Free Starting from Scratch by Marie Ferrarella Page B

Repositioning himself on her desk to catch a glimpse of Ryan’s latest tome, he asked, “So, how is it?”
    She nodded, looking back at what she’d been reading. “Good. Needs a little polish, but good.”
    â€œTell Sutherland about the good part, skip the talk about the polish.” He rose from her desk and moved over to the window. “I don’t have time to attend another funeral this month.”
    She looked at him. “Rocky, the manuscript could be better.”
    He turned away from the window. There was a note of pleading in his voice as well as in his eyes. “And I could be taller, but I’m not. If the book’s readable, and of course it is, we put it out.” He drew closer to her. “Maybe you missed this part, but Sutherland doesn’t exactly handle criticism well.”
    In her experience, no one liked to be criticized unless they were masochistic. However, good criticism served a purpose. It made you grow. Everyone could stand to grow a little, even Sutherland. Everything but his ego.
    â€œMaybe he should learn.”
    Rocky stared at her as if she’d just told him to cut the author loose. Which was what her suggestion amounted to.
    â€œHe’s the top-selling author we have, Lise. One of the top-selling authors in the country.” His voice had risen several ranges. After clearing his throat, he tried again at a lower octave. “In other words, if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”
    She frowned, her eyes pinning him where he stood. “Then why did you give him to me, Rocky? Why didn’t you just take him on yourself if all you wanted was a rubber stamp?”
    â€œTake him on myself?” he repeated incredulously. “Because I’m already taking tranquilizers and Sutherland makes me nervous. Really nervous. Almost as nervous as my father does.” He seemed to reconsider that. “Maybe even more. There’s blood between my father and me. Sutherland was known for spilling blood in the days before he began to write. Besides,” he protested, “you’re good with people.”
    â€œPeople, yes, not demigods.”
    Drawing closer, Rocky watched her writing along the margins of Sutherland’s book. His eyes widened. “What are you doing?” he asked in the same tone someone might have used to someone caught with a brush, hovering over a da Vinci painting.
    She looked down at the page then back at Rocky. He was acting even more skittish than usual, she thought. “I’m making notes in the margin, why?”
    Taking the manuscript and turning it so that it faced him, Rocky began to flip through the pages. “Were there others?”
    Had stress made his mind snap completely? “What? Notes? Yes.”
    â€œIn pencil?”
    Elisha glanced at what she was holding to make certain. “Yes.”
    He sighed with relief. “Good, you can erase them.”
    She pulled the manuscript back around to face her. Just in case he got any ideas and tried to undo her work. “I don’t want to erase them. I want Sutherland to read them.”
    â€œLise,” he began patiently, “the public would plunk down their money to read the man’s grocery list.”
    She thought of the earlier meeting. Sutherland had created less than a stellar impression on her. She was pretty certain the feeling was mutual. “Then they’d be wasting their money. I doubt if Sutherland eats anything but nails.”
    â€œMy point—” Rocky took her hands in his “—is that you give him his lead. I just need a figurehead who can last.”
    She could be stubborn when she wanted to and she wanted to. “I’m making it better.”
    â€œHe won’t want ‘better,’” Rocky insisted. “He thinks he is better.”
    She drew her hands away from his and picked up her pencil again.
    â€œRocky, you made me his editor, and until you ‘unmake