Pirate Dave and his Randy Adventures (Career Ending Romance Spoof) by Robyn Peterman Page B

answered, half in anticipation, half in dread. The room had become so quiet, I thought everyone had left. Nope, they were still here, they’d just stopped breathing. So had I.
    “I’d like to mentor you on your book,” she purred.
    My ladies gasped. I don’t know if it was in envy or horror. Although, if I was a gambling girl, I’d put my money on horror. I noticed Cecil’s jaw clench. He continued to write, but his body language suggested anger. What was that about? Was he jealous? Ew, did he have a thing going with her and didn’t want to share? I needed to stop this line of thought before my gag reflex kicked in.
    “I don’t know . . . ” I started.
    “We will write together,” she quickly interjected. “You and I will share co-author credit. I already have an agent, a publishing house, publicity team, website, and a fan base of millions. You would be a shortsighted fool not to take me up on this . . . That is, unless you’re not really an author,” she challenged, watching me carefully.
    I was still freaked out that she liked the pirate idea. Was she brain damaged? Even though I loved the idea of being a rich and famous author, I wasn’t sure selling my soul to the devil was the best way to go about it. I knew deep down inside that the Pirate Dave–Laverne and Shirley conjoined twins concept sucked. And while I was being brutally honest with myself, the bus driver–teacher thing was pretty horrid, too. Shoshanna was right I’m not a writer. I’m an accountant. I just wished there was a little more excitement in my life . . .
    “Um . . . thanks for your interest, but no. I already have a job, and I am saving my vacation days for a trip to see the Tommy Bartlett Show at the Wisconsin Dells.” Oh my God, did I just say the Tommy Bartlett Show? The cheesy water show with the skiing squirrel? Yes, I did . . . I had just revealed my total inner dork. Why didn’t I lie and say Aruba or someplace sexy?
    I began biting my cuticles in panic. I didn’t belong there. All these women, eyebrows or not, were authors . . . real authors, who could actually write. Not young, bored-with-their-life girls who were desperately searching for something to feel passionate about. That being said, I wasn’t about to let the skanky witch have my idea. I’d give it to one of the girls there. Shoshanna would love it; there could definitely be some girl-on-girl action in this one. Although the conjoined twins thing made it a bit complicated. I noticed everyone in the room was breathing again and Cecil’s jaw had relaxed. Everyone seemed happy, except the viper bitch whore from hell.
    “I’ll pay you,” she spat. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars a week for three weeks.” The happy relaxed atmosphere in the room disappeared abruptly. My stomach clenched and I felt dizzy. That was a shitload of money. “You’ll be at my home every day from eight in the morning till five. We will write the book. We will split the profits fifty-fifty and then you will be free to go to the Tommy Bartlett Show,” she sneered.
    Damn it to hell, why had I mentioned the Tommy Bartlett Show? That would be hard to live down . . . God, I could make more than half a year’s salary in three weeks . . . if I sold the witch my soul. I’d done plenty of stupid things for free; why not do something massively stupid and make a butt load of money doing it? Could I stand being around her for that long? I was a little curious to see if food dropped from her mouth when she ate . . . I could probably see her without makeup. No, that would induce nightmares. Shoshanna took my hand.
    “If she goes, I go with her,” she said in a steely tone.
    “Delightful,” Evangeline trilled evilly, “that makes me very happy, Shrilanka. I’ll see you both on Monday.” She stood with an enormous amount of help from Cecil or Jeeves or whatever his name was and sauntered out of the room.
    “Wait,” I gasped when I found my voice, but she was gone. “I never