Chapter Twenty-Four“Just call her, Ellie.”
“I'm not calling her,” Ellie said, arms folded. “I'm not groveling. Don't you think I've already been embarrassed enough?”
“Then what's there to lose?”
Ellie gave a glance at Ginger, perched on the bar stool of her kitchen, hands in her lap. “Since when did you become so aggressive?”
“I've got her number. I looked it up. It's still the same cell she had when you were with her.”
“I'd rather shoot myself in the foot.”
“You don't own a gun.”
“Don't you know an idiom when you hear it?”
“It was supposed to be a joke.” Ginger was looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. “Do it for Sam. That's what you told me when you made me call Harpington Press. Do it for all the unsung writers of the world everywhere. The authors who never got their chance.”
Ell
