Don’t Read the Last Page

Chapter One

Another failed first date.

This meant I was entitled to a large cup of hot tea.

I tossed my dark green cardigan on the small table by the front door, dropped my bag on the floor, and slipped out of my shoes.

As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard the back door open.

“I need details,” Jemma demanded as she let herself in.

“Let me make some tea first, damn.” I laughed at her.

“Fine.” I heard the screech of the chair legs on my floor as Jemma took her seat.

I filled my kettle with water and placed it on the stove. I knew Jemma was rolling her eyes behind me. She’d been on this journey with me as I’d started dating again these past few months, and she loved to hear about the train wrecks.

Which all of them had been.

I took my hair down out of its bun, letting my dark brown tendrils fall to the middle of my back. My fingers ran through my hair, and I sighed as I stood in front of the stove, waiting for the kettle to whistle.

“That good, huh?” I turned around to Jemma, her feet kicked up in the chair next to her. She was in tight jeans, a loose-fitting grey shirt tucked into the front of her pants, with a pair of combat boots on. Her natural light brown curls bounced on her shoulders.

She looked relaxed, put together, and also annoying as she wiggled her eyebrows in encouragement for me to spill what had happened.

“I think this might have been the worst one yet.”

Her eyes went wide. “Hell. No wonder you look like shit.”

“Hey,” I tried to start to defend myself, but I caught a look at my reflection in the window. “Fuck.”

I looked unkempt in my tight, high-waisted jeans that were askew, even though they hugged my hips and thighs.

I ran my hand down my curves, noticing my orange t-shirt was half-hanging out of the full tuck I’d done before leaving earlier.

My hair, now down, had me looking like I’d just gotten laid, which was not the case.

Thank goodness.

The kettle went off, and I finished preparing our teas. Irish breakfast was my favorite, while Jemma preferred green. We both liked it just as sweet, where you could smell the sugar if you put your nose to the brim of the cup.

“I tried to tell you not to go on this one. He seemed a little too good to be true. He was basically writing you poetry the first night you started talking.” Jemma reminded me.

She was right. She’d tried to convince me not to go on this date after I started talking to this man a week ago, but I wouldn’t listen.

I liked to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but it always bit me in the ass.

I brought the cups over to the table, and Jemma moved her feet to make room for me to sit down next to her. She’d tossed my mail on the table; it looked like mostly junk.

“He told me that I’d make the perfect housewife once he was actually able to afford a house.” I finally let slip.

Jemma choked a little on the first sip of tea she tried to take.

“What did he say when you told him you already owned a house?”

I took a sip of my own tea. She leaned forward, waiting for me to continue. I rolled my eyes and gave her what she wanted.

“He promptly left the restaurant and said that I could afford to pay the whole tab.”

“He did not!” Jemma practically screamed. She’d set her tea down and had her hands over her mouth. In my small cottage house, the scream was almost twice as loud as it reverberated off the walls.

I’d lived in my house for about three years after my ex and I broke up.

One day, I was driving through different parts of New York and stumbled upon a street in a small town where this house was for sale.

The house had looked abandoned—because it was.

The owners had died one year before I bought it, and their children had let the house go.

Luckily for me, I got it at a great price, and a few months later, Jemma bought the house next door when the widow who lived there passed away.

The circumstances were horrible, but it worked out in a way neither of us could have expected.

“The waitress felt bad,” I shrugged, taking another sip. “So, they looked, and since he had to put a card down for the reservation, they charged him for his meal, and I paid for mine.”

“Damn, I love the service industry sometimes.”

“Amen.”

We clinked our mugs together, both taking a long drag and sighing at the same time. Sometimes a mug of hot tea was exactly what one needed to hit the spot, especially on a rainy night like tonight.

“In other news, this came in the mail.” Jemma pulled a shimmery dark green envelope hiding in the pile in front of us. My name scrolled in silver cursive lettering on the front. I turned it around to see a red wax seal keeping it closed.

It felt odd in my hand, like it shouldn’t have been delivered to this address with my name on it.

I’d thought the same thing when the email came through addressed to me, when I’d gotten the original invitation to the Gamer Awards a few weeks ago.

They’d let me know that they would be sending a personalized letter in the mail, but I hadn’t expected this.

I’d already reserved my spot at the award ceremony, but seeing this envelope in person made it all seem so much more real. I tore open the envelope; my thumb traced over the bright red embossed letters on the front of the white card.

“They really went all out on the personal invitations.” Jemma snatched the card out of my hand to look it over.

She wasn’t only my best friend who lived next door; she was also my personal assistant.

We’d been through a lot together, but I was so lucky to meet her at a gaming event, and we’d been inseparable ever since.

She’d only become my assistant about a year after my game, League of Witches, had released. That’s when it really gained traction.

All I knew was that at one point, I couldn’t do everything on my own any longer, not just with my games, but with my writing, too. Not only did I write and create video games, but I was also a best-selling romantasy author.

It was when I had started to drown myself in work on all levels that Jemma stepped in, and I was grateful for her.

Even though she was my assistant, I made sure to support her as well.

Jemma was an artist, even though she tried to be modest about it.

I had a few of her pieces hung around the house and countless more redesigned to be put in my games. I was trying to immortalize us forever.

I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as Jemma inspected the invitation closely.

It’d not just been a crazy last five years, but an even crazier year this year. We’d already gone to multiple tournaments, award shows, art shows, and gallery openings. All in honor of not just my game and me, but my team, Jemma, and our achievements.

I was also on a deadline for my next book, and I was dreading it.

The document I had was barely written in, and no real plot had been made. It needed to be sent to my editor before these award ceremonies, which were just a few months away. I’d pushed out my deadline too many times, and I needed to get this done now.

I took another deep breath, and Jemma looked up at me, her eyebrows knit together.

“I know that look.” She set the invitation down and took one of my hands in hers. “You’re starting to get overwhelmed.”

“I just don’t know how I got here.” Jemma waited for me to continue. She was good at this, listening. We both were, but she knew I just needed to vent. “These awards are coming up. I need to deliver this book that I haven’t even started, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my love life.”

I took a breath in and then out a few times before Jemma started.

“You are amazing in the work you do. You’ve been under tight deadlines before and have come out just fine.

We can look at our schedules and do some working sessions together.

” I nodded my head, knowing she was right.

“You just need to have the first draft to your editor by September. You’ll be able to do reworks from there.

You just need to get the beginnings to them. ”

“I think my well has dried up, though.” I took my hands back and reached for my tea, hoping the warm liquid would help calm me down. “I haven’t been in a relationship in years, and I feel like I’m giving all my resources to League of Warlocks.”

I was set to release my new game the following year, and it was taking up a lot of my time.

It’s why I’d pushed out my book multiple times.

I was now expected to write my next bestseller, because that’s what I produced.

It needed romance, adventure, heartache—everything that I hadn’t been feeling as of late.

“Look,” Jemma pulled the invitation she’d just tossed aside back to me. “There is a masquerade ball the night before the award ceremony.”

I looked at the paper she was handing to me. At the very bottom of the invitation, the purpose of the ball was laid out perfectly:

To commemorate and spotlight our dearest creator of

League of Witches

Odette Reign

“It’s all for you, hun.” Jemma tried to reassure me. “I know you’re stressed and worried, but you’re doing the thing.”

I read through the invitation again. If the girl I was twenty years ago could see me now, she wouldn’t believe a word of what I had to say. She’d call me a liar because her dreams were definitely not the ones I was currently fulfilling for myself.

“Our dresses for the ball should be here next week for us to try on. Maybe that can spark some inspiration.”

“Of course, you’ve already started to prepare.” It was my turn to roll my eyes.

“You know me,” Jemma waved her hand at me like this was nothing new, and it wasn’t. She was always the planner, and in these instances, I loved it.

“You sure we can’t just stay home and binge-watch some Gilmore Girls with a box of pizza and sushi? That sounds like something I could write into a book.” I didn’t meet Jemma’s stare but took another sip of tea instead.