Page 11 of Miss Behaved
“Well, can’t say I’m complaining you decided to join us.” Agnes picks at her hair, like she’s trying to get the pieces to stand taller on their ends. “So, crime writer, huh? Tell me something, honey. I’m working out the plot in a cop romance series, and my girl Nadine keeps telling me handcuffs are too cliché. What would you have me tie her up with though, rope? Imagine the rash the next day.”
Tie her up? Rash? What the fuck have I walked into?
“I’m not really sure—”
“I’ve got it.” She cuts me off, standing straight up and pointing a finger. “Bondage tape. Easy on the skin, and flexible for when they switch positions. Although I’ll have to figure out a way to explain why he had it on hand.”
I’m not sure what my face looks like, but my jaw is slack, and it makes Agnes smile. “Oh, honey.” She walks over and pats me on the cheek. “This week is going to be a whole new experience for you. Gotta go now.”
She spins on her heels and leaves me feeling inside out. I’m torn between extreme discomfort and thinking maybe this conference won’t be so bad after all.
With Agnes gone, I’m tempted to stay and hide for the rest of the evening. A mini bar in the corner calls my name, and I have a shitload of work to do on my next book if I want to pitch it when I get back to the city. But, against better judgment—and with a certain curly-haired brunette burned into my brain—I decide to at least grab a drink at the bar and check out what the opening night has to offer.
My phone rings as I reach the presentation ballroom, and I frown when I see the name on the screen.
“Hey, Denise.”
“Please tell me you didn’t bail.” She sounds on edge, not that it’s out of the ordinary for my agent.
“I’m here,” I reassure her. “Surrounded by bleeding heart romantics as we speak.”
A woman with her blonde hair in a tight bun gives me the side-eye as she passes.
“Excellent,” Denise says.
Not exactly how I would describe it.
“Have you had a chance to talk to Brad about the direction of my next book?”
She’s quiet for a minute, then she lets out a sigh that says she’s trying to let me down easy. “They don’t know if now is the right time.”
“Then when is?”
“Your readers love you, Carson. They don’t want a think piece. They want excitement, suspense. They want more Damian Black,” she says.
“I’ve given them six Damian Black books. My heart’s not in it anymore. Besides, I killed him off, remember?”
On the page. Messy, and on purpose.
“A minor snag, one I’m sure you can write your way out of.” Denise lets out another heavy sigh. “I know you want to change gears. I hear you. And in time, I promise I’ll help you make that happen.”
In time (i.e. never).
I grit my teeth. “Why am I at this conference, then? You sent me here to, as you put it,expand my horizons.What’s the point if Brad is planning on keeping me in that damn box he has me in?”
“I’m going to be blunt, so don’t get upset.” Words people only say when they know you sure as shit are going to get upset. “Your last couple of novels haven’t hit like they used to. Your story lines are still good, but your voice is feeling played out and a little flat. This conference will get you out of your comfort zone. Bring some heat back to your writing.”
Way to stab the knife in and then twist it.
“I care about you, Carson,” Denise continues. “You still have a long career ahead of you. So many great things. Don’t let shortsighted frustration put a damper on your potential.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say.
“It’s appreciated.”
“But this conversation isn’t over. I’m not agreeing to more Damian Black,” I tell her. “When I get back, I expect you to set up a meeting with Brad, and I’m going to convince him to get on board, or we can start looking at other options.”
Denise mumbles into the phone. She’s not happy with my response, but I couldn’t care less, because I’m not thrilled with her either.
