Plotting to Win (12 page)

The literary agent looked as though he’d tasted something sour. “For a man so used to taking orders, you didn’t get on well with Steve. Why is that?”

“I didn’t really want to change some things in my manuscript. He didn’t like my beginning. He advised me to start with action or dialogue, rather than an explanation or glossary of terms, but I wanted readers to understand some things going into the book,” the military writer said, rubbing his sun-burned head self-consciously.

“He actually suggested that for a good reason. When someone uses the Look Inside feature to read a sample of your book, do you want them to be bored and possibly not buy it?” Allen’s tone sounded bored right then.

“No. I guess not,” Roy admitted.

“It was solid advice. Such a simple thing you two couldn’t get around.” Mr. Brown shook his head.

“Tiffani,” Ophelia declared. The hard edge to her tone warned Victor something interesting was about to go down. He straightened up and paid closer attention, feeling reassured by the closeness of Felicity. If the erotic writer went bat-shit crazy, he was close enough to step in front of Felicity.

“Yes.” She spoke so quietly Victor barely heard it.

“Did you really tell Tabitha she needed to go
buzz her fuzz?
”

On his other side, Victor saw Carmen’s eyes widen. Dez sounded as though he were choking. Felicity’s jaw dropped. Victor lowered his gaze to hide his smile.

Tiffani’s tone was petulant. “She told me forced seduction was rape. I told her she needed to get familiar with the erotic industry. It’s totally acceptable. She said my writing was distasteful and there wasn’t a solid story.”

“Maybe that’s because there isn’t. You apparently have twenty-three solid pages of sex in a forty-page manuscript. The difference between porn and erotica is that erotica has a solid story complete with a backstory. I really have nothing else to say to you. This could very well send you home.” Ophelia looked tired as she said this.

Tiffani glared at Felicity.

“One of you will be closing your manuscript and going home. Please head on up to the loft. We’ll call you when we’ve made our decision.”

“Bitch. You better watch your back if I get kicked off.” Tiffani was red-faced and angry, only a foot away, but Felicity wasn’t playing nice girl anymore. She shrugged off Victor’s hand on her shoulder and faced the erotic writer head-on.

“Hey, I’m not the one who told my editor to go use a vibrator. You hung yourself.”

“You gave her to me while trying to get in the judges’ good graces by assigning yourself the toughest. Oooh, look at me, judges. I’m so smart.” Tiffani made her voice high-pitched, irritatingly so. “I’m here to hone my craft. I’m a little goody two-shoes.” Hands on hips, she glowered. “You must love the smell of shit ‘cause you’ve had your nose up their asses from day one.”

“You can’t even make up your own stories. You stole mine! I’m not wasting my breath arguing with you. People like you are leeches. You just thrive off others’ energy, ideas, and creativity.” Felicity raised her hand and spun away, running straight into Victor’s solid chest. It was warm and rock-hard, and it took everything she had not to melt against it. Under her palms, she felt his heart thumping.

“I think everyone needs to calm the fuck down,” he said, grasping her upper arms.

“We need to see Victor, Carmen, Tiffani, and Felicity,” Allen Brown’s voice came from behind them.

“What’d I say about women being inferior?” Dez hooted. “Look. All three of ‘em called down there. Can’t get along either.”

Felicity reluctantly moved her hand from Victor’s chest, mumbled an apology, and turned toward the stairs.

“Your task was to work closely with an editor for four hours. Notes were taken on your listening skills, willingness to learn, writing talent, and ability to grasp the rules of literature.” Ophelia leaned back in her chair and surveyed them, one brow arched. “Two of you impressed us. Two of you did not. One of you just may be the next bestseller. One of you will be closing your manuscript and going home.”

Thoughts ran through Victor’s mind at a blurring speed. Who would be gone? Carmen or Tiffani? Those were definitely the worst two. That left him and Felicity competing against each other here in front of the desk again. What would the group think of them being the top two again? How would he feel about losing to her … if he did?

He shifted from one foot to the other as the room grew warm, as
he
grew warm. He felt as if he was losing his cool, and he didn’t like it.

“Victor, you did a good job, even showed the editor a few new things. It seems everyone had an issue they didn’t feel like budging on, and yours was pretty minor compared to others. Regardless, how you handled it is the reason you are in the top two. Already, this is your second time up here. Keep it up.”

Victor couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. Even if he didn’t win this challenge, he was doing well, kicking ass, and taking names. His mama would be proud. Not for the first time since his arrival, he felt a twinge of worry as he stepped back into line.

Nicole shifted in her seat, drawing the attention her way. “Felicity,” she smiled, “you made a pretty good case for yourself. We’re very impressed with your willingness to learn while you are here. Your editor was as well.”

“Thank you, Ms. Roberts.” Felicity’s dark curls moved as she bobbed her head.

“Tiffani,” Ophelia stated with a shake of her head. “What’s up, girl? You did pretty bad. Everyone has disagreements with their editors over something, but outright disrespect was not called for and that attitude won’t get you far in the publishing business. There is no room for a diva. Remember that.”

“Well, she’s the one refusing to change her story to match the times.” Tiffani pointed at Carmen, her voice wavering. “I deserve to win this. I’m a good writer. I give my readers what they want. They aren’t even published.” Her chin began to quiver, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Hold up, hold up.” Carmen raised a hand, palm up in Tiffani’s direction. “You did not,
did not
just throw me under the bus.”

Victor nudged Felicity and leaned over to murmur in her ear. “Look. She does that head thing. She looks like an angry bird.”

Her dark eyes went wide and she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I don’t care who is throwing who under the bus,” Mr. Brown quickly interjected. “The judges’ decision has been made. Ms. Carmen, you do need to work with your editor better, and if we could send two of you home, we would, but as it stands …”

Ophelia took a deep breath and finished for him. “Tiffani, you do not have what it takes to be the next bestseller. Please close your manuscript and go home.”

The woman’s angry screech almost made Victor’s eardrums burst.

“You won the last challenge even though you gave yourself the toughest editor. Was that a ploy to win?”

Felicity crossed her ankles where they rested against the bottom rung of the stool. “I took a chance. I don’t plan on going home, but if I do, I want to leave here having learned a thing or two.”

“Was there some trouble with another contestant?” the cameraman asked.

Felicity looked uncomfortable. “Let’s just say I think some people are going to try to win this thing not based on their own merits, but by being underhanded.” She nodded at her own words. Her curls moved with her head. “But the more people try to hold me back, the more I kick and the faster I run. I’m walking out of here with that contract and the money, without pulling any dirty stunts. Just write me a check.” She grinned.

“You two again? Let me guess … top two.” Dez’s features contained no trace of its earlier friendliness as Victor and Felicity reentered the loft.

“Yea, but she won this time.” Victor nodded his head in Felicity’s direction and headed to the little table.

“Care to eat your words about women being inferior now?” Felicity arched a brow, unable to curb the smugness she was feeling in light of recent events. Karma was a wonderful thing. That crock of a writer had stolen her story, and now she was gone. While at first she’d been angry that the judges would do nothing about the stolen story idea and declared her notebook with writing not solid enough proof, now she was glad. Beating the woman was much more satisfying.

“So who lost?” Dez apparently chose to ignore her comment, instead, staring at the doorway intently.

“Not me.” Carmen casually walked in. “And though I’d love to stay and chat for the cameras wherever they may be,” the woman gave an exaggerated wave where she stood, “I’m off to write.”

Roy gave a low whistle as she trudged off to the bed area. “She’s been cutting it close. If she doesn’t change her attitude, she won’t win this thing.”

“Too cocky. Too ‘I’m right, the world is wrong’,” Victor agreed, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs in front of him.

“I find that funny coming from you, Mr. I’m-Not-Here-to-Make-Friends.” Felicity sat on the sofa with a sigh, remembering Victor on that first day.

Victor had the good grace to blush before he began scratching at some spot only he could see on the tabletop.

“Um hm. And you two getting friendly not long after he said that.” Dez frowned.

“Would you rather they be at each other’s throats?” Roy asked.

“No …” Dez said slowly, “no. Eventually they gonna realize that only one of them can win this thing.” He turned his gaze on first Felicity and then Victor. “And then ya’ll are going to throw each other over, and that’s when I’m going to swoop in.”

“Keep dreaming,
hombre
,” Victor retorted. “I’m not going soft. I’m here to win. Have been from the beginning. How many times have
you
been in the top two?”

“My time is coming,” Dez warned. “You just keep helping little romance writer here and distracting yourself, and I’ll keep doing my thing.”

Felicity closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Already, her euphoria was fading. She tuned out the men’s angry voices. She’d used all her bravado and spunk having a face-off with Tiffani earlier, and now … now she was just tired … tired of the bragging, the accusing, the inner turmoil, and the back and forth feelings Victor Guzman was evoking in her.

While she didn’t care for the arrogant Latino mouthing off in the background at the moment, she was falling hard for his softer side, and the words Dez had said earlier struck a chord within her soul.
Only one of them can win this thing
.

She was going to win, and Victor Guzman would probably never want to see her again.

The more she thought about it, the less she wanted it.

He found her sitting at the little table with its two chairs. It’d become their habit, something they hadn’t even talked about, but just did. Same time every day, they both sat and chatted. Sometimes it was mundane stuff, stories about growing up — Victor made sure to only share the good ones. She didn’t need to know he was a failure at protecting his mother. Other times they chatted about the show and their fellow contestants, and often the topic was writing in general.

He just loved sitting across from her, watching her facial expressions, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she was passionate about, the tilt of her head when she was lost in thought.

He’d be sad when she went home.

“What’s up?” He eyed her pensive expression as he sat down, placing his notebook and pencil on the table. For someone who’d won a challenge, she didn’t look happy.

She avoided his gaze, stared instead at the open computer in front of her. They weren’t allowed Internet, but were permitted their computers so they could write in their spare time. “Oh, nothing. Just writing.” Her voice was as subdued as her body language.

“The first episode is airing as we speak on the television. Everyone is in the game room watching. Don’t you want to see what you look like on TV? If you look as hot on screen as off? I sure do,” he teased and waited for a reaction.

“What? Look as hot on screen as off? Or want to watch it?” Felicity asked absentmindedly, tucking a curl behind her ear as she looked up at him.

“Ah ha! So you think I’m hot.” He settled into his chair and grinned, crossing his ankles under the table.

“That’s not what I said,” she protested, but her lips turned up, and he knew he’d won.

“Made you smile,” he said softly.

“Damn you. I was sitting here in a nice little funk.”

“Why? You won a challenge. You should be thrilled.” He raised a single finger in the air. “But it’s your only one. I’m taking the rest.”

She smirked and threw her pen down. “So you let me win?”

“Aww, you’re doing that angry bird thing with your head.” He aimed his finger at her and mimicked, sliding his head side to side.

Felicity rolled her eyes but stopped the head movement. “This is so why you aren’t married.”

And now was his chance to ask the question he’d been dying to ask since that day on the balcony. “No. I’m single by choice. What’s your excuse? You believe in happy-ever-afters, so why haven’t you found one? Got a mister waiting for you to say yes?”

She leaned forward and rested her chin on the top of her laptop. “I’ve always believed when I find the one, I will know. There will be some deep feeling of contentment, the confidence that I’m doing what’s right.” Her expression turned wistful as her eyes took on a faraway glaze.

If he shifted position a bit, uncrossed his ankles, and leaned forward about two feet, he could place his lips over hers … just once, while they were having a moment, while everyone was out of the room, before he had to beat her in the next challenge and send her fine ass home.

“Love at first sight?” he asked, uncrossing his ankles to relieve the pressure on his swelling cock.

“Not necessarily, but at some point I’ll know. I haven’t experienced that feeling yet.”

I’d love to give you that feeling
.

Right now
.

God
. He may not get another chance.
You only live once, right?

And before he could rethink it, before she could sit back again, before that dreamy look left her face, he eliminated the two feet between them and caught her lush lips with his own. She tasted sweet, like the wine she was fond of. She felt soft, pliant. Her lips parted with a gasp, and he took advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue between them, probing just briefly, asking a question with his mouth.