Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
The moment I got that email, I swore my days of being a broke indie author were officially over.
I bought a new house, traveled, splurged on things I definitely didn’t need… and, um—kind of forgot to actually write the book.
By the time my deadline rolled around, I had almost nothing to show for it. My endless “Just need a little more time for my muse” excuses weren’t cutting it anymore.
So, I swallowed my pride and came clean—while hatching a plan to get “inspiration” and pay back some of the advance at the same time. The plan? Get a job at the very publishing company that gave me the deal, so I could:
1) Make money to keep a roof over my head.
2) Start repaying the advance.
3) Gather firsthand material for the office romance I was two years late delivering.
It sounded like a good idea… until I actually got the job.
Until I realized the CEO of the publishing house was an arrogant, cunning wolf in a bespoke suit—
The same man I told to f*ck off two nights ago.
The same man I may have thrown a drink on (but that’s a story for another day).
Now I swear being his so-called “intern” is an exercise in hell… and from the way he’s circling me, I have no intention of being his prey
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
THE CEO
ADRIAN
It takes a certain type of author to make me hate publishing books. The rare and uncomfortable loathing comes every blue moon, but whenever it arrives, it’s always because of an indie author…
I’ve been running Grey Wolf Publishing since the day my father handed it to me at eighteen, and I’ve grown it from a small newspaper business to a conglomerate that lands books on bestseller charts, runs popular podcast networks, and distributes award-winning films.
I know what it takes to pen a compelling story—all the proper avenues to drive it to success—and yet, every last Friday of the month, I find myself bracing for “Red Flag Day.”
With a senior-level editor, we pull up the list of books we’re owed, analyze which authors are on time versus which ones are not, and then try to figure out what the hell is going on.
Every missed deadline isn’t just an inconvenience—it’s a six-figure marketing campaign stalled, an investor breathing down my neck, a brand that looks weaker with every broken promise.
“I’m ready if you are.” Marcia, one of my longest-standing team members, approaches my desk with a coffee. Loyal to a fault, she’s been with me since the early days, sharp enough to anticipate my reactions before I speak. “Let’s start in reverse this time, shall we?”
“Go ahead.”
“First up is Russell Swanson, the social media all-star we signed to a six-figure deal last year,” she says. “He’s penning a highly anticipated sci-fi saga.”
“I remember him.”
“Well, he just turned in his final manuscript, and the editors love his draft, so I’m going to remit part of his payment today.”
“Why is he on our red flag list if he’s not late?”
“He wrote ‘Fuck Adrian Wolfson’ on his dedication page.”
“Tell him I appreciate his offer, but I only fuck women.”
“Do you want me to make him change that page?”
“I’m shocked you’re even asking me that,” I say. “Next author.”
“Shelby Ellington,” she says. “Fantasy author who’s penning the long-awaited Realm of Ruby. She’s asking for another extension.”
“We just gave her one two months ago.”
“Her editor says she really needs it, too.” She tosses me a map of the fictional world. “They’re shifting some things around.”
I glance at the intricately drawn sheet, tracing my fingers from the forsaken mountains to the endless plains.
“Give her one hundred and eighty days to be sure,” I say. “And pair her with another developmental editor for the extra support.”
“Will do.”
We spend the next forty minutes speeding through extension requests, and to my surprise, there aren’t that many today.
“Last up, we have romance.” Her tone suddenly shifts from optimistic to uneasy. “The uh, newest indie romance authors we acquired…”
“I need another cup of coffee first.”
She calls for an intern to refill my cup, and I glance at my printed copy of the list.
Romance is our most profitable genre—the crown jewel of Grey Wolf—but if readers knew half the insane shit these authors pulled behind the scenes, they’d petition to send them to an asylum instead of a book signing.
How the hell can eighteen authors miss their deadlines?
“I’m ready when you are, Mr. Wolfson.” Marcia clears her throat. “Just say the word.”
I say nothing.
“Okay, fine.” She lets out a sigh. “Let’s start with the books that we’ve been waiting on the longest.”
I sip my coffee, hoping deep down that this will zoom by as fast as the other genres.
“The Final Terms by Allyson Harmony,” she says. “It’s the second standalone in an international bestselling office romance series.”
“I remember that one,” I say. “The author didn’t show up to the high-priced re-release party we threw for her.”
“She’s very shy, sir. She always has been.”
“Right… What’s the status of the next book in the series?”
“She was supposed to turn it in last year, but she kept having some personal issues so we kept giving her extensions.”
“That’s not what I asked you.” I lean forward. “What’s the status of the book?”
“She’s requesting an extension via her agent before she reveals anything this time?”
I roll my eyes. “What was her reason last time?”
“Her pet fish died.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was coming off the heels of an intense battle with writer’s block, and she said she needed time to deal with her anxiety.”
Bullshit.
“How much more time is she claiming to need now?”
“A full year.”
I lean back in my chair, jaw tightening. “Remind me how much her deal was worth.”
“Two million dollars.”
“We paid that upfront?”
“No, we only paid half up front. A quarter is due on draft delivery, and we’ll pay the rest on publication.”
“If there’s a publication…” I pull out my phone and venture to this author’s social media. None of her posts feature her face, and she doesn’t have a photo on her “about” page on her website either.
Her bio reads like she pulled it from a How to Write the Vaguest Shit Ever guide:
Allyson Harmony loves writing romance and thriller stories. She also loves drinking coffee with her best friend.