Grand Passion

aggrieved tone. “That's why they published you instead of me. New York is only interested in women's books these days. Romance, self-help, glitz, erotica. It's all aimed at women. Hell, even the mystery market is skewed toward women.”
    “What about all the thrillers and science fiction and horror stuff that's published?”
    “They're putting relationships in them, too.” Adrian looked at her as if it were all her fault.
    “Gosh, I don't really think…”
    “Do you know what this rejection letter says?” Adrian waved his manuscript aloft. “It says they're not interested in hard-boiled detective mysteries featuring male protagonists. The editor suggests I turn my hero into a female private eye.”
    “Gee, Adrian, I can't imagine why the editor would suggest a thing like that. Unless, of course, it's because a lot of women like to read and are willing to spend their money on books that feature stories they enjoy.”
    Adrian's glare would have frozen lava. “I'll tell you something. If they weren't putting out books like yours, they'd be publishing my stuff.”
    Cleo's temper overcame the last vestiges of her fear of being identified as the author of The Mirror . “You think so?” she asked.
    Max apparently recognized the dangerous sweetness of her tone and finally bestirred himself to intervene. “I think we'd better be on our way, Cleo. The family will be waiting.” He took her arm and started toward the Jaguar.
    Cleo dug in her heels. “Wait a second. I want to give Adrian some publishing advice.”
    Max grinned. “I don't think Forrester wants your advice, do you, Forrester?” He wrapped an arm around Cleo and dragged her toward the car.
    “She just got lucky,” Adrian snarled.
    “You think so? Well, maybe it was more than luck,” Cleo shouted as Max stuffed her into the front seat of the Jaguar. “Maybe I write better than you do. Maybe my book was better than yours. Did you ever think about that possibility?”
    “It's because it was a woman's book,” Adrian yelled. “That's the only reason it got published. The women's market is taking over, I tell you.”
    “So get a sex change operation,” Cleo yelled back.
    “Good Lord,” Max muttered as he slammed the car door shut, “I've created a monster.”

Chapter

16

    Y ou can stop laughing now,” Cleo muttered as Max drove along the bluffs toward Robbins' Nest Inn.
    Max glanced at her, unable to suppress his grin. She was sitting with her arms folded in a gesture of complete disgust, her gaze fixed on the winding road.
    “Sorry,” Max said.
    “You're not the least bit sorry. I can tell.”
    “Come on, Cleo, admit the whole thing was funny. You've been terrified of what everyone in town would think when they found out you wrote The Mirror . But being discovered wasn't so bad, was it?”
    “I don't think any of them even bothered to read it.” She sounded disgruntled.
    “I'd say that's a fairly safe assumption. If our recent unscientific survey holds true, we can assume that the vast majority of the people you meet will never actually read your books. But they'll want to talk to you about publishing. People are fascinated with publishing.”
    “You mean they'll want to tell me the plots of their own books or suggest I write their family's history or complain because I got published instead of them.”
    “Yes.”
    Cleo started to smile. “It was sort of funny, wasn't it?”
    “Very,” Max said softly. “Especially the look on Forrester's face.”
    “When I think about the way he used to drone on and on about his own book and how it was going to take the publishing world by storm—” Cleo broke off and started to grin.
    She burst first into giggles and then into full-blown laughter.
    Max watched her out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself. “I'm not saying you won't get the occasional critic,” he cautioned. “But I think you can handle it if someone comes up to you and tells you he thinks your book was trash.”
    “The way Nolan did?” Cleo's mouth twisted wryly. “Yes, I think so. I've been anxious about having people pry into my private life, but the truth is, all that most of them really wanted to talk about was themselves. This isn't anything like what happened to me after my parents died.”
    “Of course not.”
    “I guess I'd let my imagination run away with me.”
    “You do have a first-class imagination,” Max conceded.
    The laughter died in Cleo's eyes. “I just wish the stalker was a