Chapter 5
FIVE
There was no getting out of the events. I’d signed a contract. Since this program involved a compromise between three publishing houses, it would have looked bad for me to back out. My editor’s tone on the phone told me not to push.
I was still irritated about it when my assistant and I went shopping for a golf cart the following day. “It’s exceedingly unfair,” I complained.
“Exceedingly, huh?” Paisley Parker—yes, that was her real name—grinned. “Is it ever unexceedingly unfair?”
I glared at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t on your side. I’m just … confused. You don’t even have to travel for those signings. They’re all at local bars, and they all feature smaller crowds. You hate the big crowds, so how is this not a win?”
I hated that she had a point. “I don’t want to have to spend time with Big Butt Bates.”
“Big Butt Bates?”
“His name is B. B. Bates. What else would you call him?”
Paisley actually considered it. She was younger than me by four years.
I would turn thirty in a few months, and she still acted like a teenager.
She swore like a trucker when she got excited—something that offended Hayley to no end—and was always up for mischief.
She texted me to go out drinking five nights a week, knowing darned well she might get me to agree to one if she was lucky.
She was also starry-eyed about the whole professional-author thing.
She was my assistant, but she had big dreams. Unfortunately, she refused to talk about those dreams and was terrified to actually take the plunge.
I was working on her. I’d read the things she’d written and knew they were good. She just had no faith in herself. I couldn’t tell her she was good and expect her to believe me. No, she would have to come to that realization herself. I’d yet to figure out how she was going to do it.
She would do it, though.
“Maybe he’s bashful and buxom,” Paisley suggested.
“No.”
“Or bright and beautiful.”
Sadly, Brody was beautiful. He had this nerdy, smart thing going with dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, and what looked to be a decent body.
I’d seen him in khakis and a polo shirt the day before, and his legs were muscular.
Unless he only spent his time biking, it seemed likely that the rest of him was muscular too.
“He’s a big butt,” I countered. “His attitude stinks.”
“Okay. If you say so.” Paisley ran her hands over a turquoise cart. “I like this one.”
I glanced at the cart. I was not an expert on golf carts—I’d only ever driven one when I was a kid and one of my mother’s boyfriends thought I might like an adventure—but this one looked nice enough. “How much does it cost?”
Paisley ambled over to the front of the cart. “Fifteen thousand.”
I frowned. “Dollars?”
“No, pesos.” Paisley gave me an exasperated look. “Of course dollars.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” I swung my head around to search for a salesperson. The fact that they actually had a golf cart showroom in Savannah was dumbfounding. “This has to be a mutant cart or something.”
Paisley chuckled. “I’m betting that’s the standard rate.”
“It can’t be. It’s a golf cart.”
Paisley lifted one eyebrow. “Do you want me to find a salesman?”
“No, I want you to find a saleswoman.” I was firm on that. “I’m not dealing with some idiot who is going to try to confuse me with horsepower and torque. I want a woman because she’ll tell me the important things, and she’ll do it in English.”
Paisley considered it, then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched her go. She was a local and another reason I’d opted to settle in Savannah. She’d grown up in Rincon, a suburb outside the city. She didn’t say a lot about it, only that it was a “more affordable” subdivision. To me, that suggested it was a poorer suburb. I didn’t ask, though.
In truth, Paisley reminded me of myself.
Like me, she hadn’t had a lot of money growing up, and she was smart to the point of being diabolical.
She had big dreams but was afraid to embrace them.
Much like her, all I’d ever thought about when I was a kid was writing a book.
I’d spent all of my tweens and early teens jotting down story ideas in notebooks.
My mother, while untethered as a parent, had encouraged me to follow my dreams. That was the one thing she’d been good at.
And look at me now, I mused. I had everything I ever wanted, including my first house.
I could decorate it however I wanted. Unlike when we were moving around constantly when I was a kid, I could actually put things on the shelves.
No longer would I see something in a window, consider how cool it would look as a decoration, and then leave it behind because moving it would be a pain.
No, I was going to buy things now. I cast a disdainful look at the golf cart. Just not ridiculously expensive carts that literally only do one thing.
Paisley came back two minutes later. “There’s only one female sales associate. She’s finishing up with another couple. They just moved into the Landings too.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“I have no idea what that means,” I said blandly. “Do you not like them?”
“They look like WASPs.”
“Like … they have fake wings or something?”
She laughed. “No, like white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. You know, WASPs.” She made air quotes.
“Oh.” I wasn’t certain I’d ever heard of that before. I understood the underlying meaning, however. “Basically, you’re saying they have sex in the missionary position for four minutes tops.”
She threw back her head and laughed so hard it made me smile. “That is exactly what I’m saying.” She wiped the mirthful tears from her eyes. “Her finger has never been anywhere near his butt.”
My mouth fell open as I looked around to make certain nobody had overheard her. “You can’t say things like that in here,” I hissed.
“I just did.” She was blasé. “Don’t act so shocked. That’s the mildest thing I’ve said all day.”
On that, I didn’t doubt her. I went back to looking at the cart because it seemed like the thing to do. “I’m a little angry that I have to buy one of these things. I had my IP attorney look over the contract—”
Paisley raised a hand to still me. “You had your intellectual property attorney go over your contract with the Landings? Isn’t that a bit like having a Kardashian give a seminar on not being an attention whore?”
I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Something like that,” I said when I was reasonably assured I could speak without laughing.
“Frank is a good guy. He knows how to read a contract. He says I signed away my rights to ride my scooter in the Landings when I put my name on the dotted line. Then he reminded me that only idiots sign a contract without having someone read it for them.”
“For once, I agree with Frank,” Paisley said blandly.
I glared at her. “It’s crap, if you ask me.”
She waited, probably knowing I wasn’t close to being done.
“I asked Frank to break down anything weird he found in the contract,” I continued. “I offered to pay him, but he could read between the lines and knows what I have planned. He offered to do it for free but only if I run every revenge scenario I have through him before I do it.”
“Revenge scenario?” Paisley’s eyebrows hiked as she leaned over the golf cart and rested her elbows on it. “Do I even want to know what that means?”
“Well, there are stipulations in the contract,” I explained. Frank had sent me a detailed email, although I knew another one was in my future. “Like … lawn gnomes are out unless they’re in the backyard and not visible from the road.”
“Excuse me?” Paisley looked flabbergasted. “Who has a thing against lawn gnomes?”
“The Landings doesn’t like clutter apparently.” I frowned. “I can’t have an auxiliary building if I already have a garage, so no she sheds.”
“Do you want a she shed?”
“I didn’t until I found out I couldn’t have one.”
She bobbed her head as if she understood. “What other weird stuff is there?”
“I have a pool, but it can’t have a slide or a diving board. I didn’t want either of those things until they said I couldn’t have one. No music that’s audible to neighbors after eight thirty.”
Paisley’s eyes went wide. “Eight thirty?”
“Yes, they live it up in the Landings,” I agreed dryly. “No political signs.”
“You’re not political.”
“I believe I’m going to become political. Did you know they have dueling political groups in the neighborhood?”
“No, I did not. How do you know that?”
“I looked it up last night.”
She smirked. “You have a plan.”
It wasn’t a question. She’d been working for me for two years, since she was fresh out of college and an intern at the publishing house. I’d liked her so much I’d offered her a job. She knew me well enough to know that I was indeed plotting.
“Frank is going to break down all the rules for me. Like … you can only have one yard enhancement—like a bird bath or arbor—and no lawn gnomes. I’m going to have a specialty birdbath made with huge gnomes on it. I don’t care how much it costs.”
She burst out laughing. “That is freaking hilarious.”
“Oh, I have plans.” I smiled. “Like … your exterior house color has to be approved, but Frank says there’s nothing in there about brick walkway colors.”
“Ooh, a yellow brick road?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t hate that idea, because I think it will irritate people, but yellow is not my favorite color. I’m thinking pink.”
She pursed her lips.
“And purple,” I added. “Maybe I’ll throw in some turquoise too.”
“You do realize they’ll create new rules just for you, don’t you?”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Frank found a loophole in the contract, though. Even if they pass a new rule, I will be grandfathered in until I move.”
Paisley’s lips twitched. “Okay, that’s awesome.”
“Right?”
“What else are you going to do?”
“I haven’t decided yet. You can help me brainstorm when Frank comes up with the list.”