The Rom-Commers by Katherine Center EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Katherine Center
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4.7 MB
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LOGAN SCOTT CALLED just as I was making dinner, and I almost
didn’t answer because my dad and I were singing along to ABBA’s greatest
hits. There were not too many people I’d interrupt ABBA for—but yes, fine,
Logan Scott was one of them.
Logan was my former high school boyfriend, who still felt guilty about
the way we broke up, and he dealt with that guilt by sending me job
opportunities.
Not the worst way to handle it.
It was the penance he paid for his unscathed life.
Though nobody’s life is truly unscathed, I guess.
His less-scathed life, maybe.
He was a manager. In Hollywood. For screenwriters. A very glamorous
job.
Technically, he was my manager—although I’d never made him any
money. I was kind of like his pro bono case.
It was fine, he always insisted. I’d pay off eventually.
I’d placed in two different screenwriting contests because Logan
insisted I submit. He got me in the door freelancing for Variety. And all
those movie reviews I got paid minimum wage to do? Courtesy of him.
He just kept sending me work.
I told him to stop feeling guilty. I was fine. But I didn’t exactly mean it.
Not if that guilt of his was going to keep paying my bills.
Some of them, anyway.
All to say, on this particular night, Logan had a doozy of an offer for
me.
“Emma,” he said. “I’m going to need you to sit down.”
“I’m flipping pancakes-for-dinner right now,” I said. My sister, Sylvie,
was coming home from college, so I was making her favorite meal.
“You will definitely drop them all when you hear this,” Logan said, like
he’d pictured me juggling pancakes instead.
I covered the in-progress stack with foil, turned off the music, and gave
my dad a “one minute” finger from across the room.
My dad nodded and gave a hearty thumbs-up, like Do whatever you
need to do.
“I’m ready,” I said to Logan.
“Are you literally sitting down?”
“No.”
“I’m not kidding. You need to do that.”
I walked to our dining-slash-breakfast table and sat down at my
already-set place. “Okay,” I said. “I’m literally sitting.”
“I have a job for you…” Logan said then, pausing for effect.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
“Writing a feature film script…” he went on, stretching out the moment.
“Sold,” I said, like Moving on.
And then he got to his grand finale: “With Charlie Yates.”
Logan had told me to sit—but at the sound of that name, I stood up.
Then I froze. Then frowned. Then waited. Was this a trick?
“Hello?” Logan finally said. “Are you still—”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought I heard you say Charlie
Yates.”
“I did say Charlie Yates.”
I sat back down. “Charlie Yates?” I said, like there was room for
confusion.
I could sense Logan nodding. “Yes.”
But I needed more confirmation. “Charlie Yates who wrote The
Destroyers? Charlie Yates who wrote The Last Gunslinger, and
Smokescreen, and Forty Miles to Hell? The screenwriters’ screenwriter,
living legend, reason half the country says the catchphrase ‘Merry
Christmas, cowboy’—that Charlie Yates?”
“Uh-huh,” Logan said, enjoying the moment. “That one.”
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