Chapter 1 #2
Just a couple of years ago, it would have felt like the opportunity of a lifetime to rub shoulders with and write for someone of Liv’s caliber. Why wasn’t I ecstatic about writing a book for one of the most famous pop singers in the country? What had changed between just an hour ago and now?
I caught hold of one of the thoughts racing through my mind, inspecting it.
It had nothing to do with Liv or what she’d said.
I would gladly locate the central themes and explore them with, or for, Liv.
I would mold her thoughts into the best words possible and lend some of my own when necessary. Nothing I hadn’t done before.
But here I was, writing a book for someone else, again. My name wouldn’t be on it, and the ideas I was truly passionate about wouldn’t be in it.
I took a sip of my drink. The coffee warmed my chest, bringing me back to the present, back to what was happening right in front of me.
I had signed up for this. It couldn’t matter to me whose name would be on the book when it hit shelves a year from now, the remarkably speedy turnaround time I had grown used to working with for celebrity memoirs, or when it inevitably hit every bestseller list, all thanks to Liv’s notoriety.
What had to matter was that, in the loosest sense, my words were being read by countless people, even if they didn’t know it.
Even if they never knew my name at all. I had to be okay with that.
The meeting wrapped up, and we walked Liv to the elevator to say our goodbyes.
“Thanks, ladies!” Liv waved. “I can’t wait to get started on it.” The moment she vanished, Alexandria strutted off toward her office.
“Hey, Alexan—”
She spun around. “Yep?”
My heart crept its way up to my throat. I swallowed it down just as quickly.
I wouldn’t let this moment pass. “Did you get a chance to look at my manuscript?” I’d floated the idea of publishing a novel a few times in my years working with Carmichael.
It wasn’t typical for publishers to take a novel from an employee, which, despite technically being a freelance writer, I wasn’t far from with how frequently they’d used me.
But Alexandria had hinted a few times that I might be the exception to the rule.
“I sent it to you last Monday,” I reminded her.
Her eyes flickered from me to Liv’s contract in her hands and back up to me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“You know, for my novel . . .” The words tasted of embarrassment as they came out. My cheeks burned, no doubt stained bright red.
“Right,” she said, her eyebrows flashing up. “It’s been the craziest few days, Jane, but I promise I’ll get to it by the end of next week.”
Before I could get another word out, Alexandria disappeared into her office and shut the door.
I allowed a few moments to pass before summoning an elevator to take me to the bottom floor common work area with a café, potted plants, and leather armchairs.
Freelancing meant I didn’t have my own office at Carmichael, so the city was my office.
I’d refused to work in my apartment ever since the pandemic ended and coffee shops, my preferred workspace, opened back up.
I settled at my favorite chair in the corner by the window, popping in my earbuds and pulling out my laptop. I’d spent many an afternoon gazing out at passersby as my mind searched for the perfect word. The city street just beyond the glass had acted as a never-ending source of inspiration.
Today, though, the window wasn’t working its magic. My chest was tight, my stomach upset. Everything felt . . . different. Off. Wrong.
I was living the life I’d always dreamed of.
The one I’d yearned for as I lay night after night in my twin bed back in Colorado, wondering if I would ever matter.
I’d gotten exactly what I wanted too—the life I envisioned that meant my life meant something.
I’d left Avila Falls, the tiny mountain town with a population size to match, for a city where I would matter.
I wrote books for a living. My words were read by more people than I could possibly imagine, and I was getting paid for it.
So now that I had it, why didn’t it feel like I’d thought it would? Why wasn’t I satisfied?
Quit sulking, Jane. Any other girl would be elated.
I flipped open my laptop. It flickered to life, revealing the last tab I’d visited yesterday: my manuscript. The coming-of-age novel I’d poured every second of my spare time into for the last year. All fifty thousand words of it.
I closed the tab. My phone buzzed. Agnes.
Hey! Are you still coming out for drinks tonight?
I’d completely forgotten that I’d promised to meet up with Agnes and Mara, the two friends I still had from my Hamilton College days.
Everything in me wanted to say no, to dash home as soon as I’d finished researching Liv, jotting down notes, and responding to emails, and to spend the evening safe within the confines of my apartment.
But I knew that would mean being all alone with my thoughts.
And that was the last thing I needed. Getting out would be good for me . . . right?
Yeah! I’ll see you then.