Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
To be valuable enough that the number one publisher in the country would want me, and to be confident enough in my ability to read the market that I can push for unorthodox decisions like Brooke’s new book.
I’ve always loved to read, but right now—reading books unknown to anyone but me and crafting them into a position to take the literary world by storm—I’ve found a whole other level of invigoration for it.
New path set, I keep walking in the direction of the subway stop I use when I come to the office and catch the D train headed back toward my temporary apartment.
It’s relatively empty for as crowded as the streets are, but I figure people are sticking to walking in the enjoyable weather.
When the train pulls into Chelsea, I get off at my sister and brother-in-law’s stop so I can go to their Trader Joe’s for my basic weekly groceries.
Eggs, bagels, coffee, and half-and-half are the gist of it, but I’m feeling a little wild today, so I might even pick out a snooty cheese too.
Look out world, it’s getting crazy!
Off the train and up the metal-trimmed steps, I jog onto the streets of New York like I never left them in the first place. My pace automatically matches the crowd, and my nose drifts between the scents of bread flour and pizza grease. I avoid a woman with two little girls in frilly dresses and bows holding hands on her right and two boys in baseball caps and gym shoes on her left by carefully stepping off the curb and into the street, and then back up when she’s passed.
I can’t imagine navigating this city with four kids on my own, but in some twisted way, I want to. I’ve always wanted a family and to settle down—people to spend my aimless Sundays with.
I’m still looking back when my phone starts to ring, and the quick grab I make for my pocket accidentally sends me bumping into a beautiful woman with dark hair and bright-blue eyes with a camera bag slung over her shoulder.
“Shit,” I mutter when the bag slips down her arm and careens toward the ground. “I’m so sorry.”
“No worries,” she replies through a smile, catching the bag just before it hits the sidewalk and lifting it back onto her shoulder. “I reserve my dick punches for my husband.”
My eyebrows jump to my hairline, and the woman with all the kids stops in her tracks to turn around and yell at her. “God, Cassie. Could you not with the strangers, please?”
“Relax, Georgie.” Cassie—apparently—just shrugs and winks at me before continuing on her way.
My phone starts to ring again, me having missed the first call entirely during the scuffle. But when I see Dawn’s name, my good mood shrivels. She wouldn’t be calling me on a Sunday if it weren’t important—I know that for a fact.
“Hello?” I say, putting my phone to my ear and my feet to the sidewalk. I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s somewhere other than here. According to my sister, I’ve always been a phone pacer—completely incapable of standing in one position while I’m talking. Even if I’m on the corded one behind my desk, I wiggle like a Labrador following a swinging piece of meat.
“Hi, boss. Sorry to bother you on Sunday, but…” She pauses, and I don’t like the hesitant tone of her voice.
“But what? What don’t I want to hear?”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I just took a call from Wilson Phillips.”
“Carnie, Chynna, or Wendy?”
Dawn chuckles at my pathetic joke, and an immediate suspicion comes to mind. “You’re laughing because I pay you, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Though, technically, my payroll is completed by Longstrand Publishing, so I basically laughed for free.”
“Right. Okay, then, hit me with the bad news before I crack another one that costs the company money.”
“Wilson says they’re still verifying final logistics like a driver and confirming all the stops, but it looks like the Netflix tour for Brooke is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon—as in, sometime this upcoming week. They’re on a short leash with the premiere in LA, so they’re moving quickly. There’s absolutely no way they’re going to hold this thing, deadline or not.”
“Shi—oot!”
“I know,” she replies, understanding the situation well enough to know this isn’t a good thing for Accidental Attachment. “Should I talk to marketing? See what would happen if we pushed publishing back by a month or two to give you more time for first edits?”
I rub at my temples with a spread hand while I keep my phone to my ear with the other.
“No. The last thing I need is Jonah knowing about anything even mildly related to shaky ground with this book. I’m going to have to figure out some way to make it work.”