Slumping, I say, “Besides the chickens? Twelve freakin’ geese, ten ducks, six goats, three ponies, two horses, a cow and one very ornery donkey named Priscilla.”
“And a partridge in a pair tree,” Paige sing-songs.
I whine.
“Is Little Jay perhaps a hunky single man?”
“Life is not a romance novel, Paige.” My brow quirks when her nose wrinkles.
“You’re the most cynical romance author I know.” She shoves her hair back and picks up my cell before it finishes its first ring. “Send them up.” Paige looks at me and winks. “Hot movers are here early, Tess. Fix your hair.” She fluffs hers again and I roll my eyes.
“Help yourself, I’m swearing off all men except paperback heroes. At least I can catch up my reading.”
“And I have you covered there.” She reaches into her purse, pulling out a paperback with a sexy bare-chested biker on the front. “This one made me go on a third date with John.” She lowers her voice, looking conspiratorially at me. “Just for the third-date perks.” She waves her hand in front of her face, fanning herself. “I was going to read it again since I’m in a dry spell, but you need it more than me. It’s so kinky!”
“Oh Paige,” I grumble, taking the book and tucking it into my laptop bag. “Why the hell is Gary dragging this out, and why oh, why, did I have to provoke the judge? I could be on a beach in Maui.”
“Quick tell me again what you said to… What did you call him again?” She plops her butt back on Gary’s pig tote.
“Castrated Bulldog Judge.” I bite my lip to keep my smile back. “He really does look like a bulldog, but maybe more constipated than castrated and I was pissed when he said romance authors shouldn’t make so much money writing drivel that makes real men look bad.”
“Real men.Pfft.” She rolls her eyes. “And your response was?”
“So, you’re bitter because your wife spends more time in bed with romance novels than she does with you?” I whimper. “I’m an idiot.”
Paige laughs so hard she falls off the tote which has a dent where her ass was planted moments before.
“God, I wish I’d been there for that!”
“Me too. So, you could’ve stopped me.” I frown humorously. “Because that comment and the look on his face, which I’ll callconstipated bulldog taunted by squirrel, might have been worth giving up my fancy caramel latte with extra whip, Paige, but not my condo.”
“I’ll buy you lunch just for making me laugh so hard,” Paige says as she rises from the floor.
“You just had a scone and a half!”
She shrugs. “Judge me all you want, but I’m starving, so get your ass up.”
There’s a knock on the door before I can retort.
“We’re leaving right after I make sure these movers are up for the job.” She winks at me. “Is muscle inspector a thing? Because with my best author out of commission, I may need a new profession.”
I rise and head to the door, not commenting on her jab because I’m still picturing the purple hue on the judge’s face after I’d told him off.
“Come in.” I don’t even have to look at the four men walking into my—the—condo to know they’re not what Paige was hoping for.
“You can tell me the rest at lunch,” Paige says, grabbing her purse. “We’ll bring you guys back a pizza if you drop that one a few times.” She points at the dented pig tote. I smile, hook my arm into Paige’s and pull her out the door.
Twenty minutes later I’m picking at my pizza and carrying on with my story.
“But dammit, he started it by being misogynistic and biased in Gary’s favor. While I could almost forgive the ancient man for his ‘traditional’ and beyond-dated values, they didn’t seem as traditional when it came to Gary. And his judgements? They were beyond unconventional.”
“Agreed.” Paige scoops another piece of pizza from the pan, plucking a piece of pineapple off and popping it in her mouth.
“He overlooked the fact that Gary did nothing to contribute to our household. Nothing real anyway. Gary’s lawyer was quick to supply that he ran my social media and dealt with PR. Cue eye roll.” I slump, my chin in my palm. “Which also didn’t sit well with the judge.”
Paige’s brows rise and she swallows her bite of pizza. “Your only social media is…” Her brow scrunches. “You don’t have social media, only a website and it hasn’t been updated—despite my urging—since you first got it.”
“Hey! I update it with new releases!” I fiddle with my napkin as Paige takes her third slice, my first piece, half eaten and abandoned on my plate. “Oh, and as for the PR, Gary was the last one that spoke to the publisher’s public relations director because I’d had a migraine and had to cancel a small signing, and all he did was repeat what I told him to say.”
