Page 28 of A Bookish Story

“Well, that’s a bunch of bull. You should be able to do both.”

“I was just getting ready to compose my reply when you came over.”

“Tell them they can’t do that. Plus, they owe you money, don’t they?”

“Yes! For everything I’ve already written. I was supposed to get my last installment on this book when I turn it in.”

I don’t want to tell Sofia that this won’t be the first time a ghostwriter has been stiffed, because companies often go out of business. But Desdemona Inc. has a rock-solid reputation. They won’t do this to me after all the years I’ve spent with them helping build their brand.

“Oh, Ryan! I nearly forgot. He texted me earlier.” I pick up my phone and call him.

He sounds cloudy and gruff. “You’re finally calling me back. I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? They did a great job, even cut out that part where I slid off the stool. Didn’t you see it?”

“See what?”

Oh, for crying out loud. Leave it to Ryan.

“The morning show. Carla announced the book this morning and they played some of my interview.”

Silence on the other end and I begin to think Ryan is sorry for something else entirely.

“So, you haven’t heard?”

My stomach does a little roll and pitch. Surely there’s no more bad news. I hold up a finger to Sofia to indicate I’ll be right back, and step outside my shed.

“Heard what?”

He manages a cross between a moan and a groan and a sigh. What a talented man.

“Yeah, so listen. Here’s the thing. Because of the secrecy behind our agreement, we had to tell your other editor at Blushing…”

“Spit it out!”

“My publisher had to tell her you wrote the book when she asked. Because they couldn’t very well tell them the truth. Telling them you didn’t actually write the book would lead to questions and rumors. That would defeat the purpose of all this.”

I close my eyes. I suppose that makes all the sense, so therefore, I have violated my contract. If I’d only had the time to tell them beforehand, it might have been okay.

“I guess that explains why I just got fired this morning via email.”

A beat of silence, then, “Will saying sorry again have any effect?”

“I know you’re sorry, it just doesn’t change anything.”

There goes my safety net. Desdemona books are always a surefire way to earn money writing. I will never get rich off them but she’s the reason I’ve been able to call myself a working writer for years. Some would say I should burn that bridge, so I’ll never be tempted to cross back into the security and safety again. But I’m different from my mother in that way, too. I don’t take big risks. Until now. And it’s made my skin prickle and sting with worry, which I should have seen as a sign.

After the Elizabeth Brogan project, I will have nothing. I’ll join the ranks of the unemployed. Sure, there are plenty of possibilities but no guarantees. I can’t assume they will like and buy my time travel book. A stepping stone would be nice, but I have no desire to jump off a cliff.

“Those books were my livelihood. They kept me writing.”

“Listen, you don’t need them. Once enough people read your book, and know that it’s you behind the keyboard, that will all change. Your life is about to change, and way beyond me and Elizabeth.”

“I don’t see how you can say that when you haven’t even read any of my own work.”

“Whose fault is that?”

The words stop me short. How could I have the man who’s written the book that everyone loved so much judge my work? Uh-uh, my brain says.