Eventually he agrees. “To supervise,” he insists, though I can’t help but notice the quick, hungry gaze he cuts in my direction. I swallow hard, and look away.
I can admit, Liam sticking around is a mixed blessing. On one hand, having him here makes it hard for me to focus on Verity. On the other, there are worse things than watching him run—tan and sweaty and gloriously shirtless—along the beach early every morning while I sip my iced coffee.
And it is early. I’ve been getting up at sunrise to try and squeeze as much work in as possible, even if Verity herself prefers to sleep in until noon. Today I’ve already put in six hours by the time I join her for her poolside breakfast. She’s dressed in a pastel caftan under a gauzy robe, sipping her morning Bellini. The linen-covered table is laid with a feast like something out of Game of Thrones, with piles of fresh fruit and pastries alongside a pile of bacon and a veggie-studded frittata.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” I tell her as she delicately nibbles a piece of toast. “What if we move the scene where Thad and Leona meet to a little earlier in the book? It feels like waiting until page 100 is asking a bit much of the reader, don’t you think?”
Verity considers that for a moment. “Maybe,” she says, noncommittal.
“And the three chapters that explain the structural intricacies of Thad’s father’s jewelry empire?” I press. “We could probably lose at least some of that, right? I’m thinking particularly of the twenty pages of organizational charts, and that extended explanation of all the different types of semi-precious rocks?”
Verity sighs. “I’ll take a look at it, but it seems like a shame to waste all that research.” Then she frowns, fanning herself dramatically. “Are you hot?” she asks. “I’m awfully hot out here.”
I shake my head. “I thought there was a nice breeze today, actually. So, okay, if we cut some of those early chapters that gives us a great opportunity to—”
But Verity holds up a hand. “No,” she announces, “it’s too humid to think out here. I’m going to have the staff move breakfast inside to my office.”
I hold back a grimace, but barely. All week it’s been like this. I begin every day with a long list of ideas and strategies for getting this book written, only for Verity to counter with any excuse possible not to get it done. She’s hungry. She’s tired. She has a hangnail. The moon is full. I understand writer’s block, truly. But this is getting ridiculous. “I don’t really think we need to—”
But Verity is already calling for an assistant to bring everything inside. I dutifully follow her into the house and the two of us get settled in her office, a lavishly decorated suite with rose wallpaper and an antique fainting couch upholstered in a dusty pink. The walls are lined with framed renderings of her book covers along with snapshots of her hobnobbing with celebrities ranging from Barack Obama to Ricky Martin. “Ricky couldn’t get enough of me,” she says, when she sees me looking. “And I kept telling him, ‘Ricky, for God’s sake, you have a husband!’ but that man just would not give up.”
“I’ll bet,” I say, smiling in spite of myself. She’s charming, that’s for sure, and there’s a part of me that would love to just sit here all day drinking mimosas and listening to her tell war stories from all her years in the biz. But charm isn’t going to get words on the page. Charm isn’t going to get this book finished. And charm isn’t going to save Sterling—not to mention me and all my friends.
“So, okay,” I say, pulling out my notes one more time. “If Thad and Leona have their meet cute in Chapter One—”
All of a sudden Verity leaping out of her chair. “I’ve got a great idea!” she proclaims.
“What?” I ask eagerly.
“You know what I used to love to do when I was really cracking?” she asks. “Watch the soaps for inspiration.”
I feel myself deflate like a cheap balloon. “You would stop writing when it was going well to watch daytime TV?” I can’t keep the disbelief out my voice. “Really?”
“Yes!” she says cheerfully, brushing past me with a regal swish of her robe. “And that’s exactly what we should do now. To the media room!”
I stay where I am for a moment, swallowing down my fresh juice and a sigh. I glance at Ricky Martin for guidance, but he has none to offer. “I’ll meet you there, okay? I’m just going to put some of these pastries in the fridge for later.”
I head into the massive kitchen to regroup, trying not to lose it. But holy crap, this is a disaster, and in spite of what I told Liam, I’m not sure at all that I’m going to be able to pull it off. Is this how my career ends? Not with a bang, but with an incredibly boring unfinished novel? I might as well hire a skywriter to send Liam a message as he runs by on the beach: Congratulations, you were right. I have no idea what I’m doing!
I’m staring out the window at the pool, trying uselessly to come up with a plan, when Dot pads into the kitchen. She’s barefoot in jeans and a souvenir T-shirt from Acadia National Park, her short hair damp from the shower. “Hey there,” she says, heading for the coffeemaker. “How’s it going down there in Thad’s father’s diamond vault?”
“Oh!” I smile—convincingly, I hope. “Um. Great. We’re making tons of progress. Really exciting stuff.”
Dot barks with laughter. “That bad, huh?”
I sigh, dropping onto a stool at the massive island and burying my face in my hands. “Is it that obvious?”
Dot tilts her head to the side in a way that almost definitely means yes. “Look,” she says, sitting down beside me. “I’ll be honest with you, Eliza: I’ve known V for forty years. And when she’s in it, she’s a marvel. Nothing can stop her. But when she’s not… Well. I think you know.”
I hear the faint, cloying tinkle of soap opera theme music drifting through the house, and cringe. “What can I do?” I beg. “I’ll try anything.”
“Well, you can stop letting her walk all over you, to start,” Dot advises, looking at me pointedly.
I bristle a little bit, I can’t help it—after all, I’ve been in this business a long time. I know how to handle authors. Verity is just… particularly challenging, that’s all. “I wouldn’t say she’s walking all over me.”
“Oh no?” Dot snorts. “So it was your idea to quit working for the day after fifteen minutes to go watch The Naked and the Damned?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Okay,” I admit, “fair.”
Dot smiles, utterly unruffled. “She needs a little tough love sometimes, that’s all. And you have to figure out how to make it feel fun for her, and not like the same sexless snooze-fest she’s been bashing her head against for the last five years.”
I nod thoughtfully, an inkling of an idea just beginning to present itself. “Well, in that case,” I say slowly, “let’s mix it up a little.”
I detour back to the office to grab my laptop, and find Verity sitting in the darkened media room, munching truffle popcorn while an impeccably airbrushed couple shares a passionate clinch onscreen. “Okay,” I announce, flicking the overhead lights on. “New plan.”