Wish I Wasn’t (Loving Yule #1)
One
Winter
Itrudge through the chaos of the New York City crowds toward the promise of caffeine at my favorite local café. Even barely awake, I know my usual order won’t be enough to pull me from my hungover state, but it will be a good start.
When I arrive at the shop, Gina gives me an appraising look before shaking her head in disapproval.
Yeah, Gina, I’m giving myself the same lecture—no doubt about it.
My newest book was released yesterday. It was supposed to be a day of celebration and excitement. But instead of reading articles praising my latest work, I was met with criticism, bad reviews, and low ratings.
Readers are rioting. Both my agent and my publisher called to reprimand me, as if they didn’t have a hand in this mess. The requests for comments about my book, which has been viciously criticized in the media, have overwhelmed my PR person.
Across social media, the phrases “Ice Queen” and “Queen of Broken Hearts” are not only circulating but also trending.
Readers are angry that my latest book didn’t have a happy ending.
The thing they seem to forget is that it wasn’t marketed as a love story.
It’s not a romance book. It tells the story of a desperate woman who gets entangled with a brutal man, whom she does fall in love with, but it’s only a footnote in her life story.
The connection between them was never the point of the story; the perseverance and grittiness were supposed to be the focus.
It’s about her growth despite the hand fate has dealt her.
She’s a badass woman, and that’s what the story is about.
Gina must be able to tell that things are not going well today because she asks me, “Do you need your usual? Or something stronger?”
After thinking it over for a few minutes, I end up ordering two of my usual drinks, one to enjoy here and one to take with me. I have her add a couple of additional shots of espresso to both to give me a much-needed energy boost to overcome this horrible hangover.
I guzzle the one for here and leave the shop, hoping to avoid the crowds and the noise.
On my way back to my apartment, I hotfoot it to avoid other humans. Unfortunately, even with sunglasses on, I’m still a notable public figure. I only get a block into my walk when someone shouts my name.
I keep walking to avoid interacting with anyone, but they become louder and more persistent.
Finally, I cave and turn to see who has been chasing me down.
Standing before me is a woman I don’t know, someone I have never seen before. She marches up to me, and when she is close, she jerks her arm upward, knocking my coffee out of my hand. It sloshes all over the front of my shirt. It’s ice cold, and I shriek on impact.
“You’re a terror to the literary world!” she yells at me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout back at her.
She pulls out a copy of my new book from her purse, then angrily flips through it and yanks pages from it, shredding them as she goes before tossing the pieces into the wind, where they scatter around the street.
All I can think as I watch her is damn, she’s mad. This is not a normal reaction to have to a book, even to one you didn’t enjoy.
I dart off while she’s distracted by her tirade and run the rest of the way back to my apartment.
Thankfully, there were no more interferences along the way. I make it home without further difficulty and lock my door.
Once the deadbolt is in place, I strip off my sopping wet shirt and beeline for the shower.
After a quick rinse to clean up the stickiness, I flop back onto my bed with a sigh of defeat.
My ringing phone draws my attention away from the ceiling. At first, I ignore it, but then decide to take a look at the screen to see who it is. Unfortunately, it’s my agent calling me once again.
“Winter,” I answer with no pleasantries today.
“Hey.” He clears his throat awkwardly.
I roll my eyes, hoping he’ll get on with it already. Whatever it is.
When I don’t say anything else, he eventually decides to speak.
“I hate to do this, but I have some bad news.”
Of course he does! There has never been a better day for life to be complete shit than today.
“What is it, Alex?” I ask in the drollest tone. I’m so over this day.
“The publisher has asked for a meeting. With the holidays approaching, they said they don’t want to meet until the end of January as a lot of the higher-ups are out of the office.
However, given the current state of the newest book launch, I don’t think this will be a good meeting.
I’m concerned that they might not want to go forward with the next book. ”
“We already have a contract in place for the next three books,” I remind him.
“Winter.” He sighs. “I’m aware of your book deal.
However, they might try to break the contract.
You should be prepared for it, just in case.
Plan to bring your lawyer to the meeting so they can advocate on your behalf if necessary.
And in the next few months, I would recommend working on something new.
Spend some time and write like your career depends on it because it might.
Bring something new and exciting with you to the meeting to pitch. It might save you.”
He ends the call without waiting for a reply from me. I scowl at the phone, hoping my dirty look can reach him telepathically before I toss it across the bed, where it lands with a soft thump on the pillow.
I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve worked too hard for my publisher and agent to turn on me. I’ve played by their rules and given them everything they have asked for.
They’ve already published ten books with me. Surely, they won’t discard me for one bad release. Right?
The longer I sit there, the more unsettled I become. I can’t stand the silence. I crawl across my mattress and swipe up the phone. With only a moment of hesitation, I pull up my mother’s contact information. It only rings twice before she answers.
“Hey, baby,” she greets me. That soft voice, so full of love, is my undoing.
Unbidden, tears cascade down my face as I spill my guts, telling her everything.
By the time we get off the phone, it’s decided that I need to get out of New York City for a little bit.
I pack a suitcase with all my essentials and hop on the first flight home.