Lovestruck in Los Angeles (9 page)

Ah. So she was that kind of girl. The money-hungry type. And she naturally thought I was too.

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable now, and I saw her gaze trail down my towel-clad figure. The look on her face wasn’t exactly complimentary. I stood up quickly, the steam room experience kind of spoiled for me, and said a hasty goodbye.

The room with the Jacuzzis was nearly empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief before dropping my towel and slipping into the first one. I crossed my fingers that the balding-boyfriend-girl wouldn’t come out. Once I hit the water, I tried hard not to let her words get to me. Why did I care if she thought I was with Thomas for his money? I knew the truth about our relationship and so did he.

One look around the plush room though and my stomach sank. I could never have afforded this myself. I probably couldn’t afford the cheapest room in the hotel, even if I split it with a friend. And I certainly wouldn’t have had spending money left over for things like spa days and Cirque de Solei. I hadn’t even looked at the prices of any of the treatments we’d had that day, but they must have cost a fortune.

Stop worrying
, I told myself.
Remember how happy Thomas looked yesterday when he realized you were impressed by the room
. Why couldn’t I just let my boyfriend do nice things for me once in a while?

Because I can never do them back
, I thought sadly. I could never plan a trip like this for him, not in a hundred years of saving.

Would it always be like this? Would I always have to feel awkward and uncomfortable about money? The day had started out so wonderfully, and one stupid conversation with a total stranger had totally ruined it for me. I thought about the way she had glanced down at my body. There was no mistaking the judgment in her eyes. She may as well have said it out loud—how did she get a guy like him?

“Stop it,” I whispered. I didn’t want to feel sad today. I was already sad about missing Thanksgiving. And Thomas’s response had been to plan this amazing trip for me. I was not going to let my own stupid insecurities mess it up. When I got out of this tub Thomas was going to be waiting for me. Nothing else should have mattered.

***

“So,” Thomas said, standing behind me at the floor-to-ceiling window of our suite on the last night of our trip. “How did you like Vegas?”

I pulled his arms tighter around my mid-section. “It was pretty awesome.”

“I’m glad.” He rested his chin on the top of my head. Below us, the fountain show started. Though it was well past midnight, the street below was lit up like broad daylight. I had a fleeting wish that we could have arrived at nighttime. You could probably see Vegas lit up in the desert from miles away.

Next time
, I told myself. We would just have to come back.

“What was your favorite part?” I asked. “Cirque de Solei?”

“The show was awesome. I’ve never seen anything like it. But that massage was hard to beat.”

“True. And then there was dinner, which was also spectacular.” We’d had the farthest thing from a Thanksgiving dinner that I could imagine—French food at Le Cirque, here in the hotel. Thomas ordered a Kobe beef filet while I’d had the most melt-in-your-mouth-delicious sea bass I’d ever tasted. I was hardly what you’d call a foodie; I was usually happy with pretty simple food, but I didn’t think I’d ever had a better meal in my life.

“And checking out all the casinos was pretty cool,” Thomas said.

“Don’t you mean losing to me in gambling?” I asked and received a poke in the side for my teasing.

“You won thirteen dollars on the penny slots, Lizzie. You can stop acting like a high roller anytime.”

“You’re just mad because I kicked your ass.”

He chuckled into my hair. “Obviously.”

“So the massage was your favorite, with Cirque coming in a close second?”

“That sounds about right.” Thomas was quiet behind me for a moment. “But then there’s this,” he said, his voice low. “Just being here with you.”

I sighed happily, glad I had managed to put my steam room experience behind me so I could enjoy the evening. It had been perfect in every way. Including the ending, standing here with him, the city laid out before us, his arms around me. Just like he said. “Yeah. Being here is definitely the best part.”

Thomas’s lips slowly traveled down my neck, sending shivers across my skin. “Did I tell you I like this dress?”

“I’ve worn it about a dozen times since we started dating.” I was dressed in a simple black dress with spaghetti straps, a modest v-neckline, and a full, swingy skirt. It was appropriate for most venues, so I ended up wearing it a lot.

“And I’ve liked it every time you’ve worn it.” His lips moved to the back of my neck. “I can never decide what I like better. Your hair down and wild or your hair up like this.”

“If you’re going to keep that up I’ll wear it off my neck more often.”

He laughed, the sound low and deep, vibrating against my skin. “I’m very thankful for you, Lizzie.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of his lips. “You’re the thing I’m
most
thankful for,” I whispered, turning to kiss him. “Thank you for this trip, Thomas.”

“Was it a good holiday?”

I didn’t even have to bend the truth a little bit. “It was the best holiday I’ve ever had.”

“Come lay down with me.” His voice was a whisper in my ear. “I love you, Lizzie.”

I took his hand and followed him to the bedroom, leaving the spectacle of the Vegas lights behind for the unparalleled brilliance of spending the night in his arms.

Chapter Seven

“How in the hell does anyone park in this town?” I muttered, scanning the sides of the busy downtown street for a spot. I finally spied one a half block down and crossed my fingers. As I approached, I realized it was a lot smaller than I had initially thought.
You can parallel park
, I told myself.
You can do it.

I hated parallel parking, but there was nothing I could do. I was supposed to be dropping off some documents for Heidi at an office building downtown, and I had a feeling I was going to be late. So I gritted my teeth, uttered a curse, and put the car into reverse.

Four totally stressful minutes later I was climbing out of the car, the documents clutched in my hand. I had managed to squeeze my car into the space, but only barely. And it had taken me a full three minutes of straightening out. There was a group of teenagers across the street that I just knew were laughing at me, but I couldn’t let myself care. I had to get these documents inside or Heidi was going to be pissed.

As I hurried back down the block, struggling to find street numbers on the sleek, modern buildings, my phone rang shrilly in my bag. I pulled it out without glancing at the screen, thinking it was Heidi calling for an update.

“Nearly there,” I said, in my cheeriest, I’ve-got-this-covered voice, though a stitch was starting to ache in my side. Where was this place?

“Lizzie?”

“Charlie? Is that you?” I paused on the sidewalk. “Sorry, I thought you were my boss.”

“Oh, God, am I that scary?”

I laughed and continued down the sidewalk. There it was. Finally. “No, I’m just running late dropping off some paperwork for her, so I’m paranoid.”

“Should I let you go?”

“I have a few seconds.” I darted into the lobby and scanned the area for an elevator. “What’s up?”

“I actually have some good news for you regarding your book. Remember that editor I told you about?” I was searching through the paperwork for the floor number, and it took me a minute for his words to sink in.

“The editor?” I squeaked, and Charlie laughed.

“Yeah. She’s in L.A. Today, actually, and she’d like to have coffee with you this afternoon. Is that a possibility?”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, glancing at my watch. It was only ten- thirty. “Yes! Of course!”

“Good. I was worried I might have cocked it up for a minute. I was, uh, supposed to call you last night. Totally slipped my mind.”

I rolled my eyes. Charlie was completely flakey and scatterbrained. He said it was what made him charming as an artist. It would have been a lot less charming if it had prevented me from meeting this editor.

“So go drop off your paperwork and call me when you’re done, and I’ll get you all the details.”

The elevator arrived and I stepped inside. “Charlie, you’re amazing. Thank you so much.”

“No problem, love. Talk soon.”

I hung up feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. I couldn’t believe that the editor wanted to talk to me! I had passed a query letter and the first twenty pages along to Charlie before I left London, and he’d promised to give them to her. Did this mean she had read them? Did she like them? Was she going to give me notes? I was so caught up in my thoughts I nearly didn’t notice when the elevator reached my floor.

Finish your job first
, I reminded myself as I scurried down the hall.
Then you can get all moony about your book.

***

Four hours later I found myself rushing down a heavily trafficked block in Santa Monica. Charlie’s editor friend, Ellen Jacobs, was attending some kind of convention in town and was ducking out specially to meet me. I could hardly believe it. The morning had been a rush of finishing up my work for Heidi, printing out my manuscript, and generally running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I had barely had time to worry, but now that I was actually nearly at the cafe, my heart was pounding.

“Lizzie?”

I spun on the sidewalk to see a young woman about Thomas’s age approaching me from the corner. She was dressed in a smart grey suit, her blond hair up in a messy bun, a pencil stuck over one ear.

“I’m Ellen. I recognized you from your hair.”

Instinctively I ran a hand through my mane of messy curls, wishing I’d had time to style it or put it up or something.

“Charlie said you had amazing curly hair.”

I smiled at that and held out my hand for her to shake. Good old Charlie.

“Shall we head in and grab a drink?” she asked, gesturing at the cafe behind her.

“That sounds great.”

The cafe felt cool after being on the warm street. It was filled with couples chatting and serious-looking twenty-somethings typing away on MacBooks. I followed Ellen to the counter where we both ordered lattes, then we found seats in a quiet corner of the room.

“So,” she said, grinning at me. “Charlie gave me your query letter and the first twenty pages, and I had a chance to look it over. You’re a good writer, Lizzie.”

I grinned, my heart soaring. “Thank you.”

“I thought we could talk a little bit about your work, some areas I think you could maybe improve on, and then think about your best bet going forward. How does that sound?”

“It sounds great, Ellen. Thank you for doing this.”

For the next half hour I watched as she attacked my first twenty pages with a red pen. She was brutal but totally nice at the same time. For the first page or so I felt like maybe crying, that’s how hard it was to see this thing I had worked so hard on, put so much sweat and tears into, ripped apart with the tip of her felt pen. But eventually I realized that she wasn’t being mean or overly critical—the things she was telling me made sense, and already I could see how much better my story would be for her advice.

“This is really helpful,” I murmured, and she smiled at me.

“I’m glad. A lot of times people get pretty worked up over a critique. I hope you know I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t think the work had potential.”

When she was finished, she leaned back in her chair. “So, how do you feel about those suggestions?”

“Really good.” My mind was already spinning, thinking about ways I could follow her advice and get the action started much sooner.

“Great. I think you’re off to a really good start. Did you bring a full manuscript?”

I nodded, reaching into my bag for the flash drive containing my book.

“Excellent. I’d be happy to read through the rest, maybe show it to a few more people in the office.”

“Wow. That would be awesome.”

“It’s no problem.” She took a sip of her latte. “Charlie said you were very talented and I’d be crazy not to take an interest.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to make sure to thank him.”

She glanced down at her watch. “I should be getting back. I’m glad we had the chance to meet.”

I shook her hand, surprised and kind of amused when she leaned in and kissed both of my cheeks with a loud, “mwah.” I guess that was how literary people said goodbye.

“Ellen, thank you, really. This was incredibly helpful to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be in touch.”

Then she breezed out on a cloud of expensive-smelling perfume, leaving me reeling in my seat.

Wow. Wow! I’d had my first critique from a real live editor. And she’d liked my book! I replayed her words over and over as I got into the car: “maybe show it to a few more people in the office.” What if she showed it to one of her bosses? What if they liked it too?

Don’t get ahead of yours
elf, I told myself, as I pulled out onto Santa Monica Boulevard and headed for home.
Just enjoy this for what is was—the chance to get advice and feedback from an actual working editor.

I whistled the whole way home.

***

I was surprised to find Thomas at the house when I got there. His shoes were kicked off by the door, and I smiled to myself as I imagined the way he always shed things as he walked through the house. Sure enough, his jacket was tossed over the side of the couch in the living room. “Thomas?” I called out. “You here?”

“Outside!”

I walked through the open glass door to find him sitting on the deck, his feet bare and resting on the opposing chair, his tablet on his lap.

“Hey, love,” he said, smiling at me. He slid his feet down so I could sit across from him but pulled me down for a kiss first. “How was your day?”

“Great,” I said, deciding to sit on his lap instead. He hadn’t been home until right before I went to bed the night before, and I’d missed him. I wanted his arms around me now. He didn’t complain, setting the tablet on the table before wrapping me up in his arms and pulling me against his chest.