He frowned. “How would you…? Wait. You were watching me get dressed?” His tone of voice conveyed his outrage at her invasion of his privacy.
“Oh, come on. How much do you think I could see hiding under the bed so you wouldn’t find me? Not much, I can tell you that. Mostly what I saw was your feet. Your shoes and socks. Your pants cuffs.”
“And from that you deduced I was an accountant?”
Joy left home at 18 with a boy her minister father didn’t approve of. Joy and Mike marry in Vegas and arrive in LA. Shortly thereafter Joy discovers she’s pregnant and before she gives birth Mike is killed in a motorcycle accident. Broke, pregnant and widowed, Joy calls home. Her father, Art, says, “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.” He hangs up on her.
Look, I fed you. I didn’t call the cops on you. And there’s a good chance that will come back to bite me on the ass. I presume you were wearing shoes when you arrived. So get them. Put them on and skedaddle.” He waved in the direction of the door.
Hallie crossed her arms. “No.”
It’s one thing for a publisher to undervalue an author, but it seems to me, it’s quite another for the author to undervalue his/herself and his/her work.
Ask anyone who’s tried to write a book. It is not an easy thing. Well, not an easy thing if you want to write a good book.