I ignored the message.
Another message popped up. This time, it was Emerson. Good evening, Derek. I just wanted to remind you we’re supposed to work on your novel tonight. Is it okay if I swing by in fifteen minutes?
I totally forgot about that. I never wanted to work on that book because I had other shit to do, so if she didn’t ride me like this, it would never get done. She wasn’t just my assistant, but the woman running my life like it was hers and not mine. Fine. I realized what I’d said and how harsh it was, so I texted again. I mean, shut up. Jesus, predictive text. I’d tried to say something better but ended up saying something worse. Sorry. I mean, sure. Autocorrect.
LOL. I’ve never seen autocorrect change sure to shut up, but whatever you say…
I set the phone down then grabbed my dinner from the fridge. I popped it in the microwave before I sat at the table again.
Instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, she used her key to get inside so I wouldn’t have to get up. She had her big purse stuffed with papers. She took a look around, to make sure everything was in order as she came to the dining table. “How’s your dinner?”
“Good.”
She set her things down then retrieved the whiteboard from the closet and set it up next to the table.
I continued to eat as I watched her get situated.
“Before we begin, is there anything you need me to do before the weekend?”
I shook my head.
“Do you have your lesson plan ready for Tuesday?”
I pulled out the papers from the satchel, knowing she wanted them for some reason.
“Great.” She pulled out a binder and a three-hole punch. “I’m going to make you a little binder to store all these.”
“Why?” I didn’t need to carry a binder around.
“That way, you have everything organized when you teach next semester.”
“I only teach one semester every year, in the summer.”
“Well, it’ll be ready when the time comes.”
I continued to eat.
Her brown hair was in soft curls, framing her face in shorter strands then getting longer the farther back the hair went. Every time she made an appearance, she was dressed like she was ready for a board meeting. Her hair was always done, and her makeup was fresh. Yes, she was attractive, but I didn’t see why the guys gawked at her. She just wasn’t my type. I liked girls in the bars, in short dresses, who just wanted to party then go on their way. Emerson was too… I don’t know. Just not my type.
“So, I went through the pages you already completed.” She pulled them out and set them beside me. They were marked up with red ink. “You want to do this now or later?”
“You aren’t my editor, so why do you care?”
“I care because I’m a fan. When I told you that, I wasn’t blowing smoke up your ass.”
I stopped eating.
“I want you to write the best book you can possibly write, and while it’s very good, it could be better.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her honesty.
She must have read my expression because she continued. “It’s my job to make you better, not to tell you what you want to hear so you never reach your full potential. My job is also to save you time so you can spend more time writing, because I think you’re so gifted at it that you should be like Stephen King.”
“He writes horror.”
“But he’s been writing at least a book year for…twenty years? That’s what I want you to do, Derek.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have that kind of ambition.”
She released a chuckle.
“What?”
“Ambition is something you definitely have, Derek.” She placed her hand on the papers. “So? Now or later?”
I had a thick skin and didn’t care what other people thought, but I didn’t want to watch someone slash my work to pieces while they stared at me. I grabbed the stack and tossed it aside. “I’ll look at it later.”
She didn’t challenge me even though her look suggested otherwise. “Alright. Let’s get to work on this story…”
I got a lot of pages written once she got my mind going. We sat in comfortable silence, and I typed while she organized my lesson plans and took care of some other papers that needed to be filed.
My phone kept vibrating with text messages from Fleur, and I silenced it so she wouldn’t distract me anymore.
It was difficult for me to get started on my story, but once I was going, I just ran with it. I sat there without moving for hours, getting over five thousand words written. When my mind started to become foggy, I knew my brain was tired. I shut the laptop.
Emerson turned to me, her blue eyes showing genuine excitement at what I’d accomplished. “How many words this time?”