"Really? I can't back out of an arrangement that specifically says I can back out at any time?" I ask him, cocking my eyebrows.
"If you back out now, then it'll look very bad for my career, babe," he tells me, completely serious.
I swear to God, Grady has made thinking only about himself an art form.
I reach down and grab his pants and his boxers and bunch them up. I take Alyssa's short skirt. I bunch all of it together into a tight little ball.
"I can't leave?" I ask him, walking toward him.
"Not if you want to keep your end of the bargain," he says to me, sagely.
I smile and go toward his window that's cracked open slightly. The cold New York City air is coming in. Helps the building save on air conditioning.
Then without a second glance I stick my hand out the window.
Alyssa gasps because this is the hand that has her skirt, her thong, Grady's pants, and his boxers.
And I let them go.
They flutter in the wind, dropping down toward the ground.
"That's what I think of my fucking end of the bargain," I tell him. "And it looks like you have a bigger problem at work than worrying about losing me as a client."
And that's it.
My exit. I head to the door.
"You're going to regret this, Abby," Grady says to me.
"Fuck off and die, asshole," I say w
ithout turning back. "You're the one that'll regret it if you come after me."
Don't look at me like that babe.
I may be an angel most days.
But fuck with me, and I'll go from sweet and cute into the Angel of Death.
3
Aidan
"Un-fucking-believable," I say, releasing my grip from the pull-up bar.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and I wipe it off. "Did you call the right people?" I ask.
My PA, CJ, looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
"What kind of a question is that? Of course I did, and I'm not going to lie," CJ replies. "The situation is bad. I made over a hundred calls yesterday. That's a hundred and counting Aidan! Do you know how long that takes? And not a single person wanted to work with you. The numbers aren't good. I'm beginning to get worried."
"What about the author I modeled for last week?" I ask. None of this makes sense. Not after the fucking applause I received at the RAGA conference. Say what you will, but the audience fucking loved me.
"That author's moved on, mumbled something about wanting to take her book covers in another direction," CJ replies.
"That's a fucking joke."
"Joke or not, we need to figure something out, and quick. Your reputation in the Romance book industry isn't good."