Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

30. Escalation

30

ESCALATION

HAZEL

IntrepidReporterGuy:

Local romance novelist accused of boat theft, attempts to outswim the authorities.

Book Cam shot her a smoldering look as she stretched on tiptoe, reaching in vain for the curtain rod.

“You’re gonna fall on that very nice ass of yours.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Book Hazel said flippantly.

I leaned back and closed my laptop with a satisfied sigh. The cacophony of construction noises greeted me when I stripped off my headphones.

Framing for the pantry, the breakfast nook, and my mega walk-in closet was almost finished. The plumbers and electricians were warring for priority. My house was filled with noise and people and construction paraphernalia.

But my head was full of Cam.

One tryst with the man had given me much more than orgasms. I’d written nothing but sexy scenes since our secret night of hotness. It hadn’t done much to advance the plot, but I was certainly enjoying myself.

I’d given a phone interview for the feature Zoey had arranged and finally stopped in to Story Lake Stories and introduced myself to Chevy, the owner. We’d struck a deal that, were there to be a sudden demand for signed books, Chevy would handle the order fulfillment and I would pop in once a week to sign.

In nonwork news, I hadn’t been featured on the Neighborly app news feed since my sexathon with Cam. But there were signs I was starting to fit in.

Two elementary school–age sisters had knocked on my door, selling smelly candles for school, and I’d bought enough for them both to earn their class a pizza party. Goose had buzzed me on my bike ride around the lake yesterday afternoon. This time instead of hitting me with a fish, he’d tipped his wings in some kind of bird greeting…or maybe it was an apology.

Darius had invited me to some council dinner at the lodge that evening. Which meant makeup, adult clothing, and getting to see Cam away from his brothers. We’d kept our distance since Thursday night’s naked rodeo.

Officially, we were taking our time to make sure we were both still on board with the whole “no strings” situation. But I was starting to get antsy to see Campbell Bishop’s penis again.

The clomp of boots echoed down the hall, and I looked up in time to see the penis…er, man in question through the glass doors. He was carrying a long two-by-four over one shoulder. Our eyes locked, and he sent me a sly wink that had my cheeks flaming and my lady cave convulsing.

We were consenting adults who had the hots for each other. It was time we stopped dancing around it.

I was mentally reviewing my wardrobe for the perfect “fuck me” outfit when Zoey burst in without knocking. Her curls quivered with what I could only assume was excitement or rage.

“That son of a fucking shitheaded assclown,” she announced.

Gage paused outside the open door. “Everything all right?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I assured him. Zoey had an emotional outburst at least once a week.

“No, it’s not fine. I’m going to drive to Manhattan and commit a murder.”

“I got a few extra body-sized tarps if you need ’em. Plus I’m real good at carrying dead weight,” Gage offered.

“I might take you up on that,” Zoey said menacingly.

“What’s going on? Did your cousin spill wine on your couch again?”

Her sniff was indignant. “That is a maiming offense. This is worthy of murder.”

She handed me her phone and immediately began pacing in front of my desk. The browser was open to an article from a niche literary journal. My ex-husband’s face grinned back at me from the photo accompanying the story. It was an old picture. One taken before his hairline had begun its slow retreat. He stood in front of a bookcase packed with awards and hardbacks, that familiar smug smile playing over his lips.

New York literary agent discusses storied career

“Gimme the ‘too long didn’t read’ version,” I said, skimming the text.

“I refuse to say it out loud. Paragraph four.”

“Whitehead doesn’t represent clients who write romance. According to him there’s no long-term gain to be had in what he calls the ‘churn and burn’ genre. Instead, he guides clients through the more subtle complexities of literary fiction. ‘They’re writing the gritty, worthwhile stories. It’s not all happily ever afters and sex. They’re telling the important, legitimate stories. These are the kinds of books the world needs, ones that dive deep into the human condition.’”

It was douchey and out of touch, but pretty on-brand for Jim. Nothing worthy of homicide. My eyes skimmed lower and snagged on my name. I tensed.

“Just look at my ex-wife, Hazel Hart. She put herself in a position where, in order to succeed, she had to pander to a base demographic with an insatiable need for content. She couldn’t keep up with that need, and now she’s been dropped by her representation and her publisher is making similar noises. I tried to guide her toward a genre with more serious, dedicated readers, but this is what happens when you don’t take publishing seriously. You get chewed up and spit out.”

“That son of a bitch,” I announced.

“Who’s the son of a bitch?” Gage asked. “Who are we murdering?”

Levi poked his head into the room. “Someone say murder ?”

“You know what? Death is too good for him. Torture is the better option. I’ll start by pulling out his toenails, and then I’ll attach jumper cables to his nipples.” Zoey plotted as she paced.

“‘I’m not saying she’s a has-been exactly. I’m just saying she could have benefited significantly from my experience,’” I read out loud. I got out of my chair and joined Zoey in frantic pacing. “Shit.”

“We’re lucky it’s some snooty-ass journal only snooty assholes subscribe to, but I’ve already gotten two calls and a half dozen emails from other publications sniffing around for a battle-of-the-exes story,” she said.

“I’m not battling it out with him,” I said grimly. I didn’t know how to battle it out, as evidenced by the divorce settlement.

“The fuck is going on?” Cam demanded from the doorway.

“We’re murdering someone,” Gage said.

“I would give anything to wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face,” Zoey said. She stopped and grabbed me by the shoulders. “This book has to be a mega bestseller. It has to be the kind of book that camps out on the bestseller charts for so long people get sick of seeing the cover. I want Jim to feel physically nauseated every time he attends an industry function because everyone will be talking about how successful you are without him.”

“I need to start shopping for my revenge dress when I hit the New York Times list,” I joked.

“Who the fuck is Jim?” Levi asked.

“The ex-husband,” Cam filled in.

All eyes slid to him.

He shrugged. “What? It was in her bio on the back of the book I borrowed from Laura.”

“You couldn’t afford to buy a copy?” Zoey complained.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “Focus, Zoey. What do we do about this?”

“Why are we murdering ex-husband Jim?” Gage asked.

She handed him her phone. “Paragraph?—”

“Four. Yeah. I heard,” he said. His brothers peered over Gage’s shoulders as he scrolled.

“I personally want to burn his world down,” Zoey told me.

“Mm-hmm, because that always works out well.” If I was occasionally impulsive, Zoey was a hothead. My gut instincts were usually pretty decent. Zoey’s were terrible.

“I don’t want to take the high road,” she enunciated.

“Where does this fucking fuck live?” Cam demanded.

“I mean, say you do write the best book of your career. Even if they rush it with a short print run, we’re going to have to wait like a year before we make him eat his words,” Zoey complained.

“It’s the price we pay for being mature adults,” I reminded her.

Suddenly, I had all three brothers lined up, forming an impenetrable wall of muscle and crossed arms.

“This asshole live in New York?” Cam asked.

“Upper West Side,” Levi read from his phone.

Gage looked at his watch. “That’s about two, two and a half hours from here.”

“We can be back before dark,” Cam said.

Levi grunted. “We can stop at that diner with the donuts on the way back.”

I waved my hands in the air. “Hold on. You can’t be serious.”

I was met with three very serious, very stubborn scowls.

“Zoey? A little help here?”

“I don’t want to help. I wanna see them kick his ass.”

“There will be no ass-kicking,” I insisted.

“Ugh. Fine. Be a responsible adult,” she complained. Then she turned to face the Bishops. “Gentlemen, this is a small unfortunate side effect of life as an author. It’s like dealing with a high school bully. The best thing to do is ignore them and keep on focusing on the good.” She said the last part through clenched teeth.

The brothers exchanged an incredulous look. “All due respect, but that is not the best way to deal with a bully,” Gage countered.

“What is?” I asked.

“Escalation,” the men said together.

I pursed my lips together to keep from laughing. “Escalation, huh?”

“A bully slaps your geography book out of your hand, you pick it up and slap him across the face with it until he hits the floor,” Cam explained.

“Someone pushes you into a locker, you punch ’em in the face until someone pulls you off him,” Gage continued.

“Some asshole steals your friend’s lunch money, you break into their house and steal everything out of their bedroom, then auction it all off at school the next day,” Levi added.

“Those are very specific examples.” I reached for my notebook.

Zoey managed to crack a smile. “This is different, guys. You can’t show up at every single Crabby Cathy’s house for every mean blog post or one-star review and threaten them. I mean, that would be a full-time job. Two full-time jobs during a release. Jims are a dime a dozen. Oh my God, Haze! Do you remember that grumpy blogger who started an online campaign to get their followers to report your books for copyright infringement on online retailers because she didn’t like that your main character cheered for the wrong college football team?”

All three brothers removed their tool belts.

“I’m driving,” Cam said.

I made a slashing motion across my throat. “Not the best time for a walk down memory lane, Zoey.”

“I am getting that now,” she said.

“Hang on.” I got between the Bishops and the door. “What do you guys do when someone leaves a bad review of your company online?”

“It’s only happened once,” Gage said ominously.

“Fuckin’ Emilie,” Levi muttered.

“Why is she the way she is?” I asked.

“Middle child. Her older sister was a star gymnast, almost made the Olympics. Her younger brother is a brain surgeon,” Gage said.

“What did you do to Emilie?” Zoey asked.

“I’ll tell you what we did,” Cam said. “We went to her house. When she answered the door, we went into the laundry room and started punching holes in the new drywall that she said was…” He snapped his fingers at Gage.

“Too smooth,” his brother filled in.

“We ripped out the drywall, unhooked her washer that she said was too loud?—”

“Which had nothing to do with us,” Levi added.

“Then we picked up her brand-new dryer, carried it back outside to her driveway, and left it exactly where the delivery guys had left it after she berated them for being ten minutes early,” Cam continued. “Then Gage threw a refund check in her face.”

“Minus the undoing expenses, which just so happened to almost total the cost of the job,” Gage explained with an impish grin.

“You,” Zoey said, pointing at him. “I like everything you just said.”

“You can’t just go around getting revenge on people who wrong you,” I said.

“Yeah, we can,” they said in unison.

“Her husband came home in the middle of it. We gave him the option of gettin’ his ass kicked, gettin’ his ass sued, or both,” Cam said as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

“To be clear, this happened about twenty-four hours after Emilie threw a temper tantrum about Livvy here gettin’ to the cashier line first at the gas station and being their one hundredth customer for the month.”

“Got free gas and hot dogs for a month,” Levi explained.

“You bully here, you get bullied right back,” Gage said with pride.

“Well, as ‘fun’ as that sounds, that’s not the way it works in my business,” I said. “We’re more civilized.”

Gage waved Zoey’s phone. “This ain’t civilized.”

Levi smirked. “Wait till Mom hears about this.”

“Nobody needs to tell anyone’s mother anything,” I said, desperately trying to force sense into the other supposed adults in the room. “It’s my problem, and I’ll take care of this the way I see fit.”

“Please don’t say by taking the high road,” Zoey whispered under her breath.

“You say high road, and I’m gettin’ my keys,” Cam announced.

I rolled my eyes. “Zoey.”

“Yes, my liege?”

“We’re taking the not low road and ignoring him,” I insisted.

Jim: Hope you don’t mind, I name-dropped you in an interview to give you a little boost. You can thank me later. How’s the writing? Almost done?