Chapter Twenty“Are you two crazy?” Max said, holding up the mock-up of the book. “I mean, this is a joke, right?” He dropped Mason Shaw Cooks onto his desk.
“No joke,” Sam said. “Margo asked for a boo; we wrote her a book.”
Ellie was silent as she sat with Sam in Max's office, glad Ginger was downstairs at Pershing's. Sam was enjoying this far too much, but she was letting him have his moment.
Max flounced into his chair. “Yeah, but…” He flipped through a few of the pages, then traced a line with his finger. “…beat the eggs like they were the last hope of a grimy, dirty schoolkid, a kid with clean blue eyes, eyes of slivered innocence, the eyes that even now stare back at you like broken butterflies fluttering in a cracked flophouse mirror?
Sam nodded, smiling. “Kind of sings, doesn't
