When Izzy handed the bottle of pills to Michaela, Michaela gave her a very pointed look in Beau’s direction. Was she trying to tell her to do what Izzy thought she was trying to tell her to do? Michaela nodded. She was apparently a mind reader. Izzy might as well try, right?
She turned around to face him. “Mr. Towers, I’d love to chat with you about your memoir. It’s okay that you’re behind on getting it to us, really. We just want to open the lines of communication and help you with it, in any way we can. We can set you up with a ghostwriter—that would be totally confidential, of course. Or Marta or I can talk through an outline, or pages, or a particular chapter with you, whatever the bottleneck is. And I’m great at pep talks, so I’m always available for those, if that’s what you need—there’s no shame in it!”
Beau set the glass of water down in front of Michaela, that furious look back on his face. “Now it’s time for you to go.”
Michaela caught Izzy’s eye and motioned for her to keep going. So, for some reason, she did.
“Mr. Towers, we understand that it can be scary for authors to admit what the problem is, but we’ve seen it all, really. We’re happy to help, in whatever way you need.”
She’d given some version of this speech—either via email or on the phone—to various authors of Marta’s, the ones who’d seemed stalled, or had fallen behind, or had sent her those emails where she could feel the panic between the lines. Marta never said anything like this to her authors—it was far too encouraging for her—but Izzy had started giving pep talks like this after she’d overheard other editors and their assistants on the phone with authors. It always seemed to help; this speech usually made people feel better, reassured. But Beau somehow looked angrier than when he’d walked into the kitchen. He let out a bark of laughter.
“You? You’ve seen it all? What are you, like twenty-two?”
Izzy forced herself not to roll her eyes. She had good genes, okay?
“I’m twenty-five.” Not that it was any of his business. Plus, she happened to know he was exactly one year older than her. “But when I say ‘we,’ I’m not talking about just me; I’m talking about the collective knowledge of the team at TAOAT.” He was still staring at her, with that superior, disbelieving look on his face, and she’d suddenly had it with him. Instead of being nice, she said exactly what was on her mind. “You may have realized that a memoir is too much for you to handle. That’s okay, we understand that! Not everyone is cut out for this! We can easily connect you with a ghostwriter to do the heavy lifting. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
Okay, yes, fine, that was kind of bitchy, but he’d asked for it. She might smile at him, the same smile she wore at work, but she refused to pretend it was okay for him to talk to her like she was dirt under his feet.
He looked at her with fury in his eyes. She just smiled wider.
“I don’t need a ghostwriter,” he almost spat at her. “You people think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
Izzy made her voice as peppy as it could be. “Oh, of course not!” she said. “It’s no judgment on you! We know how…busy your schedule is. It’s just an offer—we want to explore all avenues here.”
Beau bared his teeth at her, in what he possibly meant as a smile. “Fine. You want to help me in any way you can?” he asked, in a clear imitation of her voice. “You want to give me pep talks? How’s this: I want you to give me a pep talk every day. How does that sound?”
Did this guy think he was going to trip her up somehow? After all of Marta’s unreasonable requests?
“Whatever I can do to help, Mr. Towers. Would you like me to email you, or call you at a specific time, or…？”
He laughed again. “No, you don’t get it. You can stay here and give me your cheerful little pep talks in person.” He threw out his arm and gestured toward the hallway. “We have plenty of room, as I’m sure you saw.”
She knew this jerk was expecting her to back down, but she’d call his bluff. “I’d be happy to do that, Mr. Towers. My luggage is right out in my car.”
He glared at her again. “Give me your car keys, I’ll go get your luggage now,” he said.
Wait, but…Okay, he couldn’t actually mean this.
She couldn’t be the one to chicken out, though. She dug in her tote bag and handed him the keys to the rental car. He didn’t thank her.