Chapter 40
Andi
The thought of leaving this bed to go to the non-ceremony feels like pure torture.
In fact, I’m convinced my legs have transformed into noodles, incapable of carrying me any farther than the edge of the mattress.
I might as well resign myself to living here forever, like the grandparents in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Only instead of lying in bed and making snarky comments about the outside world, I’d be with Nolan.
Nolan is in the shower, whistling what sounds like the “Wedding March.” So I avoid reality a little longer and check my author email account. I haven’t looked at it in days, and the thought of doing so is almost as daunting as attempting to move from this bed.
I start scanning the A. A. Zed emails on my phone. It’s the usual, a bunch of spam mail, author newsletters, and promotional offers. As I scroll, one email stands out. Its subject line practically jumps off the screen.
Subject: Representation Offer for Your Bestselling Book
Dear A. A. Zed,
My name is Cher Reynolds and I’m a literary agent with Reynolds and Holburg Literary Agency.
I recently had the pleasure of reading THE PRIME MINISTER & ME and I was absolutely captivated by your writing.
Based on its tremendous success over the last few weeks, I believe there’s potential for your work to reach an even wider audience.
I’m reaching out to you today because I would love the opportunity to represent you and your book.
Between you and me, many large publishing houses have expressed interest in purchasing the rights.
I’m genuinely so excited about the possibility of working together and helping you achieve even greater success in your writing career.
Please let me know if you would be interested in exploring this opportunity further, and we can schedule a time to chat at your convenience.
Warmest regards,
Cher
Holy shit. Cher Reynolds is a powerhouse, representing some of the biggest romance authors in the business.
I came across her name over and over back when I was researching the traditional publishing route years ago.
And the weirdest part? There are two emails from other well-known agents asking for calls to discuss potential representation, just casually sitting in my inbox.
How is this real? When I published my books, I immediately opted to self-publish.
I knew going the traditional route (getting my books published by a large publishing house to be sold in actual bookstores) would be difficult.
It would require not only a literary agent to believe in my work, but an editor and an entire publishing team to love it enough to pay me for it.
I never imagined anyone would like my work enough, nor did I want to give up creative control, so I never bothered to try.
I try to tamp down my excitement, my urge to finally spring from the bed and dance around the room as I toggle through the emails.
When Nolan finally emerges from the bathroom, his hair still flecked with water droplets, he eyes me curiously, clueing in to the mix of emotions playing across my face.
“Everything okay?” he asks, eyes searching mine.
“Yeah. Um, I…I got some emails from literary agents who want to represent me and sell my books to publishers,” I say, lightning fast.
His jaw unhinges and his eyes go wide, studying me, like he’s puzzled by my reaction. “Are you kidding me? That’s fucking amazing! How are you not freaking out right now?”
I shift uneasily, still holding my phone. “I don’t know. What if no publisher buys it? What if they completely botch the marketing?” Realistically, the book is doing amazingly well as it is. Do I really need an agent and a publisher, who will take an even larger cut of the profits?
While I launch into a speech about all the downsides and risks of publishing through a large house, Nolan’s expression morphs into one of genuine confusion mixed with frustration. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Okay, that’s a lot of cons. What are the pros?”
“It would reach a much wider audience. If it did well, it could lead to mainstream recognition. Potentially international recognition. And mostly, my book would be sold in brick-and-mortar stores.” My heart thrums with longing at the mere thought of casually seeing my book on a shelf at a bookstore.
Discreetly watching a customer pick it up and read the back.
Maybe even purchase it. The more I visualize it, the more I realize how badly I’ve secretly wished for that to become a reality, as silly as that sounds.
Nolan senses the longing. “Are you seriously doubting this? You’ve got agents reaching out to you! This is what every writer dreams of. It’s like being scouted for the major leagues.”
I sigh, letting my head fall back against the headboard. “I know, it’s just—what if it fails, despite an agent and a publisher investing in me? What if this whole thing exposes the truth? That I wrote the books to begin with?”
He takes it all in, really considers it.
“That’s a completely valid fear. All of it.
But you have to know, what happened to you says nothing about your worth or your talent.
I think you’d be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t at least take one call.
Just one. And if you don’t like what they have to say, we don’t ever have to talk about this again.
Regardless, I’ll still be here, supporting you. ”
One look at him and I’m overcome with instant relief. “You really think it’s worth taking the leap?”
“Your books are already bestsellers. They’re already successful beyond what you thought possible. Even if an agent or publisher royally fucks things up, no one can take away your success.”
“One book is a bestseller,” I correct him.
He gives me an eye roll. “Andi, deflect all you want. But having people read your work has always been your dream, ever since I met you. And I’m not talking about making everyone else happy, or pleasing your mom.
I’m talking about doing what truly makes you light up.
Every time you write, you get this giddy look on your face.
You literally glow when you talk about it. ”
“That’s the sweat and angst, but go on,” I tease.
“I think you should do this for yourself. Not because you have anything to prove, because you don’t. But because you, of all people, deserve to live out your dreams in full.”
The breadth of his words hits me in the chest to the point that tears sprout, pouring over my lash line. Not because I’m upset, or scared. But because no one has truly seen me like him. No one has understood what I’ve gone through or what I need before I even understand it myself.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in so tight, I feel entirely sheltered. In his arms, no one can hurt me. No agent, editor, reader. No one.
I finally pull back and nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
· · ·
Cher calls within five minutes of me confirming I’d like to talk. Nolan goes onto the balcony while I take the call, giving me privacy.
It lasts almost an hour, though it doesn’t feel like it. Cher has an immediate warmth, like I’m talking to a dear friend. It feels like it’s all over before it even begins, even though she walks through everything extremely thoroughly, graciously stopping to answer any questions I have.
I’m still absorbing it all by the time I head onto the balcony, back to Nolan, who’s pacing back and forth.
“How did it go?” he asks.
My lips curve into a small, tentative smile.
“Amazing, actually. I mean, I should probably take the other calls, but Cher was so lovely. First, she talked about how much she loved the book and my writing. She thinks it could be really huge in the market and talked about how she thinks it should be positioned and which houses would be best placed for that.”
Nolan’s entire face lights up, and he steps forward to wrap me into a massive hug. “Holy shit.”
When we pull back, my face falls a little. “But what I liked most was that she was honest and realistic. She didn’t make any wild promises. And she also cautioned me about the risk of being doxed again when I told her I want to remain anonymous under my pen name, no photos, no interviews.”
“But people write under pen names all the time, don’t they? I mean, they can’t make you go on camera or anything.”
“She had no problem with me staying anonymous. But she couldn’t promise that people wouldn’t be able to find out my identity, especially if the book were as successful as she thinks it’ll be.”
He nods. “That’s fair. But hear me out—if it’s as big as we think it will be, will you really need to keep your job?”
I bite the inside of my lip in consideration. “I don’t know.”
“Even for your dream job?”
I shrug. “It’s never been something that seemed possible.
” It’s not that working for Gretchen is something I absolutely love.
But I’m good at it. It’s a known quantity.
And after all this time, working for Gretchen has become my identity.
I’ve never had the confidence to even consider writing full-time, until now.
If I did, I’d have no choice but to tell my family the truth.
“But what if it were? I know the job gives you a purpose. And I know how important it is for you. But does it really serve your soul? Or is it just serving your need to please people?” His words drive their way directly to my chest. He’s not wrong.
I’ve never felt passionate about working for Gretchen, especially this past year.
But the thought of quitting something I know I’m good at for the unknown is terrifying.
“I don’t know.”
He bows his head. “I get it. And I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m pushing you. You don’t have to make any decision now. Sit on it for as long as you need to. And if you ultimately decide that you don’t want to go down that route, I’ll completely support you.”
“Thank you.”
“But you have to do one thing for me,” he says, stepping forward.
“What?”
He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I want you to celebrate this. Regardless of what you decide, this is a massive accomplishment. You are officially the coolest person I know. Everyone wants to write a book, but hardly anyone sits down and does it, let alone does it well and creates something that becomes such a success on such a huge scale, all with a full-time, demanding job no less. And you’re such a workhorse, with all these goals.
I don’t think you celebrate yourself enough or take the time to really sit and think about how fucking amazing you are.
You’ve worked so hard and you deserve every good thing that’s going to come your way.
So you’re going to put a beautiful dress on tonight and we’re going to celebrate. ”
“Celebrate,” I repeat.
“Exactly. We’re celebrating the fuck out of this win, no matter what happens.”