Page 6
Doing what anyone in my position might, I sag against the carpet, willing death to take me. “Is life even worth living anymore?”
“My next book is borderline BDSM.”
I arise, kneeling proper, hands folded. Miraculously healed, I flutter my lashes up at my sadistic friend. “Do come again?”
“I was merely reviving you with lies. It’s another slow burn. I’ll let them kiss, though. At least once. Maybe.”
I…think I’m being bullied. “Why must you use your magical skills of authoring against me? I’ve no other book dealers. I’m loyal and faithful and kind and sweet, and I do not know why you hate me so.”
Amid my tirade, my dearest friend’s husband, Alister, enters the room, beholds me, beholds his wife, and smiles. “Are you being evil again, my darling author?”
If he’s currently calling her his author, that must mean they’re between stories right now. Which means August isn’t working on her next book. Which means not only have I been starved for kisses, I shall be starved for content entirely.
I must fix this promptly.
“Jesters,” I blurt.
August and Alister glance at me.
August catches on, but she refuses to acknowledge that she understands when she opts to instead cover her mouth and fake sob. “She’s gone mad, my love. Mad! Oh, if only she were of sound mind still…we might be able to discuss new stories. Alas! I’ll think fondly of the days when we once plotted together.”
I grip her skirt, begging. “Please write me an insane jester story.”
She drops her act in order that she might shatter my heart. “No.”
“But, but, but. Yandere jester? Just one little yandere jester? For me? Your dearest and closest friend?”
“Absolutely…” She pauses and glances at her husband—likely picturing him as a yandere jester. Her face implodes red beneath all her millions of freckles. “Nope. Noo. We’re not going there.”
Alister, ever a team player, leans down to murmur in his wife’s ear. “What? You don’t want me to be a psychotic jester, your majesty? I’d do a heck of a job of it. And I think my name matches the role well, don’t you?”
August’s breath stutters while mine holds on, bated. At last, she mutters, “I’ll consider it.”
I throw my arms in the air. “Yay!”
“Speaking of toxic clowns,” Alister says, peering down at me, “I just came from Wynn’s.”
My heart thuds at the mention of his name, and I haven’t a clue why Alister is looking at me like he is. I…haven’t seen Wynnter in the flesh for…a while. Not since…
“You should stop by there before you head home. He could use your help with his current project.”
Heart racing, my head tilts. “O-oh? Really?” That’d be very strange, but not impossible. Wynnter’s job description is, literally, everything. His business card reads as follows:
Wynnter Winslow
Independent Contractor
I do things.
I keep it in my purse and stare at it sometimes, trying his last name on for size. Occasionally, I daydream about constructing a business card for myself to match his.
It would read:
December Winslow.
Wife of an Independent Contractor.
Call me things.
