Read Me Slow

Chapter 1

Maya

Subject: Narration Cancellation

Maya,

I know this is short notice, but I’m pulling out. Chris and I are no longer working together—personally or professionally. I won’t drag you into the details, but we can’t start this book in good faith.

I’m sorry. I know this leaves you in a bind. A full refund has been sent.

—Elle

Maya Brooks read the message twice. Then a third time. Then she sat back in her chair, pressed a hand to her lips, and stared at the calendar above her desk.

It was already Tuesday, June 3rd.

Four weeks from publication.

A proof copy of Sweat sat beside her laptop, practically vibrating with smugness. She clenched her jaw and let out a low, primal growl, too guttural to be a real scream, but loud enough to summon Simone from the living room.

“What’s wrong?” her assistant asked, skidding into the office.

Maya spun in her chair. “I’m fucked.”

Simone leaned in the doorway, a vision in fishnets, combat boots, and a bleached-blonde buzzcut. “What’s wrong?”

“Elle and Chris are out. No audiobook. No release-day audio. Which means a third of my readers? Gone. Which means a third of my sales? Gone. Which means your paycheck, my mortgage, and this entire operation?” She threw her hands in the air. “Gone.”

Simone’s brows shot up. “Wait—they bailed? On Sweat? That comes out in a month!”

Maya exhaled through her nose. “Exactly. I’m fucked.”

Simone folded her arms. “So what now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I’m calling Taryn,” Maya said, already pulling up the contact. “Maybe she knows someone.”

Simone arched a brow. “You think a trad author has a narrator who’ll rush an indie job on a budget?”

“Taryn is the only author I know who has used male narrators. Mel only writes one POV and Rhonda writes sapphic…” Maya shook her head. “I think I’m out of options.”

The phone rang twice.

“Hey girl! I saw your cover reveal, gorgeous, by the way. What’s up?”

She skipped the pleasantries. “Elle and Chris are out. I need a narrator. Sexy, available, and affordable. Yesterday.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah. Oof.”

“What happened?”

“Elle didn’t say much, just that she couldn’t read Sweat in good faith.”

Taryn blew out a sigh. “Damn. How many have they done with you?”

“This was supposed to be the fourth, and I finally got Chris to moan without sounding congested. Now? Silence.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s brutal.”

“Know anyone with an opening and is hot enough to melt earbuds?”

Taryn laughed. “I’ll ask around. Sci-fi isn’t exactly smoldering, but I’ll check with my editor.”

Maya groaned. “I’d really appreciate it. Hell, I’d take a semi-decent baritone at this point.”

“Simone might have ideas. She’s scrappy.”

She glanced up to find her assistant still standing in the doorway, scrolling through her phone.

“Are you looking for someone with a hot voice?” Maya said.

“On it,” Simone murmured as her thumbs tapped.

Taryn chuckled. “Worst case? Read it yourself. You’ve got a great voice.”

“For half the book. I need a hero.”

“One of my favorite songs…”

“Don’t start.”

Taryn sighed. “You’ve got room to get creative. I never even hear from marketing before they make decisions. At least you get to call your own shots.”

True. That was the deal with indie: full control, full responsibility. The downside? There was no one else to blame when things went sideways.

“Please ask your editor,” Maya said. “Anything helps.”

“I will. And for the record? If the audiobook’s late, your readers will understand.”

“I know…” Maya spun a pencil between her fingers. “But I like things done a certain way. I like knowing release day is one and done. I just want to move on to the next project.”

“And that’s why you’re brilliant,” Taryn said. “But maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to ease up on the reins a little.”

Maya smirked. “I ride too hard for that.”

“You romance writers. Minds always in the gutter.”

“And you sci-fi writers? Heads in the clouds.”

They both laughed, caught up on Taryn’s slow-moving draft, and discussed Maya’s upcoming tour locations. By the time she hung up, Maya felt steadier, but she still didn’t have a narrator.

For a second, she wondered…

She picked up her proof copy of Sweat and flipped to a random Paul chapter.

“I swiped my fingers through her folds,” she murmured in a growly voice. “Just enough to pull a whimper from her—”

Maya slapped the book on her desk.

Absolutely not. She might be able to pull off Yvette’s chapters, but Paul? She’d sound like a complete weirdo.

She tried not to imagine the disastrous audiobook ratings as she stared through her office window. Chicago was already getting warm, and she wished she could be out there, taking a stroll to the park or enjoying the sun.

“I think I have something!”

Maya swiveled in her chair again.

Simone entered the office this time, her phone held aloft like an offering. “I’ve got your voice.”

Maya blinked before sliding her reading glasses on. “Yeah?”

“Here’s your hero.” Simone’s grin was way too smug. “Just listen.”

She hit play before Maya could ask more questions.

“There’s something waiting in the dark. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Deep, masculine, coiled with tension…

She frowned as she listened closer. A slight rasp, a little vocal fry where it was needed. A measured breath. Then a soft sigh right when the character of this frightening tale thought she was safe.

Maya’s stomach tightened at that sigh.

She immediately wondered how it would sound in headphones. Alone in the dark.

Simone kept the phone steady. “That’s from a podcast called Dead Airwaves. His tagline is: ‘Broadcasting fear through every frequency.’”

Maya pulled back slightly. “What is this? Creepy stuff?” She shook her head. “You know I can’t do horror.”

“Yeah, but listen. He’s perfect for Paul. This guy could easily be a boxer with a dark past.”

Maya kept listening. The voice shifted, more intimate now:

“He doesn’t have horns or hooves. He has a soft laugh. A voice that asks what you need before you realize you’re already saying yes.” The narrator gave a dark chuckle. “Hell is patient. It doesn’t have to chase you. It just waits until you’re too tired to run.”

When she glanced up at her grinning assistant, Maya’s mouth was wide open. “Oh, damn…” she murmured. “What do we know about him?”

Simone lit up. “Okay, I’ve only been listening to Dead Airwaves for a couple of months, but he’s been posting for the last five years, I think. He’s got a large fanbase. People call him—” she paused for dramatic effect, “Scare Daddy.”

Maya raised a brow. “‘Scare Daddy?’”

“Well, some of his female fans call him that. Oh! And he’s got merch and everything,” Simone gushed. “I’m going to get a sweatshirt that says ‘I survived episode 27.’ I listened to it last night and I literally couldn’t sleep.”

Maya shook her head. “Don’t tell me anymore about it.”

Simone laughed. “Okay, no more scary stuff. But I did email his rep while you were on the phone with Taryn.”

“His rep?”

“Well, his inbox. His podcast site has a contact form.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Do we even know Scare Daddy’s real name?”

Simone tapped her phone. “Theo Ward.”

The name hit like a brick.

Maya’s brow furrowed. “Theo… wait. Theo Ward?”

Simone looked up, surprised at her tone. “Yeah. Why?”

Maya stared at her. “I know him.”

A pause.

Simone blinked. “Yeah?”

Maya sat up straighter, heart thudding. “That’s Teddy. My Teddy. Nate’s best friend from high school. He was always at our house. I helped move him into his freshman dorm!”

Her assistant’s face morphed into delighted horror. “No.”

“Oh, my God.” Maya dragged her hands down her face. “I helped him put a fitted sheet on his dorm mattress.”

“Scare Daddy is your little brother’s best friend?”

Maya let out a strangled sound. “This won’t work.”

Simone jumped up and down, phone still in hand. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You already emailed him?” Maya asked, already out of her chair.

Simone nodded, far too calm for the emotional emergency at hand. “Just the contact form. I kept it super professional. Unfortunately, I did sign your name, which might be weird since he already knows you.”

Maya paced the office. “Simone!”

“What? You were desperate. I saw an opportunity. I took it.”

“That’s not an opportunity, that’s Teddy!” she cried. “That’s Nate’s best friend. He was the little White boy my mom kept feeding.”

Simone’s eyes sparkled. “Okay, but now he says things like ‘Hell is patient,’ and I’m just saying… He doesn’t look very little anymore.”

Her assistant held up the Instagram page for Dead Airwaves. Most of the tiles were spooky images previewing his episodes. Only a handful were pictures of him.

She tapped on one of the photos. Black and white, him in a recording studio, head bowed slightly, headphones on. One hand cupped around the mic. The other pulling the cord taut near his mouth. His jawline looked like it could cut glass.

She blinked. Hard.

Next photo: A low-lit selfie. Soft shadows, that same black stubbled jaw, full mouth parted just enough to show the suggestion of a smirk. Caption: “Some stories don’t need monsters. Just a closed door and a reason not to open it.”

She made a noise in her throat. It wasn’t cute.

Simone leaned over her shoulder. “Right? He looks like he’d read your heroine for filth, then eat her out so gently she cries.”

“Oh, God… please stop.” Maya groaned.

But she kept scrolling.

There was a photo in his tagged section, shot from the side at some podcast convention. He was in conversation, smiling softly, his profile lit by amber string lights. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans. One hand was curled around a cup of coffee like he’d never held anything so tender in his life.

She tapped to see the comments. Most were from people who wanted to know when he’d do a live show in their town. Some made requests for him to read popular Creepypasta stories…

But others we’re a bit more thirsty:

@quiet_terrorqueen: “He could narrate my nervous breakdown.”

@scaredsweetly: “PLEASE HIDE UNDER MY BED.”

Maya closed the app. “I cannot believe this is him,” she muttered before dropping back into her chair. “I cannot believe I just got turned on by Teddy Ward.”

“I can,” Simone said, grinning. “That voice is criminal. Like, he should have to register it with the state.”

Maya buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t seen Nate’s best friend in years, nor had she any reason to ask about him. Her brother and his peers were a cool fifteen years younger than she. A generational difference, if she was honest.

Simone’s phone buzzed. She checked it, eyes going wide.

“Oh.”

Maya lifted her head. “What?”

Simone looked up slowly. “He responded.”