Close at Hand
“How does she do it?” Donald stared at the sales ranking and shook his head. It was his morning routine, and it’d only become harder as a new author regularly beat his sales ranking.
“Maybe she knows something you don’t,” his wife answered.
She shrugged. “Like, knowing how women think.”
He scoffed at her. “They don’t. No offense. But how else would you explain her suddenly appearing and beating me regularly?”
She smiled at him. “Maybe she knows you. What’s her name? Rebecca Stevens?” She shrugged again. “I always liked that name.”
He waved her off. “Not now.”