(AKA: current Devlin Group pain in the ass)

Gallagher: Miss me, babe?

Me: Oh yes, ever so desperately.

Gallagher: Even though you’re working on other stuff, you’ve been thinking about me a lot lately. Makes me all hot and bothered.

Me: Back the ego truck up. See, the shipwreck part isn’t enough to carry the whole book. It needs to fall within a bigger plot.

Gallagher: Shipwrecked? I thought the plane crashed.

Me: It does, but jetwrecked doesn’t do it for me, so I call it shipwrecked in my head.

Gallagher: In your head is the only thing on the planet that scares me. Other than telling Charlotte we totaled the Bombardier.

Me: Tony can break it to her. We have bigger problems, like finding you a plot.

Gallagher: Here’s the thing—in 72 Hours I took a backseat to Alex, which is cool since he runs the joint, but in On the Edge I was stuck on admin duty. I won’t want any Sally shit in my book.

Me: No Sally shit. Making a post-it note of that.

Gallagher: I’m serious. I wanna blow some shit up.

Me: You get to blow some shit up, don’t worry. And you get to have sex and kill people. Plenty of manhood proving.

Gallagher: I don’t need to prove my manhood. Which is throbbing, by the way.

Me: Tell it to Carmen. Oh wait, you won’t tell her how you feel, will you? Sally.

Gallagher: Hey, babe, I’m a bad-ass.

Me: Yeah? Well, prove it, babe.

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