Nine Perfect Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page B

table would have given me leverage, so I—”
    â€œTimmy passed ?” Frances couldn’t believe it. Hanging in her wardrobe was a designer dress that she’d never be able to wear again because of the stain from a piña colada Timmy had spilled on her while he had her cornered in a room at the Melbourne Writers Festival, his voice hasty and hot in her ear, looking back over his shoulder like a spy, telling her how much he wanted to publish her, how it was his destiny to publish her, how no one else in the publishing industry knew how to publish her the way he did, how her loyalty to Jo was admirable but misplaced because Jo thought she understood romance but she didn’t , only Timmy did, and only Timmy could and would take Frances “to the next level,” and so on and so forth until Jo turned up and rescued her. “Oi, leave my author alone.”
    How long ago was that? Not that long surely. Maybe nine, ten years ago. A decade. Time went by so fast these days. There was some sort of malfunction going on with how fast the earth was spinning. Decades went by as quick as years once did.
    â€œTimmy loved the book,” said Alain. “Adored it. He was nearly in tears. He couldn’t get it past Acquisitions. They’re all shaking in their boots over there. It was a hell of a year. The decree from above is psychological thrillers.”
    â€œI can’t write a thriller,” said Frances. She never liked to kill characters. Sometimes she let them break a limb but she felt bad enough about that.
    â€œOf course you can’t!” said Alain too quickly, and Frances felt mildly insulted.
    â€œLook, I have to admit I was worried when Jo left and you were out of contract,” said Alain. “But Ashlee seemed to really be a fan of yours.”
    Frances’s concentration drifted as Alain continued to talk. Shewatched the closed gate and pushed the knuckles of her left hand into her lower back.
    What would Jo say when she heard Frances had been rejected? Or would she have had to do the same thing? Frances had always assumed that Jo would be her editor forever. She had fondly imagined them finishing their working lives simultaneously, perhaps with a lavish joint retirement lunch, but late last year Jo had announced her intention to retire. Retire! Like she was some sort of old grandma! Jo actually was a grandmother, but for goodness’ sake that wasn’t a reason to stop . Frances felt like she was only just getting into the swing of things, and all of a sudden people in her circle were doing old-people things: having grandchildren, retiring, downsizing, dying—not in car accidents or plane crashes, no, dying peacefully in their sleep. She would never forgive Gillian for that. Gillian always slipped out of parties without saying goodbye.
    It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Jo’s replacement turned out to be a child, because children were taking over the world. Everywhere Frances looked there were children: children sitting gravely behind news desks, controlling traffic, running writers’ festivals, taking her blood pressure, managing her taxes, and fitting her bras. When Frances first met Ashlee she had genuinely thought she was an intern. She’d been about to say, “A cappuccino would be lovely, darling,” when the child had walked around to the other side of Jo’s old desk.
    â€œFrances,” she’d said, “this is such a fan girl moment for me! I used to read your books when I was, like, eleven ! I stole them from my mum’s handbag. I’d be like, Mum, you’ve got to let me read Nathaniel’s Kiss , and she’d be like, No way, Ashlee, there’s too much sex in it!”
    Then Ashlee had proceeded to tell Frances that her next book needed more sex, a lot more sex, but she knew Frances could totally pull it off! As Ashlee was sure Frances knew, the market was changing, and “If you just look at