Baumgartner generations: Janie

We are pleased to inform you that we would like to accept your manuscript, The Princess Who Threw

Away Frogs, for publication…

But how? Josh had never once read any of my work. I never wanted him to think I just wanted an agent out of everything after all, so I’d actually refused to let him.

There was a note stuck inside, handwritten in Josh’s bold, brash scrawl: If I can’t be your boyfriend, that means I can be your agent. I’ve negotiated you an unprecedented advance for this book. Call me. Josh

There was a number on the stationary-his work phone. I’d never called him at work before.

I pulled my cell out of my pocket, my fingers shaking so badly I had to dial slowly to make sure I was pushing the right numbers.

“Josh Wickham.”

Oh my god. Didn’t he even have a secretary? I wasn’t ready yet. I tried to say his name, but it only came out as a hiss of breath.

“Hello?”

“Josh.” My voice was strangled and I closed my eyes, the sound of his voice filling me with a familiar warmth.

“Janie.” He sounded surprised, even happy, and my heart soared. There was a moment of silence, and then he was all business. “You got my letter?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “We need to sign some paperwork, but if you’re interested-”

“How did you get your hands on that book?” I blurted.

He was quiet for a moment. “TJ gave it to me.”

Ah. That explained it all. Ronnie had probably snuck my laptop into her room and printed it out for him. I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t a joint venture.

I was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Isn’t it illegal for you to represent me if I haven’t even signed a contract with you?”

“Probably,” he agreed casually. “Want to sue me?”

“No. I want to kiss you,” I confessed, holding my breath.

“We can arrange that.”

“Can we?” I closed my eyes.

“I’m still at the Plaza,” he told me. “It’s not the Presidential Suite, but…”

“It could be a tent for all I care,” I breathed. “It was so never about that.”

“I know.” He paused, sounding sad. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” I insisted, the tears I’d been holding back now spilling over. “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ronnie and TJ, and I’m sorry I-”

“Janie, you’re mine.” His voice stopped me. “You’ve been mine since the first day I met you. I won’t share you with anyone else.”

“I know,” I whispered, hot tears falling. “But I don’t want anyone else, Josh. I just want you. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I’m so sorry-”

He interrupted me. “Doesn’t love mean never having to say you’re sorry, or some sappy thing like that?”

“No.” I sniffed, remembering what TJ had said to Ronnie when he was holding her in the hallway- I told you we shouldn’t have come-and all the hurtful things I’d heard my parents say, the horrible things I’d said to Josh at the cabin. “No, love inevitably means saying ‘I’m sorry’ a whole lot-and meaning it.”

“Then I’m sorry a whole lot,” he said. “I’m sorry times a million. I’m sorry up to the moon and back. I’m sorry times infinity. I’m sorry-”

“Okay, love doesn’t mean being pathetic.” I laughed through my tears.

“Yes it does.” His voice sounded as choked as mine. “I’ve been dragging my heart and my pride around behind me since I met you, girl. Don’t you know that? God, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ve done everything for me.”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t even started yet.” He gave a short laugh. “Now, put on something sexy and come down to my office. I want you to sign some paperwork and fuck you on my desk.”

“I’m coming,” I said breathlessly, already out of my chair.

“Not yet you’re not.” I could hear him-not smiling, but grinning, from ear-to-ear.

“But you will be.”

Epilogue

“He’s gorgeous!” My mother cooed over the bassinette, reaching in to pick the baby up as Ronnie hovered behind her. “Oh my goodness, what a precious boy.”

“So do we have to call him Jackson?” Josh asked, his mouth half-full of bruschetta. He was enjoying the after-christening spread on the table for this shin-dig and why not? He’d had it catered. “Or can we shorten it to something cool, like Jack?”

“He looks just like you, Ronnie,” my mother exclaimed, turning to my father and holding the baby up for him to see. “Doesn’t he, Doc?”

“He’s got her eyes,” my dad agreed.

“My chin, though,” TJ said, touching the cleft in his as he pulled Ronnie back down to the sofa.

“He’s got my dress on!” Beth piped up, peeking her head from under the table where she’d taken the handheld game Josh had given her this morning. “That was mine when I was a baby.” The christening outfit was, indeed, one Beth had worn.

“So Janie, when’s your next bestseller hit the shelves?” TJ asked, his arm around his wife’s shoulders.