Mr. Love: A Romantic Comedy by Sally Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

my good fortune.”
    “Just help a little with the expenses, Gordon. That’s all I expect.”
    “No Bitsy, I want you to have twenty-five percent of whatever Ivy makes.”
    She stares at him.
    “That’s wildly generous, Gordon. I could never accept that.”
    “You’ll be earning it, Bitsy, don’t worry.”
    “How?”
    He stands and paces the room, running a hand through his hair.
    This is it.
    The crunch.
    “You’ll understand that as a serious, literary author, I couldn’t be seen to be writing this kind of lesser fiction?”
    “But that’s why you so cleverly used an alias, surely?”
    “To access the print deal and to sell the movie rights I would need an agent, do you understand?”
    “Oh, I see. And they would have to know your real identity?”
    “Exactly.”
    “But surely they could be sworn to secrecy?”
    “In this on-line age, Bitsy, nothing is secure. No, if I sign on with an agent I will be exposed.”
    “It is a quandary.”
    “Good word. But I think I have a solution.”
    “What?”
    He breathes deeply and then says, “You’ll be Viola Usher.”
    She blinks at him.
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you. You’ll sign on with an agent as the author of the book.”
    “Oh , I could never do that, Gordon. That would be dishonest.”
    “No, no. It would be dishonest if you were stealing the work and pretending it was your own. But I’m asking you to do it, Bitsy, so it won’t be dishonest at all.”
    “But the re’ll be publicity, won’t there Gordon? I’m not the person for that.”
    “I’ll shield you from all of it, Bitsy. Don’t worry. I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”
    She looks past him, staring into space and he thinks he’s lost her when she speaks: “Twenty-five percent you say?”
    “Yes.”
    “Of all the profits?”
    “Yes.”
    “What are we talking in dollars? Thousands?”
    Gordon, slightly surprised at his militantly anti-materialistic sister asking this question, says, “Oh, more than that.”
    “Tens of thousands?”
    “More.”
    “Hundreds of thousands?”
    “Bitsy, with the print edition, the movie rights and the sale of the sequel, well, we’re talking millions.”
    His sister fixes him with an unusually direct stare and says, “Make it fifty percent and we’re on.”
    He gapes at her in astonishment.
    “You mean that?”
    “I do.”
    She sticks out a bony hand and takes his in a surprisingly strong grip.
    “Say hello to Viola Usher.”

12
     
     
     
     
    Jane’s hands are a little sweaty on the wheel of the rental Honda as she drives across to Briar Lane, blind to the blaze of Fall color, the trees radiant in the afternoon light.
    Her phone rings and she sees it ’s Jonas.
    Again.
    And again she sends him to voice mail, knowing this will drive him crazy.
    Jonas Blunt is a man who demands constant accessibility to his minions.
    But she will talk to him only when—and if—she sews this thing up.
    Jane parks behind a rusted old Volvo and walks up the pathway.
    The door opens before she can knock and Gordon shows her in.
    “Jane Cooper, my sister Bitsy Rushworth.”
    Jane steps into the living room and her heart sinks when she sees a small, dowdy woman with graying blonde hair standing up from a chair to greet her.
    Is it possible that this little country mouse wrote the sizzling, steamy, Ivy ?
    “I know what you’re thinking,” Gordon Rushworth says.
    “You do?”
    “Something along the lines of : how can this drab little woman write something so, well, hot ?”
    Taken aback Jane says, “No, no . . .”
    Gordon wags a hand.
    “Bitsy was married to an academic at an Ivy League college back in the nineties. She knows what she’s writing about, I can assure you.”
    Looking at this woman, Jane finds it hard to believe.
    What are you doing? she asks herself.
    Then thinks: Don’t look gift horses in the mouth.
    Even frumpy little ones.
    “I assume you’ll need some proof that I am, indeed, the author ?” Bitsy Rushworth asks in a