Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,24
the stack of papers. “There has to be something else. Some other idea, something in the back of your mind or in a long-forgotten, dusty drawer.”
“This is it.” I swept a hand at the pile. “Every idea I had is here.”
Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “There has to be something. Is there anything going on in your life that you could fictionalize? Something from your past?”
Internally, I shrank from the question. Externally, my chest puffed, my spine straightening. “Maybe. Let’s talk world building, universe, canon. I haven’t written about elves in years. I’ve been thinking about going that direction again. I blame a recent replay of Witcher.”
Before I could explain what Witcher was, she nodded and said, “I get that. The elves in that story are brilliant. Siri and the Elder Blood? That story is just too good. I’m still not over it.”
“You play Witcher?” I asked in disbelief.
“No,” she answered on a laugh. “I read the books.”
I nodded, my universe righting itself. “The elven ruins are my favorite. They always are, no matter the game or book. It’s the mystery of them, I think. Where they came from. Where they’ve all gone. How their power manifested. It’s fascinating.”
She smiled, reaching into her bag. “Well, there’s our thread to pull.” When her laptop rested on her thighs and her fingers tapped the keyboard, she said, “Let’s research.”
I reached for my laptop too, but rather than open it where I was, I moved to the other couch to sit next to her. She stiffened, her fingers stilling for a moment.
I couldn’t help but smile. If I could sit thigh-to-thigh with her without being a creep, I would. Because watching Amelia Hall squirm was becoming my new favorite pastime.
“All right,” I said, stretching my legs and propping my feet on the coffee table, “where do we start?”
“How about Nordic myth? Russian? Something obscure. Or we could go classic archetype. Chosen one. The ace. Knight in shining armor? Rogue with a heart of gold?” She paused. “Anything zinging?”
“Is it too early to start drinking?”
A soft laugh. “Not if it has champagne or tomato juice in it.”
I sighed, collecting my hair and twisting it into a knot. “I don’t know if I’m ready to character develop.”
“Okay,” she said, her tone nothing but encouraging. “Let’s look at old cathedrals.” Her fingers tapped, and with a few clicks, she gasped. “Oh, Tommy, look!”
The way she’d said my name—like it had been born on her tongue—hit me in a strange, foreign place in my chest. I leaned over just as much to look at her screen as to get closer to her.
She was scrolling through Google images at photos of the Glasgow Cathedral, and the second I saw them, I got why she’d gasped. Sweeping ceilings and gothic arches in rows so tight, they looked like an illusion, a study in geometry and symmetry. Stained glass and thick pillars. It had all the pieces of a palace, a place of beauty and worship and art and soul.
“That’s perfect, Amelia. Save that,” I said softly before returning regrettably to my own machine.
She smiled at her screen, and for a minute, we were quiet. She was comfortable, already at ease around me.
I was openly grateful that her therapist had foisted exposure therapy at her. That she’d been exposed to me.
That I’d been exposed to her.
Years of fake relationships had left me largely in the company of models and actresses and socialites. Years of friends with benefits and empty relationships. I hadn’t wanted more. Even now, I didn’t want more. Because more meant that whatever I felt, whatever I wanted, would be chucked to the media like a prime rib and devoured without care. And in all the years since I’d stepped stupidly into the public eye, I’d never met anyone quite like her. Normal girls weren’t something I had access to anymore.
Not that Amelia was normal. She was something entirely other, sparking my curiosity and wonder. Was she a novelty? A trinket to put in my pocket? I was attracted to her, that much was painfully clear. But what was the nature of that feeling?
I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that I was intrigued by the girl sitting on my couch, doing her very best not to cave under the weight of my presence.
I was a lot, I knew. In fact, my charm was a weapon I wielded at every opportunity. A weapon, and a shield. But I didn’t want to woo her.