Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“She has a dog?” Mo breathes, like canine ownership is something reserved for the Messiah.
“Yes. His name is Benji.”
“Oh my God, Benji! I love that so much!” She turns to the kitchen. “We need a dog named Benji, Vinny!”
“You live in a top-floor skyscraper with limited roof access,” I mutter, knowing that nothing I say at this point will even make it inside her ears.
“What kind of dog, hun?” Vinny calls back, never one to disappoint my sister. It’s normally an endearing quality—one that makes me sure he’s the right guy for her and then some—but right now, it makes me roll my eyes into the back of my head.
My sister turns to me without even blinking. “What kind of dog?”
I guffaw. “You sound deranged right now, I hope you know that. Like a freaking stalker.”
“What kind of dog, Chase!” she demands, her question not very question-y at all.
“Brooke has a German shepherd.”
“A German shepherd, Vin!” she calls back excitedly, and all I can do is shake my head in dismay. It was so nice, having a sane sister for thirty-three years of life. I’ll miss it.
“I’ll look into it, hun,” Vinnie responds from the kitchen, and I look down at their ivory rug to hide my smile. At least someone hasn’t lost their mind yet. Vinny’s accommodating her, sure, but the brother-in-law I know would be on the phone right now with dog rescue organizations if he had even an ounce of interest in owning a dog.
Frankly, it’s impressive how well he knows how to handle my sister in moments like this.
Mo, mollified for now, turns back to me again, excitement still alight in her eyes. “What else? Tell me everything about her!”
“I don’t even know her that well, Mo.”
She scowls, and I sigh.
“Maureen,” I correct, and she nods. “I’ve only been in her company a few times, and most of the meetings were brief, at that.”
Maureen jumps up from the coffee table and starts to pace, pointing several angry fingers at me every chance she gets. “That doesn’t mean you don’t know things. I know you well enough to know that you make it a point to know anyone you’re going to be working with. You know her. You just don’t want to tell me what you know.”
I groan, stretch out an arm along the top of the couch, and let my head fall back. “She’s nice, okay? Funny.” I pick up my head from the back and meet her eyes again, shrugging. “Very funny, actually. Both in her writing and in person. And she’s…well, she’s beautiful. Big, honest, green eyes and perfect skin and teeth. Everything I know about her is pretty much…perfect.”
A visual of Brooke in my office this afternoon fills my head. Light purple dress that complemented her skin—and her body—in the best kind of way. It just barely brushed above her knees, revealing a modest amount of her long legs. Her long, thick brown hair hung past her shoulders and—
“Ohh, you think she’s beautiful and perfect,” she hems, rubbing her hands together and jumping onto the couch beside me on her knees so she’s uncomfortably close. Immediately, I regret my choice of words and my rogue, irrational thoughts.
“Stop, Mo. I don’t mean it like that. I just mean that if you’re going to fangirl over someone, it seems like you’ve picked a good choice. You might want to dial it back a bit, but that’s just my personal preference for keeping myself from having to attend a lengthy trial on your behalf. You do you, sis.”
She sighs happily. “And the book… You said it’s different?”
“Good different.” I find myself clarifying with a nod.
“Oh man, I love the sound of that.” She claps and bounces on her knees, and I find the corners of my mouth curling up without permission. “Can you at least give me something? A little tiny nugget of hopes and dreams and exclusivity that I can rub in my reader friends’ faces. Pleeeeeeease,” she begs, clenching her hands together and wiggling back and forth.
“When you get done with it, yours and Vinny’s love story won’t be the only one you’re invested in,” I say, finding I can’t help but play into her excitement just this little bit. I mean, it is a damn good book, and technically, it’s part of my job to make people want to read it. Leaning into Mo’s hype alone will probably do half of the legwork for me. With her current state, it’ll be less than twenty-four hours before she shares my sentiments with half the city.
She shrieks so loud the windows shake, and I sit back on the couch, satisfied.
I’ve compelled my audience into an actual fit of glee, and I can only hope I walk away from my meeting next Friday with the same results.