Can I See You Again? Read Online Free Page B

developer facing tax evasion charges. He’s worked on the case for months and every night this past week. Poor guy, he’s so stressed and busy I’ve hardly seen him since we met with the advisor.
    Got the docs. Joint account . . . we’re such grown-ups. :)
    I’m about to call Jo and check on her when my office door flings open and Randi, my publicist, blows into the room with the force of a jet turbine. She marches toward me in ankle-strapped stilettos and a cheetah print dress stretched taut across her ample chest and hips. A black leather purse, which appears the same diameter as the front tire of her Lexus IS C, is slung over her shoulder and a cell phone is pressed against her ear. She settles into my guest chair, rolls her eyes, and says to the caller, “When I schedule a goddamn lunch appointment, you show up on time. You are
not
the Queen of Sheba. And I wouldn’t wait twenty minutes for her fat ass any more than I’ll wait for yours. Uh-huh. Okay, fine. Love you, too, Mom.”
    Mom?
I bet Randi’s ringtone is an air horn.
    I peek at my day calendar but find nothing written about an appointment with Randi. “Sorry, I don’t recall a meeting today.”
    â€œOh, honey, we don’t have one. But have I got news. Have. I. Got. News. First, I crunched some numbers on your projected sales.”
    â€œDid you?” My fingertips drain to white as I brace my hands on the edge of my desk for support.
Stay calm, Bree. This is the moment you’ve waited for. You’ve written a good book. A helpful book. Randi wouldn’t come in person if the expectations were bad. Right?
I try to hide the rising pitch in my voice but end up squeaking like a pubescent boy. “And, so the numbers . . . ?”
    â€œYes, the early response is promising.”
    â€œReally?” I relax my pose and my heart starts beating again. “That’s great news.”
    â€œIf you’re happy with mediocrity.”
    â€œWell, no, I—”
    â€œPromising numbers aren’t enough. We want mind-blowing numbers. And that means we have a shitload of work to do.”
    â€œIn that case, I’ll pull on my boots.”
    She doesn’t laugh.
    C’mon . . . that’s funny.
    â€œNow, remember, when you hired me, you hired the best. In the nineteen years I’ve been in this business, only a handful of my clients haven’t reached the list.”
    â€œWhat list? Wait . . . you mean . . . the
bestseller list
?”
    â€œNo, my grocery list. Of course, the bestseller list. Isn’t this why you hired me?”
    â€œI hired you for recognition, sure, but I never . . . I never thought I’d have a shot.”
    â€œEvery book has a shot.” She taps her glossy red acrylic nail on my desk. “You’re familiar with the escalator clause in your contract, aren’t you? A twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus if you reach the bestseller ranking.”
    â€œYes, but honestly, I glossed over that section, never thinking I . . . I . . . really?”
Stop trembling, Bree.
    â€œHoney, I made a bestseller out of a French Provincial cabinetry poem book. So, if you follow my advice, I mean follow everything that I suggest to the letter, then, Bree Caxton,
Can I See You Again?
may very well land on the top twenty.”
    â€œOh my God.”
This is wild.
I picture Jo clutching my book against her chest with one arm and hugging me tight with the other. Andrew and me dancing like idiots, waving my book in the air. A line of eager readers waiting for my autograph.
Slow down, Bree. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Way aheadof yourself.
Then all the variables and could-go-wrongs zip back and forth through my mind like a
Fast and Furious
movie car chase. Worry spreads through my veins like a virus. “You’re not pulling me along, right? Please don’t say I’ll