“Dad, it turns out that I don’t really want running this bookstore to be my full-time job.”
He stares at me blankly. I’m not sure if he’s heard me or not.
I go on. “The thing is, I do have a full-time job and it’s one that’s making me a lot of money. More than I could have ever dreamed of at this age.”
“Are you running a prostitution ring?”
“No,” I say warily, trying to read his face. “But sex does sell.”
“Blake…”
“Okay, well I love this store and I love you and I want to help, I really do but the only way I can help either of us is if we hire a full-time manager for the store. A financial whiz. Someone who knows what they are doing.”
“But you have a business degree,” he says gruffly. “You’re supposed to use it.”
I scoff. “No one uses their degrees anymore. Welcome to the new generation, dad.”
“And how do you propose we pay for the manager? With what income?”
He’s taking this surprisingly well so far. Maybe he’s thought of hiring someone too.
But the other shoe is about to drop.
“I told you,” I remind him. “I have money. The money will go toward that and I promise the business will go back into the black.”
“Son, if you don’t start explaining where the hell this money is coming from…”
“Dad.” Here goes nothing and everything. “I’ve secretly been writing books on the side and self-publishing them. Under a pen name.”
“What?”
“They do really well. Really, really well. Amanda is my writing partner and we write them together.”
“I don’t…,” he blinks dumbly.
“Our pen name is Blake Lovecox.”
His head jerks back. “That’s a terrible name.”
“And we write smut.”
Now he’s speechless. “What?” he growls.
“We write smut,” I say with a helpless shrug. “Erotica. We’ve released two books already and we’re working on our third. The reviews are great. The money is better.”
He’s slowly shaking his head and I can practically see the steam escaping from his ears. “This better be a joke.” His voice is practically choking with anger.
“No joke,” I tell him, pulling out my phone and showing him. “Those are our books.”
He takes a quick glance. “That’s disgusting,” he seethes.
“Yeah, sometimes it is. But I didn’t want it to be a secret anymore. I’m not ashamed.”
“Well you damn well should be!”
“Why?”
“Because…it’s not real writing. It’s not literature. It’s garbage.”
“That’s what people said about Shakespeare back in the day. His plays were just entertainment. But what’s wrong with that?”
“That’s what movies are for.”
“That’s what all art is for. Your creations can become anything to anyone. I’ve realized there’s nothing wrong with letting people escape for a few hours. Plus you should hear about all the sex lives I’m saving.”
“Other than your own?”
“Dad. I know how you feel about the genre and that’s fine. But really, if you want to save the store, the first thing you need to do is start carrying smut. Or at least romance.”
“I would never,” he grumbles, his face growing red. “And I would never carry that junk of yours.”
I knew he would be like this. I don’t even bother taking it personally.
“Dad,” I tell him, pulling up the calculator and entering a few numbers. “I get my first check from Amazon very soon.” I place the numbers in front of his face. “This is how much I’m giving to the store. The rest is going into savings.”
He stands there. Stunned.
“And that’s from one month of sales from one book,” I go on.
He’s speechless. He licks his lips, eyes darting to me.
“Are you serious?’
I nod.
He clears his throat. “Well then. Congratulations on your new career.”
He pats me on the back and I watch nearly all his worries lift away.
I wish I could say the same about mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Amanda
It’s been a week since I last talked to Blake.
He’s called, texted, emailed every single day.
I ignore them all.
I mean, it’s ridiculous the way I’m acting. I know I’m being a brat. I know I said a bunch of things I didn’t mean because I was just so hurt and vulnerable. And I know I can’t keep ignoring him forever. Even if we weren’t partners with two books out and a third in the works, even if we didn’t have paychecks coming that we’d have to divide between us, I’d still have to talk to him because I’m in love with the asshole and that feeling isn’t going away anytime soon, no matter how hard I try to crush it into the ground.
But I’m stubborn, way more stubborn than he is and when he finally stops messaging me, well then I feel the pinch. The real fear. It never was that our secret could come out and that people might judge us. Losing him has always been my number one worry.
I know he cares for me. I know, especially after talking to Sarah, who told me just how wonderful he was at the party, the things he was saying about me, that he would never intentionally do anything to hurt me. And I know that the manwhore is gone and what’s left is one hell of a sexy man who makes me laugh, makes me come and worships the ground I walk on.