“Where are your pages, Ivy?”
Ivy Blake winced at the snap of her agent’s voice on the other end of the phone. Marianne was pulling out her stern, mom-of-three tone. That was never good. “They’re coming.”
At some theoretical, future time that was actually true.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks. And you’ve been avoiding me. You only do that when the words aren’t flowing.”
You have no idea.
“The book’s been giving me a smidge of trouble.” Understatement of the century. “But I promise, I’m nearly done.” Flagrant lie. Ivy wondered if Marianne’s Momdar was sounding an alarm. Ivy’s own mama had an Eyebrow of Doom that could be heard over the phone when engaged.
“You have to give me something to give to Wally. I can’t hold him off much longer.”
Walter Caine—who inexplicably went by Wally,
