Plotting to Win (16 page)

“Yes.”

“Please tell me why your name is huge and the title is half the size?”

Sure enough, the cover on the screen showed Carmen’s name twice the size of the title.

Carmen arched a brow. “Well, so people know it’s by Carmen Montez.” She looked as though she wanted to add ‘duh’.

Felicity allowed her head to roll back on her shoulders as impatience rolled over her. Some people …

“Well, unless you’re Stephen King, you don’t do this.”

“How do you know I won’t be better than Stephen King?” Had Victor not been … off limits … Felicity couldn’t help but think they’d be exchanging a secret smile at that moment as Carmen was doing the ‘head thing’ again.

“Well, you might,” Staci admitted, “but not right now. As a first-time author, people are not going to be buying this based on your name, not unless you’re some celebrity I never heard of.”

Carmen huffed.

“And you chose lots of dark colors. I see browns, blacks, grays, and though I commend you for not putting people on the cover, the drink you chose … is more a masculine drink. To me this says ‘I’m a man’s book’, not women’s fiction. That’s two really big marks against you.

“You know, I’m really tired of this. That Victor over there did just as shitty a cover.” She raised her hands to put air quotation marks around the word
shitty
.

Felicity could see Ophelia’s jaw harden as behind her, Nicole and Allen exchanged a look. She had a feeling she wasn’t the only one tired of Carmen.

“Dez, please come forward,” Ophelia instructed, putting an end to whatever tirades Carmen wanted to begin.

“Yep. I’m ready.” The man bobbed on his heels and smiled.

“Great cover. The knife on the front screams mystery. The background is a cityscape, telling us this just may be street crime. The font in the title is clear, concise, readable, and your name is right at the bottom about half size as the title, but perfectly legible. Well done.”

Felicity eyed the graphic on the screen and had to grudgingly agree. Dez had excelled on this one.

“Thank you.”

“Felicity,” Staci said, shuffling her papers.

Felicity’s heart pounded. It hadn’t escaped her notice that she was last. “Yes.”

“You have a boat with two tiny figures in it on this beautiful lake. Tell me why you went against traditional romance covers that have a full picture of hero and heroine on it?” The woman leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her.

Felicity took a deep breath. “Well, we couldn’t find stock art that perfectly matched what I wanted and that was a learning experience, so as some of my story takes place on a lake, we went with this.”

“It’s kind of boring, but let me ask you a question … is it sweet romance?”

Felicity’s spirits fell, but she kept her chin up. “Yes.”

Staci nodded. “In that case, you made a good choice. The photo implies a sweet romance at the lake, during warmer weather. I would pick this up if I was heading to the lake for a vacation.” She grinned. “Font is a fancy cursive, which also conveys romance, but I think you should have gone with a different color. It just blends into your sky here. I have to search for it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, hoping that was an end to the criticism.

“I think you all learned a lot from your cover art session today,” Ophelia said. “Please retire to the loft and when we’ve made a decision, we’ll call you.”

Was it safe to breathe yet?

A rush of air escaped Felicity as she cast one last glance at the covers on display behind the judges’ heads.

Whose was the worst? She didn’t think hers was all that bad, but the word boring wouldn’t leave her alone.

“There are three of you that sucked. It could go either way between you,” Dez pointed at Felicity from his chair, “you,” his finger aimed toward Victor sitting casually at the table, “or you,” he finished by aiming at Carmen. “Roy, man, you’re starting to irritate me. I didn’t see you as a threat until now. I need to send your ass home.”

Roy only gave him a tight smile. It was hard to get Roy going.

“I think it’s Victor. If it’s not, I’ll raise a ruckus. What’d she say about yours?” Carmen lifted a hand to her ear as though listening intently. “Oh, yea, Sherlock Holmsy, not Godfathery.” She snorted. “But, wait, Felicity’s was
boring
.”

Dez laughed. Felicity cringed. Victor said nothing. That was quickly becoming the norm.

Could the judges come collect them any sooner?

A knock on the doorjamb broke the tension filling the room. “We need to see Dez, Carmen, Felicity, and Victor. Roy, you’re going to be alone here,” Ms. Roberts informed them. “Let’s go.”

“Hello again, guys.” Ophelia nodded from behind her desk — or throne as Felicity was coming to think of it. “Your assignment was to work with a cover artist on designing a cover for your manuscript. One of you excelled. The other three did not impress us overly much, and it’s from this three that we are choosing someone to go home.”

Felicity couldn’t stop her sharp intake of breath.
Boring cover. Shit
. If she went home, she understood she deserved it, but
oh, please …

“I don’t feel there’s any need to go over your cover critiques again, so I’m going to cut straight to the heart of the matter.” Ophelia shifted and tapped her fingers on the table. Behind her, their
boring
covers glared at them from the screen. On either side of the talk show host, the other two judges sat in stoic silence, the guest judge was nowhere to be seen.

Felicity stared at her boat with a couple in it, a barely visible couple, a
boring
cover, and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to tamp down a rising sense of panic. That cover could be her downfall.

On her right, Victor stiffened and clenched his jaw. How had they once again ended up standing together? His nearness perturbed her.

“The judges have decided …” Ophelia paused. “Dez.”

Dez’s eyes widened, and he visibly gulped, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Yes.”

“You just may have what it takes to be the next bestseller, and you are moving on to the next round.”

“Oh shit, man.” Dez ran a hand over his face. “Had me scared there for a minute.” He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow.

Oh, man. This is killing me
. Felicity shifted from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with herself. Finally, she shoved her hands in her jeans’ pockets.

She briefly pictured how this must look to viewers. Did they have dramatic music during these long, suspenseful pauses?

“The other three of you … your covers didn’t wow us, but we had to pick the least favorite,” Nicole said.

Ophelia nodded solemnly. “Carmen …”

Felicity waited, breath held. Were they going to say ‘you
may
have it what it takes’? Use another stall tactic to increase their discomfort?

“… you do not have what it takes to be the next bestseller. Please close your manuscript and go home.”

“Fuck you, fuckers!” Carmen roared.

“What are your thoughts after this elimination challenge?”

Carmen sneered from where she straddled the stool backward. “Fuck. You know what? Just fuck. The judges are brainwashed and in love with that Victor dude. Even when he does something fucking shitty, they let him stay. Everybody’s entranced by that fucker. Even Felicity. Stupid chick, being fucking sidetracked by a man. Women like that …” She shook her head. “I’m not falling for that bullshit. I’m too strong. This was a conspiracy. They wanted me gone.”

The voice came from behind the camera. “The judges are brainwashed? Even Mr. Brown?”

She nodded and crossed her arms over the top of the stool. “Why the fuck not? This is 2013. This is the time for women and gays, if only the women got their heads out of their fucking asses and …”

She prattled on, and the cameraman sighed. “Going to be a lot of bleeps in this feed,” he warned the sound technician to his left.

“That was intense. They really stressed me out,” Dez said.

“That was kind of a cruel trick,” she agreed, sitting on the loveseat adjacent to his perch on a sofa. They were settled in with popcorn and soda, prepared to watch the second episode recorded the week before.

“It was vicious. I thought I was gone.” He tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth then spoke around it, “At least I got her writer’s cave. Surprised none of you challenged me for it. Toilet was starting to leave a ring around my ass.”

Felicity shut her eyes at the vision that popped in her head. Why in the world would he have the lid up?

“I wish I’d been there.” Roy shook his head and chuckled. “I can imagine the look on your face.”

“Where’s Victor?” Dez reached for the popcorn bowl on the coffee table again as the show’s opening credits started.

“Hm. I don’t know.” Felicity avoided his gaze. The screen was displaying pictures of all the contestants in thoughtful writing poses. The pictures had been taken a week before the show started. She’d been advised to wear solid colors, no trademarks or logos, and her shot was with her thoughtfully chewing a pencil as she sat at a desk, a pile of paper in front of her. It wasn’t her most flattering pose, but she understood what they’d been doing as the different contestants and their pictures quickly rolled across the screen. Carmen was tossing papers in the air, a gesture of a frustrated writer. Victor was arching a brow from behind his laptop, only his nose and sexy eyebrows visible. Victor … that man was infuriating.

Finally, the credits ended, and soon they were all watching and listening to themselves talk about Arnold being eliminated. Tiffani came on screen, on the dreaded stool, where they made them talk about the show. She had lots of snarky stuff to say — namely about Felicity.
Never been kissed? Really?
Felicity scoffed.
I’ve been kissed in ways that rocked my world. Just last week … oh, shit
. She hoped it wouldn’t be on TV. Should she get up and leave the room just in case? No, that would make her look chicken shit.

A commercial break, then it switched to Dez making another of his sandwiches, the group groaning and throwing pillows at him.

Felicity, Dez, and Roy made offhand comments about how they looked on camera or wished they’d said this or that instead as they watched the second elimination go down on the screen. Felicity marveled that it was so easy to pack so many events, so much of what they were feeling throughout the week into an hour episode.

A prickling on the back of her neck alerted her to his presence. She glanced up and turned slightly to see Victor standing in the game room doorway, watching them, his arms casually crossed as he leaned against the jamb. His white shirt was slightly open at the collar, allowing a few black hairs to show.

Despite what he’d done, she felt her heartbeat increase.

A startled sound from Dez alerted her that something interesting was the television, and she swung around in time to see her and Victor lip-locked for the entire world to view. His mouth was on hers, and she was definitely not fending him off.

“You two … what the fuck? That can’t be right. They can’t allow this shit,” Dez said in an accusing tone. “What the …”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Victor spoke quickly from the doorway. “It was mine.”

“I don’t see her pushing you away, man.” Dez gestured at the screen with his arm.

“It was nothing. I’m still here to win.”

And with those words, he cut her to the core again. There was nothing she wanted more than to rant, rave, tell him how she really felt, but she’d be damned if she gave the cameras anything more. Screw the ratings. This was her life.

She held back her tears, firmed her jaw, and stared straight ahead at the TV screen, ignoring Dez’s complaining, ignoring Roy’s gaping mouth and wide eyes, and refusing to look at Victor Guzman again.

Sleeping next to him, just a bed away, working next to him … was going to be pure torture. The man was a prick, but despite it all, he still had her entranced. But this was not the time or the place to have it out with him.

She wondered if there would ever be a time.

“Victor, Felicity, we need to see you downstairs.” Ophelia’s voice surprised the four contestants as they sat around the dining table eating their breakfasts.

Roy merely raised his eyebrows over his coffee mug. Felicity set her spoon down in her cereal bowl, the tinkle of metal on ceramic the only sound she made. Victor cursed under his breath and threw a slice of half-eaten toast onto his plate.

Dez was another story. As Ophelia’s bulk — covered in fire-engine red that day — left the doorway, he couldn’t shut up. “Oooh. You two are in hot water. I don’t know what they had in the fine print about having love affairs, but you two — whoa.” He shook his head and adapted an air of pretend self-pity. “You two …”

Victor heard the man chuckling and carrying on as he followed Felicity down the stairs. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d told her there was another woman. Every time he caught her looking at him, she quickly looked away.

He told himself it was for the best. He couldn’t afford the distraction, but he felt guilty as hell for how things were playing out. She was a good woman and deserved so much better … better than a man who was an epic failure. If he couldn’t take care of his own mother, how could he take care of her?

And in the few weeks they’d been around each other, living with each other, sleeping beside each other, competing against each other, he’d come to want to take care of her.

It was a dangerous feeling.

Their feet made noisy stomping sounds on the wooden staircase, hers softer than his.

He almost said something, something like “Felicity, stop, I want to apologize. I didn’t mean it. That kiss rocked my world. I kissed you because I’m intensely attracted to you. I want to get to know you outside of this show. I want to kiss you all over, make love to your body, hold you close to me …”

But he didn’t dare.

Because then he’d have to say “I lied because I’m a horrible son. My mom is in the hospital and I’m here on a show trying to win money. It doesn’t matter that I’m trying to take care of her as soon as she gets out. I can’t bear seeing that judgmental look on your face, can’t bear to see your disgust.”