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. . .
Layla
The bell over the door chimes happily and my stomach sinks.
She’s not here for me. There’s no way…
The woman shakes her umbrella and smiles at the bookstore owners, Jada and Eleanor.
Come on…
Her eyes dart to me as she unzips her wet raincoat.
My back straightens. I clasp my hands on my table and give her my biggest smile.
Her eyes flit over to my stack of books, then to my custom-printed retractable roll-up banner featuring my bestselling series, then to the pile of Sharpies, then to my desperate face.
That big smile turns into a tight awkward one.
I swallow hard while I will her to come over and secretly beg her not to at the same time.
She drops her eyes to the floor and hurries over to the Travel section.
I let out a low painful sigh as I glance at the clock. 4:17. It’s almost over.
This is so humiliating.
It’s my first bookstore signing, and with the way it’s been going, it’s probably going to be my last.
Jada and Eleanor ordered three hundred copies of my books. Three hundred!
They’re stacked all around me, piled up like a big wall of shame. I haven’t sold one. Not one!
None of my readers came even though I posted it on all my socials and blasted my newsletter so many times until a big chunk of them unsubscribed.
I thought at least a few dozen of them would show up. I was wrong.
I’ve been writing erotica for four years and I have eleven books out. I started strong out of the gate, but my books have been selling less and less lately. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.
The first year, my readers anointed me the queen of dirty talk.
I guess I’ve lost my crown.
Maybe I need some real-world experience.
It’s hard to write dirty-talking males when you’ve never experienced them in real life. When you haven’t experienced anything in real life.
I’m an erotica author who has never had sex. Does that make me a fraud? Does that make my books inauthentic? Is that just pathetic?
All of these horrible thoughts are racing through my mind as I wait for the clock to hit five o’clock so I can go home.
It’s a two-hour drive home through the mountains and the rain is coming down hard. This whole day has sucked balls.
And I have to do it again tomorrow.
The signing is supposed to be a two-day weekend event, but if I have to stay until I sell all these books, it might turn into a two-year event.
