My Own Mr. Darcy by Karey White Read Free Book Online Page A

Tomorrows , but my employee, Meg, said she
loved it. Romance isn’t really my thing.” Janessa jabbed me with her elbow.
    “You really should read
it. I assure you it isn’t just a romance. It’s much more socially relevant than
that. There’s a whole set of readers who only read romance. I like to trick those
silly women into thinking they’re buying a romance and then throw in some of my
pet social issues.”
    Mr. Dawson was nodding.
Ms. Eggleston leaned in closer and continued. “I find most romance readers to
be quite shallow. My goal is to raise their social consciousness without them even
realizing what’s happening.”
    “Bravo. Like putting a
little sugar with their medicine. Cloak something of meaning in a love story
and you may teach some of these women something after all.”
    Janessa leaned in close.
“He’s certainly got the arrogant thing down.”
    “So did Mr. Darcy,” I
whispered.
    Mr. Dawson surveyed the
half-filled room. At first, his eyes passed over me but a moment later they came
back to where I sat. His gaze bored into me and although my instinct was to
look away, I didn’t. A few moments later, he gave me a curt nod and then looked
at his watch.
    Mr. Dawson stepped up to
the microphone. “Welcome to The Pink Salamander. You’re in for an enlightening
evening with one of Oregon’s brightest authors, Nanette Eggleston.” The
scattered crowd clapped politely. Ms. Eggleston reached for Mr. Dawson’s hand
and he helped her up the step onto the platform.
    Really! One small step and
she needed help? “I present to you, Nanette Eggleston.”
    It was hard for me to take
Ms. Eggleston seriously since I now knew she thought all the women in the room
were intellectually inferior. Mr. Dawson took a seat at the far end of the
front row. The row of chairs curved so I could see him. And he could see me.
    The first time our eyes
met, I smiled. He didn’t smile back. After that I tried not to look his
direction, but just as they were when Matthew Macfadyen was on the screen, my
eyes were dragged to him against my will. I saved a crumb of dignity by
refusing to smile at him each time our eyes met.
    Ms. Eggleston droned on
and on. First she read a passage about the leading lady who was fighting an
internal battle about whether she should sacrifice for the man she loved or put
her own desires first. The passage ended before the decision was made, but
after hearing her earlier speech to Mr. Dawson, I imagined she chose the
selfish route.
    When the reading was over,
she asked for questions.
    “What inspired this
novel?” a woman toward the back asked and Ms. Eggleston graced us with a
ten-minute discourse about a friend who had gone through a divorce because
she’d spent her life putting her husband and children first only to discover
that if she didn’t put herself first, no one else would. She left her family
and went on a pilgrimage to find her best true self.
    “Where is your favorite
place to write?” an older woman asked.
    “I find I do my best work
at Starbucks,” Ms. Eggleston said. Several people snickered.
    Ms. Eggleston bristled and
her voice became defensive. “You may laugh but I’m quite serious. There’s a
creative energy in a coffee shop. It’s palpable. Smart, intellectual people
mingling together and sharing ideas. I like to sit in a corner and soak
everything in over a Skinny Caramel Macchiato. And then I start writing. It’s
actually quite exhilarating.”
    Ms. Eggleston pointed at
an eager, plain young woman with thick glasses, who asked, “What advice would
you give to someone who wants to be an author?”
    “You want to be an
author?” Ms. Eggleston asked and the young woman blushed as she nodded. Ms.
Eggleston looked the girl over before she continued. “My best advice to you
would be to forget about it. Get a job in a restaurant or a bank. Writing is
only half the battle. Even if you manage to write a good book, you have to
learn how to turn yourself into a brand.