The Plot Pact (Bar Down #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

JADE

“The moment he walked into the room, everything else seemed to fade away. How strong was the presence of a stranger—yet he wasn’t a stranger at all... he never truly was.” - Clara Foss, Painted Inferno

My soft pink, manicured nails tap rhythmically against the mahogany top of my desk. My heart thrums against my ribcage, a bit erratic and uneven as I stare back at my agent, Meredith, through the screen. Her lips are moving, but I am no longer focused on anything she is saying.

One sentence hangs heavily in the air, settling around me, the weight astronomical.

“They’re going to drop you if we can’t come up with something else fast.”

The worst words any author wants to hear in regards to a publishing contract. At the ripe age of twenty-nine, I have managed to stay on a steady schedule, pumping out four books a year for one of the biggest publishing houses in the country.

My first deal with them fell into my lap by the grace of God.

I met my agent through a mutual friend and she was immediately interested in my debut romance novel.

It was something I worked on while in the trenches of college, mainly because I loved to write and was dragging my feet on what I wanted to major in.

I ended up majoring in English Lit and had my first book deal secured before graduation.

“Jade.”

The stern sound of her voice snaps me out of it, forcing me back into the moment.

“Sorry.” I let out a deep, ragged breath, shaking my head. I twist my lips to the left, biting down on the inside of my cheek. While my brain went on a side quest, it had to have miraculously retained at least one word Meredith said.

She arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “So, what do you think?”

Heat spreads across my cheeks and I nervously tuck my hair behind my ears. “I—uh—I didn’t catch everything you said. You kept freezing.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Inspiration has been fleeting lately, and so is my attention span. This is an extremely important conversation with Meredith that deserves my undivided attention.

But all I can think about is how the hell did I end up here?

“No worries,” she says, offering me a polite smile, although her tone has an iciness to it.

“I was saying, instead of circling around the same projects that are giving you trouble, put them aside. Take the next week or two off and find your muse. Find it, wrap your fingers around it, and hold onto that motherfucker.”

I chuckle softly, my shoulders relaxing, just in the slightest, as Meredith’s expression warms. “Say I find my muse and choke it—I mean hold onto it, very tightly.” I smirk. “Then what?”

“You know your editor, Nina, trusts you to put out a quality book that will have readers flocking to their nearest bookstore as soon as it drops. The publisher knows you’ll make them money, we just need a concrete idea. One you can follow through with, preferably.”

They want a new romance from me and every idea I have been trying to write isn't working. It all feels like the same recycled bullshit. Rinse and repeat. Boy meets girl, they get close, they fall in love, the end. Unproblematic and sweet.

About as boring as my current life.

Even the break-up I went through a few years earlier didn’t affect my writing mojo like this.

“Just unplug. Go to a yoga class or meditate or some shit. Anything to get your mind off of this spiral you’re trapped in.

” She stares at me through the computer screen.

I love Meredith, she is a shark of an agent, but sometimes she scares me.

“You can do this, Jade. You are capable and your success can attest to it.”

Emotion lodges in my throat. I swallow hard, pushing it deep down inside, tucking it back into Pandora's box. I am not going to risk having another breakdown on camera with my agent. She didn’t take me on as a therapy client. We both have jobs to do and I am the one not holding up my end.

If only I could go back in time and tell bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Jade that the pressure of producing and being creative could be crippling.

“I have to head off for another meeting, but we’ll chat toward the end of next week, okay?”

“I don’t know what to write,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from my lips. It’s not news.

Meredith is silent for a moment. “Let me think of some ideas and you do the same, then we’ll see what we can come up with on our next call.” She rolls her wrist, her eyes flicking down to her watch. “Gotta run. Bye, Jade!”

Meredith’s face disappears and relief immediately floods me.

I lean back in my seat, my body relaxing against the back of the chair.

I push my fingers through my long hair, my nails running along my scalp.

Tilting my head back, I gaze up at the white ceiling and push my feet against the floor to slowly spin in circles.

What a trend that has become recently.

Meredith is right. I can do this. This isn’t my first time writing a book. I’ve done it time and time again. I’ve experienced writer’s block before, it just never felt quite this bad. Like I am stuck in quicksand, every movement sucking me deeper into the suffocating depths.

Taking time off wasn’t unheard of. Authors did it all the time.

However, my situation is a bit different.

After having a few successful series with the same publisher, they asked me for something new, something fresh.

I didn’t have to go through the pits of writing a pitch and having Meredith take it onto submission with other publishers, hoping one would want to buy it.

They wanted me.

They wanted anything written by me.

Too bad I can’t fucking write anymore.

With a huff, I sit upright in my chair.

You’re a bad bitch, Jade Wilson. Get your head out of your ass.

Enough of wallowing in my self pity and despair. Meredith telling me to trash the ideas I’d been struggling to write is a welcomed relief. I can’t write something I’m not feeling. Perhaps, I need something fresh. Something new.

Something exciting.

I put my feet flat on the floor, abruptly standing up from my desk. I’m not going to find the idea sitting here inside my apartment. Sometimes the muse will drift in through an open window and wrap itself around me like a cloak of the finest silks. Other times, I have to go out and find it.

And this particular time, I just might find it where I least expect to.

“Don’t hate me, but I can’t stay long.” Nicole glances at me, tossing an apologetic smile in my direction. “Like I have to grab my drink and go.”

Nicole and I met our freshman year of college and have been best friends ever since.

We shared a dorm throughout our undergrad years and had an apartment together for two years after we graduated.

When her longterm boyfriend Ben proposed to her, we both moved into different places.

Now, she and her husband live a few blocks away.

Although, not for long. Ben got a promotion, which has them moving to New York in two months.

“Where are you running off to?”

“I have an unexpected meeting with the superintendent.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. Nicole works for the local school district as a school counselor.

“Are we still going out next Friday night?” I ask, stepping to the side and pulling open the door for a couple walking out of the coffee shop.

Nicole glances at me and walks inside as I motion for her to go ahead. “Yeah. Eight o’clock, right?”

We are meeting some friends from college to go out for the night. Ben is our designated driver, although in the city, most places are walkable.

“Yeah,” I nod as the door closes behind us and we head over to the counter. Usually I come here during off times, when there aren't as many people. Today, it’s pretty busy. Nicole walks over to one of the tablets to put in her order. “Do you know what you want?”

I shake my head, grabbing a menu from the basket on the counter. “Go ahead and order, since you need to run. I might try something new.”

“Ooo, who are you today, Miss Wilson?” She winks with mischief dancing in her eyes. “Or should I say Candy Stone?”

I scrunch up my face, blowing out a breath before laughing. Nicole and I had the worst fake IDs in college. Her name was a little more believable. Mine sounded more like a stripper name than a legal one.

Those names became our alter-egos when we needed to be bad bitches. It’s like a false sense of confidence comes out when I pretend to embody her persona.

“I wish I were her right now,” I say with a sigh, my chest deflating as I glance down at the menu. Nicole knows I’ve been struggling creatively, although she doesn’t know how bad it’s gotten.

Hell, I didn’t fully realize how bad it was until thirty minutes ago during my call with Meredith.

“What’s goin’ on, babe?” Nicole says softly as she finishes her drink order and pays. She turns back to me. “Is work stuff still stressing you out?”

I purse my lips, slowly nodding. “Yeah. It’s uh—not good. I need a story or something that my agent can bring to my editor.”

Nicole frowns. “You need something to inspire you. I feel like you’ve just been running yourself ragged trying to pull some kind of inspiration from within.”

“Excuse me.”

A deep voice from behind us cuts in. I glance over my shoulder, the same time Nicole does. A man—late twenties I’d say—looks at both of us with a soft smile pulling across his lips. “Hi, sorry for interrupting.”

I glance at Nicole and her eyebrows are already cinching closer together. Not a good sign. Nicole can be a bit confrontational from time to time. She’s not really a fan of men who are strangers.

I quickly fix a smile on my face. “Do you need something?”

“I was just wondering if you guys were done with the tablet,” he says, smiling sheepishly. His gray eyes glance at the counter, then back at Nicole and me.

“Oh, yes.” I grab Nicole’s wrist, pulling her away from the counter. She’s still assessing him like she can’t decide if she wants to tell him off for speaking to us or if she’s curious. Ben passed her test during our first year of college, although she did put him through the wringer.

“Sorry about that,” I offer, the two of us stepping out of his way.

“No worries.” He smiles, dipping his chin before walking past us.

I turn my back to him, paying him no more attention as I look at Nicole. “We’ll talk more about it tomorrow or something.”

Nicole looks back at me. “Can I help in any way? There has to be something I or someone can do to help you.”

“I don’t know, girl,” I say with a shrug just as one of the baristas calls Nicole’s name. “I’m on a mission to find my muse, I think.”

“It’s out there, we just need to find it for you,” she offers with a smirk, pulling me in for a hug. “I gotta run, but text me later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” I take a step back from her. “Good luck at your meeting.”

She rolls her eyes. “They are the bane of my existence.” She takes a few steps past me, past the now empty ordering station, and grabs her drink. “Love you!”

“Bye! Love you!” I call back to her, watching her for a moment as she jogs out of the coffee shop. I turn back to the counter, tucking my menu back into its basket.

I tap on the screen, following the prompts to place my drink order as a heavy sigh escapes me. Instead of being adventurous and trying something new, I get the same thing I always do.

I’m not feeling like Candy Stone—not today.