Page 6 of No Control
I force a shrug. “Just a book.”
“What kind of book? You've never been paid anything close to this.”
“I don’t know…Kind of like the ones I write for myself, but without the romance?” That last part is an assumption. Henry Bayne didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who wanted romance—and we’d only discussed thrillers in our previous mundane chats.
But all my books are centered around romance…
I bite down on my bottom lip, feeling the heat build in my cheeks as I think about Henry reading those stories. “I really don’t know.”
“I bet he wants to sleep with you.”
I can’t stop the laugh that slips from my throat. If anything, he probably wants to murder me. That was a vibe I got from him.
But then again, I can be a little mistrusting with all the crime docs and morbid books I read. Maybe I should back off on those.
“So, this guy just reads your work,” Mason muses. “And now he thinks you’re worth a hundred grand? For this kind of money, why wouldn’t the guy just take some writing courses and do it himself. That’s what I’d do. It’s not that hard to write a book—not like yours, anyway. Aren’t they like a fourth-grade reading level?”
I sigh, pushing my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know.” But you're being an asshole about this.
As much as I want to, there’s never a point in arguing with Mason. He thinks what he’s going to think, and I’ve learned not to argue with him. It only leads to more problems. And I have enough on my mind right now.
“Is he going to pay for you to move?”
“It’s probably in the contract...”
Mason huffs. “I’m going to read through it. Make sure you don’t miss anything. This isn’t really your strong suit. I know you tend to skim over things.” He continues to scan through the pages, and I sit quietly, my eyes on the food that sits in front of me.
I pick at the fettucine alfredo, taking a bite every so often, waiting for Mason to make it through the contract. I try not to focus on anything he’s said. Mason's gotten meaner as the years have passed, and it's definitely rooted in his own failures. And sometimes—as in every day—I question why I’m still with him. But for some reason, it’s worse than ever today.
“This guy really covers his bases.”
I’m not surprised.
I may have only spent fifteen minutes with Henry in a coffee shop and exchanged a max of five messages, but I still somehow know he’s thorough. He had to have been to figure out my pen name…
Though I’m sure that’s not as hard as it seems.
“The contract really appears to be in your favor. You better sign it and get to packing. You’re stupid not to take this.”
I stop, my fork hanging midair as my irritation grows. “I already told you I don’t want to do it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s kind of…off.” I don’t mention the fact that he gave me serial killer vibes. That’ll just lead to Mason telling me that I spend too much time watching documentaries about them—and he might actually be right with that jab.
“Yeah? He might be a little off, as you put it, but all his information is right here in this contract. Some guy who’s out to exploit you isn’t going to do that.”
“It could be fake.”
“It’s not fake.”
“How do you know?” I demand, setting my fork down with an obnoxious clatter. “You can’t tell by just reading the contract that all the information there is legitimate.”
“No, but Google can.”
I nearly roll my eyes at the snarky reply, watching Mason as he pulls out his phone. “You can’t trust the internet.”
“There’re background checks you can run on here.”
