Chapter 5
I step behind the wood panel divider I use as a mock closet and take a good long look at myself in the mirror I’ve hung on the back.
My hazel eyes are bloodshot from the mojitos last night.
Dark blotches on my cheekbones suspiciously resemble mascara smudges.
Purple circles ring my eyelids. I notice a stain on my shirt.
I’d managed to locate a pair of old jeans in the dirty clothes pile before Ryan dropped by, so I wouldn’t have to answer the door pant-less.
I hadn’t planned to let him inside but then…
those downturned puppy dog eyes… I folded.
Truly, I’m a delight. I’ve probably never looked worse in front of a man. Or single person. Ever.
None of this is fair. One book. Ryan wrote one romance book and has the kind of success most authors could only dream about.
I should just let him deal with the fallout of this deception.
Screw him and the patriarchy, moving into my territory.
Taking a woman’s name, for the love of God. Is nothing sacred?
But if I don’t do this, if I’m not the one to help, his agency will find someone else.
There’s a lot about publishing that is pure luck. I remember something I once heard said about luck. A teacher quoted the Roman philosopher Seneca when he claimed luck was nothing more than opportunity meeting preparation.
And I have been prepared for years. Now, maybe, just maybe opportunity has arrived.
This could be fun. This could be life altering.
Afterward, I’ll have some contacts. Maybe Ryan’s agent, or even his editor, would be so grateful they’ll be willing to read my manuscript and help me fix what’s obviously wrong.
They’re all going to owe me, but none more than Ryan.
I can do this. After all, I’m already a chameleon in many ways. Easily adaptable. Whether in a condo or converted shed in the yard, I survive. Hell, I thrive.
I can be Elizabeth Brogan. She isn’t even real so she can’t step out and scream, “Sit down, you impostor!” One television appearance, for the fans.
Romance readers deserve this. It’s not necessarily about helping Ryan but about his readers.
He might be a literary snob who’s taken full advantage of the voracious romance fans, but he has one thing going for him.
He can help me.
It will be the highlight of my rather turbulent year to step into the shoes of this type of success, and see what it feels like.
Anything can happen. I’ll read his book.
I’ll read the hell out of it. And not just read it but absorb it.
I do this with any breakout book, no matter the genre.
I have to know what made it so exceptional.
Sometimes I believe if I look inside a book, if I read and absorb every word and let it attach itself to my soul, I will somehow find the key.
The secret sauce. The holy grail. I don’t have to wonder anymore, do I, because the man who created bestselling words sits in my shed waiting for my answer.
If I do this right, by the end of this experience we’ll both have what we want.
I’ll be able to dig myself out of my financial hole and move out of my she-shed far sooner than planned.
Emerging from behind the divider, I march back to give him my answer.
Ryan sits, arms crossed, looking up at the ceiling. It shocks me a little, to be honest, that he’s worried I might actually refuse. This, more than anything else, makes me realize he knows exactly how badly he blew it on that video.
I step in his line of vision. “I can see you’ve learned your lesson. You’ve got a deal.”
When he looks up and smiles, it changes the geography of his face. And his is a good face. It’s one of those faces people remember. When he smiles, all those looks flash like the sun and it’s a little blinding.
Ryan sits up straighter. “Thank you. I’ll make sure you’re generously compensated for this.”
“Yes, you will.”
“There might be a few other minor things the publisher suggests. I want to be fair and come up with a good offer.”
“You’re an author, Ryan, and since you’re not James Patterson, you can’t exactly be a billionaire.” I fiddle with one of the holes in my jeans. “Maybe part of your advance?”
“Well, that’s…mostly gone.”
Six figures all gone? His agent gets some, and I know it’s not cheap to live in California, but it seems like a lot of money to go through.
“But since the book has been chosen for the morning spot…” Ryan says.
“You’ll make more money for the publisher.”
“I’ll give you half of all of my next quarter royalties from the book, whatever they are.”
“That sounds a bit too lavish.”
“Not at all. It’s my reputation you’re saving.”
As if I would forget. I consider how much money a publisher can make off a deal like this, but I also realize it isn’t the publisher who cares whether or not Ryan reveals he’s Elizabeth.
Even negative publicity sells books though it isn’t the best path to a long-lasting career.
I assume this is solely about Ryan’s publisher not wanting to be at the apex of what might become a huge conflict among readers and other romance authors if the discovery is made that the man who disparaged the whole genre in that video is the author of their new bestselling romance.
It is vitally important that no link between Ryan and Elizabeth ever be made.
Might as well go for broke. “Do you think you can introduce me to your publisher, or agent?”
“I can’t promise you anything in the outcome, but I’ll introduce you to some people in publishing. The rest will be up to you.”
“I can’t ask for more than that.”
“I’ll tell my agent, Kate. We’ll work up an agreement. You’ve made my day. No, my year.” Ryan offers his hand.
I shake his warm, strong hand, surprised by the strength, and together we solidify this deal. On a handshake.
“I think it will be fun.”
“Fun.” He says the word as though it’s foreign. “I guess it could be.”
“Of course! Haven’t you ever pretended to be someone you’re not?”
He rubs his temples. “Yes. That’s the point.”
I’m about to ask him why he picked a woman’s name for a pen name when someone knocks and I see Eddie is at my door.
I’ve never called him Tio Eddie or Uncle Eddie.
He’s just plain Eddie, my father’s oldest brother and the one he was closest to.
After my father died, he easily took over the role of pseudo-papi.
Single, he’s never had any children of his own and his nieces and nephews are like his own kids.
He’ll walk through fire for any one of us.
And there are a lot of us.
“Mija!” He opens his arms wide, his expression tender. “Guess what? It’s Satur-yay!”
I go into his arms and accept the loud smoochy kisses he lays on first one cheek, then the other.
“Ah ha,” he says, noticing I have company. “And who are you?”
“Ryan Brady, sir.” Ryan offers his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Eddie does what he always does, whether he’s known you for a lifetime or two minutes. He grabs a hold of Ryan’s shoulders and plants a kiss on each of Ryan’s cheeks. It’s a European thing, but also big in Puerto Rico, and Eddie lived there pretty much the entire time my parents were married.
Still, take it from me, American men are not used to the kissing thing. Chris couldn’t stop talking about it for days.
“Your uncle kissed me! What’s up with that? My father has never even kissed me. It’s just…weird.”
One more thing I won’t miss about Chris. I smile, hoping by now he’s been kissed by many men in South America. They are going to be grateful for all those orphanages he and the Peace Corps are building.
“He’s my employer,” I say to Eddie, giving Ryan an apologetic smile.
“It’s good that you’re both here.” Eddie turns to me. “We’re having a party tonight.”
I moan. “No, Eddie. No.”
“Just a little one. I invited everyone!”
“Why won’t you believe me? I’m fine!”
“Ay dios mio, no. Does she look fine?” Eddie, hands on both of my shoulders, twirls me to face Ryan.
It’s been six months, but my family behaves as if I’m still heartbroken over Chris and they must be the ones to save me.
“You’re right.” Ryan appraises me, eyes lingering on the holes in my pants. “She does not look fine.”
“What do you expect when her fiancé abandoned her? The wedding is off! He never deserved her. Nunca.” Eddie’s hand makes a dramatic slash through the air.
Once upon a time, he would have made a fine telenovela male lead, but instead dentistry called. Also, his father would not have allowed him to become an actor. Not a stable or honorable profession, and practicality ran deep on my grandfather’s side.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Ryan says to me. “No wonder you look like France.”
“Don’t worry. We know how to make the happy over here.” Eddie smiles. “Tia Carmelita is coming over with the food, and Diego is bringing the karaoke machine.”
“No! Not the karaoke machine!” I clasp my hands together, prayer-like.
My family loves nothing more than embarrassing themselves with their knowledge and affection for Cher and Bon Jovi.
Most of them have never heard of any artists more current than the eighties, when according to Eddie, music experienced its most glorious era.
And if he and some of his friends get going, they’ll sing in three-part harmony.
Really bad three-part harmony.
“Well, it was good to meet you. I should get going,” Ryan says. “See you Monday, Luci. We have some planning to do.”
Eddie moves his body to block Ryan’s exit. “I would love to have you as our honored guest tonight.”
“That’s a great idea,” I say. “Ryan is an author researching his novel set in Richmond. He writes historical fiction.”
“I’ve been to Richmond! We have much to talk about.” Eddie claps Ryan’s back. “You must tell me everything.”