Chapter 9
T he sun beamed down over the dog park, the kind of perfect, breezy day that practically begged for inspiration.
Will strolled across the grass with Fetch trotting beside him, tail wagging with unfiltered joy.
They reached their usual bench—prime real estate under a shady tree with a front-row view of pure canine chaos.
With a quiet sigh, Will unclipped Fetch’s leash. “Go on, buddy,” he said, giving a small wave.
Fetch didn’t need a second invitation. He launched himself forward with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for meatballs and mailmen.
Will plopped down on the bench and pulled out his laptop, flipping it open with the dramatic flair of a man on the brink of genius—or hoping to fake it convincingly. The screen glowed to life, and a single bold line stared back at him.
He cracked his knuckles, squared his shoulders, and began to type.
He typed: Next great idea goes here.
He frowned.
A beat later, his phone rang, vibrating across the bench like it had something far more productive to say. He glanced at the screen and sighed.
“Hey, Margot,” Will said flatly, answering the call with all the enthusiasm of someone volunteering for a tax audit.
Miles away in a sleek office, Margot sat behind a pristine desk that screamed power and excellent taste in stationery.
“I was going to ask how it’s going,” Margot said, voice dry and knowing, “but given your tone…”
“Oh, it’s going... great!” Will replied, perking up with exaggerated cheer, the sarcasm thick enough to butter toast.
“That sounds like sarcasm,” Margot said, not missing a beat.
“You’re really good at this,” Will replied, leaning back on the bench. “Maybe you should write the book.”
“Not a chance,” she said with a snort. “Listen, the publisher is ecstatic about the pre-order sales for your upcoming release. They’re chomping at the bit to announce your next series and would like to meet when they’re in town to hear more about it.”
“Sounds great,” Will said, nodding—even though no one could see it.
“Will you be ready?” Margot asked, a warning edge hidden behind her polished delivery.
“Of course,” he said, tightening his grip on the laptop like it might back him up.
“I haven’t even told you when,” Margot pointed out. “Are you still staring at a blank page?”
“No. Not at all,” Will said, a little too fast. “They’re going to love it. Next-level stuff.”
“What’s it about?” she asked, all business now.
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Will said quickly, hoping deflection still worked after ten years in the business.
“Mhm,” Margot hummed suspiciously. “You know the drill.”
“Talk to you as soon as I finish,” Will promised, already preparing to dodge the next round of follow-ups.
“Looking forward to it. And stop overthinking it. You always have great ideas. Let it happen,” she said warmly before hanging up.
Will exhaled and stared back at his screen.
“Now, to write that great idea,” he muttered to himself as he closed the laptop with a satisfying snap, like sealing away a secret. Or maybe procrastination.
Either way, the park and his blank page would still be there tomorrow.