Page 42 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

M ason had texted two hours ago to say he was going out for a beer with Denny, and he hoped that was okay, and she shouldn’t wait up.

It was better than okay—a shared drink meant the talk had gone well.

As for waiting up, she certainly wasn’t going to bed.

He’d had a hellishly long and stressful day. She’d be here for him.

Also, she was hoping for sex. Okay, fine, that was probably not on the table after that long and stressful day, capped off by a physically strenuous game.

Gemma had already watched the highlights reel, and she’d seen how hard Mason had worked, as if he wasn’t already exhausted from the trip.

He’d even scored an assist to help Denny win the game.

So probably no sex. But she could hope, right? Either way, there would be lots of time for that, because their getaway had gone into overtime.

Gemma stretched out with her laptop in front of the roaring fire, watched snow drift past the window, and she grinned at her luck. The luck of finding a guy who didn’t just listen to her but heard her.

They’d had a lazy conversation late last night, where he’d gotten her to admit what she’d wanted for their getaway. And that’s what he gave her. A chalet in Whistler for a week.

He’d been careful about the “surprise” this time because, again, he had been listening.

He told her what he had in mind and asked the driver to stop by her apartment so she could pack.

Whistler was only an hour from home, and he’d promised they’d go into the city tomorrow to grab anything she’d forgotten.

This was not the chalet she imagined. It was about three times the size.

Two fireplaces. A Jacuzzi. A sauna. A hot tub on the deck.

A full kitchen. And both a living room and a study for her to write in.

Because that’s what she was supposed to be doing here.

He’d need to come and go, with practices and games, and she’d hole up and write.

What would she be writing? Her new book, apparently.

She flipped to her work email and reread the message.

Yesterday, she’d written a proposal for her editor.

She’d said she’d still finish the promised book two if they wanted it, but she had this other idea that might work better, given the success—however humble—of Fling .

She’d written the email, attached the proposal, and hit Send while they were on the island without cell service.

Once they had service, she let it and several other emails go…

and then forgot about them in the chaos of the flights.

It was only once she reached the chalet, settled in, and cracked open her laptop that she realized she had a reply.

Love the new direction! We’d need to rework the schedule, but I hadn’t presented the new book to sales yet, so we’re fine. Let’s chat when you’re home. We can talk due dates and get you back on the schedule. Hope you had a great trip!

And that was it. All her worrying that she’d torpedo her nascent career, and her editor gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

The other email from her editor might have helped.

It congratulated her on hitting the USA Today list. Gemma had forgotten all about that.

Her editor—and the imprint—was thrilled that she’d debuted on the list and that her sales were going strong into the second week.

Then there was the email from Daphne.

Congrats on hitting the list!!! I’m so thrilled for you.

And before you credit Hockey Guy and the publicity, you’re holding above four stars on Goodreads.

The extra publicity only helped people find your book.

That’s what Chris reminded me every time I fretted that Edge only sold because it had your hot brother playing the author :)

On a related note, my agent would like to speak to you about representation.

No, I did not ask him. I know you didn’t want that.

I mentioned months ago that my sister-in-law had a romance coming out, but now that he’s had a chance to read it, he’s eager to talk to you.

Whether you go with him or someone else, I really think you’re going to need representation.

It’ll also help having someone to talk to about issues with deadlines, hint, hint.

Gemma had replied to Daphne and said yes to a meeting with Lawrence. He was her dream agent, naturally, but he didn’t represent romance, and she’d been terrified of him taking her on as a favor to his biggest-selling client.

Gemma had spent the last two hours working on her new book, and she already had a first chapter.

Her new hero wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he wasn’t an asshole.

Nor did he particularly remind her of anyone she knew, which was good.

And being in Lilias’s point of view made the words flow like water.

These were the sorts of characters Gemma wanted to write—capable women and the not-entirely-assholes who loved them.

When the front door opened, she scrambled up and ran like a twenty-year-old newlywed. She skidded barefoot into the hall just as Mason flicked on the light and saw her. He grinned, any exhaustion falling away as he swept her up in his arms.

“Did it go well?” she asked. “With Denny?”

“Very well.” He hugged her, still holding her aloft. “Thank you. I needed to do that.”

“And thank you for all this.” She waved a hand around. “It’s perfect.”

“Good semi-surprise then?”

She answered with a kiss that told him everything.