Chapter 4
“Your book sold at auction?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, hanging his head. “For a good deal.”
He’s actually quoting from Publishers Marketplace, my bible for years. A “good deal” means a six-figure deal. Something much like bile rises in my throat, followed by an out of body sensation, as if I’m floating on a cloud of garbage, watching the landfill below. I fight to keep my composure.
I’ve forgotten my resignation letter because now there’s been an unexpected real life plot twist. I still don’t know why Ryan is here or how I can help him. It does not explain why he’d been headed over here to tell me this before he knew I’d even found the video.
He’s written one romance book. I tell myself his success is probably because he already has a solid reputation in the industry of someone who can deliver a book. But his first romance book selling at auction? This is rare.
“I didn’t want any of this to happen, remember, or all of this attention.” He says the word as though he smells garbage. “But then my agent got the deal and…and all that…you know, money.”
“But…I looked up your catalog and didn’t see any romance.”
“No, you wouldn’t have seen it.”
“Why not? When did it come out?”
“Two months ago.” His voice lowers to just above audible range. “It made the New York Times list.”
All the air goes out of me. “Seriously?”
He nods, but sadly, as if to apologize.
“What’s the name of the book?”
“They called it Soulmates.”
Soulmates. I’d heard about it but it mostly hadn’t been on my radar since my Tbr pile is about two feet tall. But I seem to recall the author was a woman. I must have that wrong. It could be initials and I simply assumed.
“Well, gosh. I guess…congratulations. That’s just amazing. From someone who derided romance to someone who wrote one. I’d say that’s truly an epic hero’s journey.”
“Believe me, I honestly didn’t think I could write romance and certainly not that it would sell.”
This isn’t helping. I still wonder why he’s rushed over to tell me all this like a show-off.
What he probably will need, and soon, is crisis management.
Because the minute the book comes out, the video will resurface if it hasn’t already, go viral, and he’ll be called out on it.
There will be a few potshots, especially from his existing community of literary snobs who will make fun of him.
Romance writers everywhere will skewer him.
A good publicist could smooth the road ahead, and spin this somehow, but I hardly have the skills.
“I’m not sure how I can help you with all this. All you have to do is apologize when the video resurfaces. Admit you were wrong because, you know, you were.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where this gets complicated.”
“Why?” I shove my hands on my hips. “You’re not willing to issue a public apology?”
“Of course, I am. I actually already did, not that anyone saw that video.” He shakes his head. “A while ago we decided to publish the romance under a pen name. To keep my works separate. There was never any intention I would write another book like it.”
“Ah, I see. But word will still get out, pen name or not. You have the same face.”
“Which is why I thought it much safer if I chose a woman’s name. Elizabeth Brogan.”
Now the pieces were coming together. The sheer audacity. Okay. A woman’s pen name. It isn’t like this kind of thing hasn’t been done before, though in reverse and usually by women trying to make it into a man’s world. There are many more examples going back to Shakespearean times.
“I can see how this has complicated your life. All this attention and you don’t even have a face to put with the name. Honestly, I’m surprised your agent hasn’t helped you with this.”
“She has but I don’t like her ideas. I don’t want to hire an actress to do this.”
So, apparently no girlfriend or significant other who might step in. Words aren’t coming as easily as they usually do, the information overload having a clear effect on my bandwidth.
“But it all might have been okay because I should have been able to stay under the radar, except…here’s where the real problem comes in.
” He sighs. “The book was selected as the morning show pick on that new segment the insipid former reality star started. That’s the phone call I had yesterday from my agent. ”
I have to sit down, so I plop down on the small end table, leaving two feet between us. The shed is small, but it’s a good twenty feet from one wall to another. I’ve tried to keep a few feet between me and Ryan at all times. Now, in this small space, I’m having trouble taking in a breath.
Last week I’d read that Carla Hopkins, one of the former contestants on Love Line, a reality dating show, and a cover model now married to an NHL player, wanted to share her love of romance books with the world.
A major streaming service started their own book club for her to compete with GMA, Reese, and Jenna’s picks.
She’ll be doing one a month and it sounds like Ryan’s book might be the first one.
“I didn’t know this, because I’ve never been in this position, but the size of the advance my agent negotiated meant the publisher made the book a lead title.
They proposed several books to the show, including mine.
Carla got an early copy and she chose the book because it reminds her of her love story with Mark.
” Ryan runs a hand through his hair. “Apparently they hated each other when they first met.”
Enemies to lovers is one of my favorite tropes, right next to Grumpy Sunshine, but after pretend relationships. I have a numbered list somewhere.
“My agent wants to make the most of this temporary sensation. Trends come and go, and we happened to hit gold with this one. If only they hadn’t chosen the book, this might not even be a problem.”
Cry me a river, sir, I want to say. I think of Holly, who’s been querying for ten years without the slightest interest. She’s talented and has great ideas and plots but no one will give her a chance.
“So, of course you have to do it. The only problem is they usually have a live interview with the author. I’ve seen GMA do it on zoom, so the author doesn’t have to travel unless they want to or can.
” I snap my fingers. “I guess you have no choice at this point but to hire someone. It’s either that or reveal the truth.
You have to go all in with this deception. ”
“I don’t like the word ‘deception.’” He makes air quotes.
“Riiight.”
I lower my gaze and stare at him from under hooded eyes to give him my “are you for real?” look.
“Okay, fine. Deception is the correct word, under most circumstances. But Elizabeth Brogan will eventually fade in popularity when there are no more romance books from her. From me. Problem solved.”
“Quitting at the top of your game? Gotta say, not many would do that.”
“This book was a fluke, and I don’t have another one in me. I write historical fiction and I’ll die happily in obscurity. Believe me, this is not what I wanted. I’m going to divorce Elizabeth Brogan like I divorced my ex-wife. Soulmates was Elizabeth’s first and last book.”
“And that’s your final answer?”
He nods. “The reason I’m here is…well, the moment I met you I thought.
..and so did Henry, by the way, and that’s why he thought I’d be an idiot not to hire you.
Seriously, it’s like you just stepped out of the pages of my book.
So maybe you could pretend to be Elizabeth Brogan… as part of your employment.”
Is this what he meant by being flexible? By “other duties”? I’m definitely not being paid enough for this.
“Just the web meeting they’ll broadcast later on the show. I’m sure you’ve seen those. You’ll pose for some photos holding the book, that kind of thing.”
Without saying a word, I swallow so hard I think maybe the people next door can hear me.
He doesn’t know he’s asked me to do something so far out of my comfort zone it may as well be set on another galaxy.
Is it because I’m already a ghostwriter so he thinks it’s easy for me to slip into the skin of someone else?
I don’t want to believe it, but he’s probably right.
After all, I already write other people’s stories.
I still haven’t answered so he keeps talking.
“Of course, this all has to be approved by my agency and the publisher. We never pictured or planned on doing anything this public, hence the pen name. If the publisher is okay with this, we can go forward. You’re already a writer, so you’d be perfect. You know this world. Our world.”
If he’s trying to flatter me, it works. Our world. As if I share even a slice of that world with an author whose book debuted on a major list.
“Of course, you couldn’t tell anyone about this. You’d have to sign an NDA, which I’m sure you’ve already done for your ghostwriting.”
I nod because of course I have. “But I’ve never been on TV before.”
“That makes two of us.”
I’ve always been in the background where I’m comfortable.
I don’t participate in author panels the way Ryan has.
No one has ever asked. This is like asking the backup singer to headline the show.
She might have the vocal chops, but she doesn’t have the stage presence.
I can’t possibly do this. I’m not ready for prime time.
But Ryan is still making his case. “You’d make the perfect Elizabeth Brogan.”
“Here’s the thing. I like being in the background. Sure, I want to get my own book published some day, but all this…it’s scary.”
Ryan nods as if he totally gets it. Most writers, after all, are introverts who would rather stay home than go to a party. Some of my best days are when plans are canceled and I can just stay home.
But Sofia’s words to me come back, how I sometimes make myself small to accommodate others.
She thinks it’s what happened with Chris.
I gave him so much room he walked straight out of my life.
I’ve never wanted to challenge the status quo.
I go along with the way things are because it’s easier than fighting.
On the other hand, if there ever is a time to ask for the moon…
this might be the moment. He’s desperate.
He needs a woman all right, but not just any woman.
Someone who can fake being the writer of his book because oh let’s see, she is a writer.
Someone who will keep quiet about the deception because she understands the need for privacy and confidentiality. He needs someone special.
Someone like me.
A few minutes ago, I was ready to part ways with Ryan forever but that would have been shortsighted.
I tip my chin, projecting my voice. “Naturally, I would need to be appropriately compensated for this project.”
“Whatever you need.”
A long silence stretches between us.
“So…let me get this straight.” I put a hand to my chest. “You want Elizabeth Brogan to be my pen name. And you want me to pretend I wrote the book you did.”
“Exactly.”
“And I obviously can’t tell anyone. I’ve got to tell everyone that I wrote the book. My friends, my family.”
“Right.”
“The most popular book in the country.”
“Apparently.”
“So, it’s like the reverse of what I usually do.” I gesture to him. “You’re the ghostwriter.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“It’s the only way to put it. You did the work. I take the credit. I know the drill.”
Ryan is quiet, just closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, and a long silence stretches between us.
“When is this interview being filmed?”
“Monday,” he says miserably.
“Monday! Monday as in two days from today? Monday as in the day that comes after Sunday, which is tomorrow?”
He groans. “Why do you think I’m here? This is the emergency.”
“Give me a minute,” I say, holding up a finger. “I need to think.”
Behind his spectacles, Ryan’s eyes are wide and dare I say hopeful. He can see I’m considering this.
I should just let him sink. I’m not sure he deserves to be saved. He might not deserve my help.
The irony of this is not lost on me. I’ve never been able to brag about my achievements as a ghostwriter.
And now I’m going to take credit for something I didn’t do.
.