Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

GEMMA

It’s Sunday night, and I’m flying home from our book signing. We were supposed to stay until tomorrow but there’s a big storm coming in, so I grabbed a late-night flight to get out of Colorado ahead of it.

We woke up hungover as all hell with completely flooded inboxes and social media posts that went viral. Our drunken business creation completely exploded while we slept. Apparently, thousands of men want to learn how to be like romance book boyfriends.

I’ve downed about twenty glasses of water and have eaten the greasiest food you can imagine. I’m ready to get to work going through all the applications. I open my laptop, completely dumbfounded by the number of applicants.

The four of us agreed that we would each take at least one client immediately to see how it goes. Libby and Ava mentioned taking on more than one, but with my demanding job and my writing, I don’t have time for more than one man.

We want to give this business a go, having nothing to lose except a little time. We also decided that it makes the most sense to take on clients near where we live so we can meet with them in person as we learn how to navigate our way through this new business.

I love the idea, but I’m not optimistic that this business will be sustainable. If I’m only doing this once, I want a good guy who genuinely wants and needs my help.

I’m able to filter all the applications for those living in or near Philadelphia. There are several dozen of them.

I start carefully reading through all the answers to our questions, hoping to find the right man.

Wow, some of these guys are super weird. Several of them basically admit that it’s to get into women’s pants. Morons.

There are many others who are interested in us because of our videos, not in learning to be book boyfriends. Pass .

Then there are a lot of guys who clearly have no chance of ever getting into women’s pants. I’ll pass on those too.

I’m losing hope until I come across an answer that immediately catches my eye:

Dear Quarterback Princess:

I’m sure your inbox is flooded right now with men wanting your help. It’s a good thing that I’m a plumber and managing floods is my specialty.

Sometimes it’s draining for me to find the right woman. I think it’s crap that they’re focused on my job and not on me.

Admittedly, sometimes I crack under pressure. That’s why I need a service call from you. My pipe dream is to find someone who loves me, complete with all my leaks . I’m hoping you can unclog the dating pool for me with your wisdom.

I have faith that the world is flush with amazing women, but I’m asking for your help to make them see the real me.

Sincerely,

Willing to Take the Plung e

I can’t help but giggle. This guy is clever. Let me look at his picture.

Hmm. It’s only his profile, and he’s oddly in a hat and glasses, but he’s not bad looking. It’s weird that he covered up though. I wonder what he’s trying to hide.

But then I look at his second shot and start laughing hysterically, earning myself a disapproving look from the woman sitting next to me on the plane.

Okay, the plumber is funny, and, if nothing else, he has a great ass.

I think his personal statement alone sets him apart from the other men. This is the guy I want to help.

I pull up the email address he left and let him know that I’m taking him on as a client. I suggest meeting at a local bar that’s usually quiet during the after-work hours, asking that he pick the day.

When I’m in the Uber on the way home from the airport, I decide to call my grandmother who lives in Florida. I haven’t spoken with her since last week. We’re extremely close, rarely letting more than a few days go by without talking.

She never sleeps so I know she’ll be up at this late hour.

It’s always a FaceTime call with her. She loves seeing my face, and I love seeing hers.

She answers after a few rings with only her forehead visible, per normal. She can’t figure out how to accept a call and have her face in the frame all at the same time.

“Ms. Gemma Morgan Fairchild, is that you?”

I smile at her using my full name. “Yes, Grammy Jane Ellen Rockefeller.” Her full name.

I see her fumble for her glasses and come into full view as she grins at me. Her green eyes that match mine meet my gaze with warmth. “There’s my beautiful granddaughter. ”

I take in my amazing grandmother who I know is exactly what I’ll look like in fifty years. Her no longer naturally dark hair is in a perfect chignon, as always. I ask, “How are you, my beautiful grandmother?”

“Well, I woke up at three a.m. today with a leg cramp. Then I sneezed and threw out my back. I’m one fart away from being paralyzed.”

My eyes tear as I burst out in laughter. The Uber driver briefly glares at me. “Grammy Jane, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. I’m using that in a book.”

She pumps her fist. “Yes! Put me in the acknowledgments as G.I. Jane.”

“You know I always do.”

She loves coming up with one-liners for my books. She equally loves it when I acknowledge her as G.I. Jane, which is, oddly, her favorite movie.

She winks. “Guess what? Happy read one of your books.” Happy is the nickname for her friend, Harriet. “She told me to tell you that you should add a warning at the beginning of them to make sure our vibrators have full batteries. Apparently, there was an incident where she was walking around naked in her apartment looking for batteries after reading a steamy scene. Samuel was driving by in his cart. He saw her in the window and drove off the road, tipping his cart over.”

I gasp. “Oh my god. Is he okay?”

“Just a few cuts and bruises. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I suppose a warning is something to consider for the future. I don’t want poor Samuel to get hurt again.”

“Happy said she was excited that her saggy boobs had such an impact on him. She’s been trying to bed Samuel for months. This may have done the trick.”

“Thrilled to have helped your sixty-five-plus community continue its reputation of having the highest rate of STDs in the state. ”

She giggles. “Damn straight. Proud of it.”

“No doubt. How was Mom’s visit?”

My mother visited her last week. The two of them often butt heads. I tend to be the referee between them, but I didn’t join my mother on her visit due to my book signing.

Grammy Jane moans in malcontent.

“Be nice. She’s your daughter.”

“Sometimes I question if she’s really mine. She thinks she’s Jackie Kennedy and the Queen of England all in one. Apparently, she requires royal treatment when coming here and didn’t appreciate that I refused to roll out the red carpet for her.”

I smile. “That’s true, she does like living in luxury. Did she mention the new man she’s seeing? I met him once. He seemed…nice.”

Grammy Jane makes a gagging face. “Ad nauseam. He called every five minutes. She must be good in the sack. It’s the one and only thing she got from me.”

I giggle. “Let’s hope your good genetics carry through for generations. And don’t be mean to her. Some daughters don’t visit their mothers at all.”

“True. Mortimer and Millie’s kids never visit.”

“There you go. At least Mom makes time for you.”

“But she’s no fun. Not like you. She wouldn’t drink margaritas and had a fit when I wanted to eat off paper plates. Then she started whining about your books.”

I sigh. Mom doesn’t support my writing like Grammy Jane does. “It’s okay. Not everyone understands this passion. A lot of my close friends don’t get it either.”

“She hasn’t even read them all. She calls them sex books . I told her how wonderful your stories are, but she worries that you spend your evenings writing when you should be spending them out socializing. She’s very focused on you finding a man, as if it should be your sole focus in life.”

“Honestly, she’s not wrong about my lack of socializing. Since I started writing, I don’t go out as much as I used to. ”

I make a quick mental note to go out a little more than I have been for the past six months.

“Your happiness matters. Anyone with half a brain can see that writing makes you happy. And when it comes to matters of the heart, you can’t force these things. The right person will come along at the right time. I think it’s wonderful that you create love stories and put yourself out there like that. It takes courage, and I’m proud of you.”

My heart fills with warmth for my number one fan. “Thank you. I appreciate your support. Honestly, Mom’s comments don’t bother me anymore. Some people support my writing and some don’t. I like having this separate identity. I love the bookish community.”

“I know you do. How was the signing? Were there any sexy cover models there?”

“It went well. It was good to see my author friends. I sold a bunch of books. And yes, there were a few cover models. One of my author friends has a crush on Riggs Romero. He’s a hottie.”

Grammy Jane moans. “Umm hmm. He’s finger-licking yummy. Did you bed any of them?”

I let out a laugh. “No, none of them are my type.”

“Your type might require a makeover.”

I think of my last two boyfriends. “Hmm. You’re not wrong.”

“Don’t let your mother tell you what kind of man to date. You need a man without a pole up his ass like that last guy. What was his name?”

“Aiden.”

“Yes, there’s no way he did it for you. And who was the snooze fest before him? The man you were seeing while you were in law school.”

“Sterling.”

“Oh god, yes. What a pretentious name. That sounds like someone your mother would date. You weren’t…yourself with those guys. They both tried to make you someone you’re not.”

Leave it to Granny Jane to hit the nail on the head .

She continues, “I want you to find a man who will give you laugh lines when you’re as old as me, is proud of you, who values your happiness, who always takes your breath away, and you equally take his breath away. A man who loves you exactly as you are. It wouldn’t hurt if he was good in the sack too. Find someone who checks all the boxes. Don’t ever settle for less.”

“Like you and Grampy?”

She smiles as if she’s remembering my grandfather who died nearly two decades ago. “Yes. When the right man comes along, you won’t be able to fathom life without him. I promise.”

“Let’s hope he exists.”

“He does. When will I see your gorgeous face in person?”

“I’ll be down to visit in a few weeks. I’m so excited to spend Christmas with you. It’s already cold in Philly. I can’t wait to hang by the pool with you and your ladies.”

“Oh yes. They’ve all got ideas for your next book.”

“I bet they do.” Every time I visit, her friends pitch me ideas. It’s like they get off on their stories possibly appearing in my books.

“I’ll fire up the margarita machine.”

“Perfect. And you’ll be nice to Mom, right?”

“As long as she’s nice to you.”

“Fair enough. Love you, Grammy Jane.”

“Love you too, beautiful Gemma Morgan.”

As soon as we hang up, my email pings with a new mail notification. It’s Trey Donatucci. That was fast. He’s asking to meet tomorrow evening at the bar I suggested.