Romance Is My Day Job by Patience Bloom

Author:Patience Bloom
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

The Voice from Five Thousand Miles and Twenty-Six Years Away

August 2009

It’s a not-so-leisurely work-at-home Wednesday for me. Because I have at least two books—usually three—to edit per month, there is no shortage of work for me to do. I also have to gather information for the insides of the books, the dedications and the author bios, and then approve the back-cover copy (a.k.a. “jacket” copy on other books). I could work ahead on cover ideas for the next month. Should the couple be in clinch or can I have a studly-hero-alone cover where he’s wearing a black leather jacket, staring hungrily at the female reader? There is an endless pile of reading: of slush, of manuscripts authors have just turned in (August is a busy time, by the way), of proposals for new contracts. I could be writing articles for genre newsletters. Tomorrow I have a big meeting for which I’d like to be overprepared. More on that in a minute.

Usually, I have focus, but today I just want to stare into space. I can do that, right? No one will know. There is no child for me to chase around the apartment. No reason for me to get out of these pajamas. The idea is so satisfying, that I could lounge and stare without detection. But I do have my mother’s voice in my head. She’s telling me to make myself get dressed, become a whirlpool of productivity, crush those deadlines, go beyond my limits, create a new blog, impress my peers, work until midnight every night—be that sick workhorse who never ever buckles under pressure (like her).

But I’m not that girl. I don’t need to be that girl. For twenty years, I’ve been a diligent worker who’s given up many nights and weekends to her job. I have oodles of time yet to be a perfect worker, especially now that love is no longer a priority. I’m a free agent, delirious to not have a husband, a boyfriend, or, best of all, another bad date. I will just enjoy peace on this one little Wednesday.

Then I spy on my night table the next-best thing to having a social life: the books of Emily Giffin, which is how I meet the dastardly Darcy Rhone of Something Blue, the new heroine of my life, the voice I’d like to have in my head along with my mother’s.

Darcy goes after what she wants and gets it. She lives by her impulses, ignores that she might upset people. If she sees a pretty scarf in the window, she buys it, using her ex’s credit card. The words that come out of her mouth are cold, hard truths. No nice-nice from her, though she’s easily the most fun person at a party . . . until she sleeps with the guy you’re in love with. But that’s not why I love Darcy. Her bratty princess attitude is refreshing to me. Having been a pushover my whole life, I’d love to be a brat for a while.

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