Page 85 of A Billion Dollar Romance

I blinked.

“Edie?” she asked. “Are you there?”

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, pulling my open robe around me. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Great. Do you have a moment to discuss?”

I nodded. “Yes, but–”

“Alright, then. So, as I’m sure you know, my job as your agent will be to best position you and your book–and future books–in terms of contracts for sale and–”

“Yes, but–” I said again.

“Yes?” Sam asked.

“I have to tell you now, it isn’t finished yet.”

“So I saw. That’s fine. The publishers aren’t expecting a perfect document, you know that, you’re an editor. We’ll get it sold, and then the publisher will take the lead in edits, you’ll have time for revision–”

“No, I mean, the sample you read, that book… it doesn’t have an ending. I haven’t finished writing it. I don’t even know how it’s supposed to end.” My voice pitched up. I was embarrassingly close to tears, and I wasn’t even sure why.

“Edie,” Sam said, sounding confused. “What sample?”

“The one on my website? On my portfolio?”

“Oh, that. No, I’m not calling about that. I’m calling about your romance.”

“My what?” I whispered.

“You are Penelope Portland, are you not?” she asked, and all the air left me in a woosh. “We’ll discuss that pen name, by the way. I think Edie is snappier. Penelope is a little…”

“You read my romance,” I said, stupidly.

“I did. Where have you been hiding, Edie? It’s great. The Jack character–he’s perfect. Book Boyfriend material,” Sam continued as I dug around in my messy pile of belongings for my tote bag, pulling out the manuscript I’d been avoiding since my arrival.

EIGHTEEN TIMES DEAD, read the front cover. A NICK NEWSOME THRILLER.

It wasn’t my book.

I heard pages flipping in the background, over the phone line.

Thatwas my book.

“Okay,” I said, dazedly. Samantha Scott had read my novel. She liked it. She wanted to represent me. A bubble of excitement was growing in my belly. “But–”

“Hmm?”

“How did you get my manuscript?”

Even as I said it, I knew there was only one answer.

“James passed it to me,” she said. The weight crushing me made it hard to breathe. “He wanted my opinion on it. I didn’t realize it was yours, I thought it was another of his little ghosts with potential.”

“It was James?” I asked, all the oxygen leaving my chest in one breath.

“Mmhmm. He sent it over.”

Of course he had.