Florence’s brows shoot up at his words.

He nods in my direction, again with his eyes on her. “Bryony’s the future of the industry. I give it a year before you can’t go anywhere without seeing her name.”

She blinks a few times.

Looks over at me with fresh interest.

“With . . . ,” she says with a hint of dubiousness, “this manuscript?”

“With some tweaks, it’ll start with this one. But with them all.” He leans forward with dead seriousness in his eyes. Lowers his voice. “I promise you this, between you and me, I’d trade all my clients in a blink to hang on to her.”

He lets the silence linger after his words, ensuring we absorb their power. The weight of them.

I ignore—staunchly—the river of shock that runs through me. Refusing to let them go to my head. Refusing to let them twist my opinion of the truth about what he’s done.

But I can see the whole Rolodex of his blockbuster clients scrolling across her eyes.

Incredible.

She blinks.

And her entire attitude toward me has melted out in the micro-expressions of her facial features. In the tiniest creases on her forehead. “That so?” she murmurs, looking at me as the wheels churn inside her head.

We all sit in silence for a long moment.

And then Jack takes in a breath. “It’s just unfortunate that this conversation must come to an end.”