Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,3
telling me yes for years when they should have been telling me no. I need a no.” He looked up again and asked, “Are you interested?”
“Interested?” I echoed stupidly.
“Are you interested in being my no?”
I blinked at him. “What a strange question.”
A chuckle rumbled through a closed, sideways smile. His eyes had to be black, black as sin. “I’ve got to admit, I’m usually asking for a yes, especially where women are concerned.”
My face flattened, not only because he was a cocky bastard, but for the flash of rejection that I wasn’t considered a woman worthy of a yes. “What would the job entail?”
He watched me with an intensity that made me want to crawl out of my skin, which all of a sudden felt too small for everything inside me. “Be available for meetings to plot and character develop. Read for me when I send the manuscript and provide critical feedback. Talk me off any ledges or push me off them, if that’s what you think I need. Help me make my stories better.”
I said nothing. Absently, I realized my mouth was open as if I were about to speak.
When I didn’t, he smiled. “Why don’t we meet up tomorrow? We can discuss the details. What do you say?”
What could I say? Thomas Bane was a sensation—famous not only in the literary world, but in the pop culture stream. Page Six followed him around like he was their only job. He was, at that very moment, on a forty-foot billboard for TAG Heuer in Times Square. On top of all that, he was a phenomenal writer even if his stories did need a fresh set of eyes.
And he was asking me for help.
“Say yes, you idiot!” the girl behind me hissed, presumably the one who’d shoved me toward his table when my feet failed me.
Thomas Bane’s smile tilted higher. Otherwise, he didn’t react.
Say something. You have to answer right now.
In the span of a handful of seconds, I weighed it out. He wanted my help, and I loved to help. I’d beta read for authors a hundred times and always found it fulfilling to offer my advice in order to make a story the best it could be. In fact, I loved it and took every opportunity to say yes, should it arise.
So why wasn’t I jumping at the chance to help Thomas Oh-My-God-Quit-Smiling-At-Me-Like-That Bane?
On paper, there was no reason. Floating around in my head were a hundred, the topmost being that when he looked like that, I actually felt like my panties were on fire.
He expectantly watched me. But when that smile of his dropped incrementally in defeat, coupled with the almost infinitesimal draw of his brows, I caved.
Thomas Bane wanted my help, and I had the rare opportunity to give it.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Wait. No as in yes? Or no as in no?”
“I…I think I’d like to help. So if you need someone to tell you no, I’m your girl.”
There it was again—that smile that probably cost more than most people’s cars. “I like the sound of that. I’ll message you through your blog, and we can set up a time to meet.” He arranged the stack of books, straightening their corners before moving them a couple of inches closer to me.
The gesture was strangely nervous and utterly disarming.
I found myself smiling. I picked up the books and deposited them in my bag. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Do you want a picture?” he asked.
I got the distinct impression he asked everyone that question simply because there was no way in hell anyone could have the constitution to request a picture on their own. Not with his energy sapping everyone in a twenty-foot radius of their wits.
“I…erm…”
He was out of his seat and stepping around the table before I could say no again, and this time, I’d have meant the word in full. But there he was, approaching like a thunderstorm. My chin lifted as he approached. He was at least a foot taller than me, the air around him charged, everything about him dark. His hair. His beard. His bottomless eyes. His jacket that smelled like Italian leather and combat boots to match, the laces half-untied and the top gaping open with irreverence.
My senses abandoned me completely. The effect of him amplified with proximity, and there was nothing to do but submit. So there I was, tucked into Thomas Bane’s side with his arm wrapped around me like hot, heavy steel.