Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“What would Malik Ellis want with someone like me?”
“He has a deadline and is stuck. I’m not going back to the publisher and asking for more time. Again. So, he’s going to need a ghostwriter, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
At first thought, my excitement blooms. Writing for someone like that? That would be amazing even if no one knew it was me. But then the second thought comes. “If I’m not good enough to have a book published on my own merit, then why am I good enough to ghost the book of one of the most popular romance writers in America?”
Michael fixes me with a stare that tells me he thinks I’m completely missing the point. “He’s stuck, not stupid. Once you give him the draft to get past whatever block he has, he’ll take it and polish it up. Give it that Malik Ellis shine.”
I swallow. “That makes sense. I guess.”
“So do you want to do it?”
“How much is the payment?”
Michael slides a piece of paper across the desk, and I almost roll my eyes because people don’t seriously do that in real life, do they?
But holy shit. The number on that paper? There are enough zeroes to keep me afloat for a long time even without getting published myself. “Wow.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Doesn’t he want to meet me first? Or read some of my writing?”
Michael stands. “We’re about to take care of that first bit right now. The second part, I already told you. He’ll polish it, and I already know you’re good enough for the basic draft. He doesn’t really have an option here. I’m backed into a corner, and I’m not letting any of us get any deeper into this.”
I try not to take offense that I’m only good enough for the basic draft, but he has a point. The world of publishing waits for no one. Not even Malik Ellis. Michael’s hands are pretty much tied. I’m sure that Malik would understand that, too.
“Wait,” I say. “What do you mean we’re about to take care of the first part?”
Behind me, one of the giant doors swings open and the man starring in my thoughts strides in. “Michael, I swear to God if you made me come all the way downtown in Manhattan traffic for something that could have been a phone call, we’re going to have words.”
He stops when he sees me, and I quickly stand. Michael has his back turned, pouring two drinks from the bar in the corner of his office.
“Sorry,” Malik says. “Didn’t expect anyone else.”
Wow, the photos of him do not do him justice. Not just hot, the man is lava. You can feel his presence from across the room, and he’s every inch the person I imagined him to be. Worn jeans that look sleek on him, and a slouchy t-shirt. Glasses and mussed hair that give him the sexy silver-fox vibe.
I want to lick him.
Shoving the thought away, I realize that he’s staring at me now. And not exactly in a friendly way.
“Who's the brat?”
My whole face gets hot. I adjust my shirt, stand taller, hating that he instantly sees me as some kid. Even if he's at least 25 years older than me, I deserve respect.
“She,” Michael says as he hands Malik a drink, “is your new ghostwriter.”
Malik nearly spits out his drink. “My what?”
Calmly, Michael takes a sip of his drink. “Was I unclear?”
“I don’t need or want a ghostwriter, Michael.”
“That’s too bad, because you’re getting one.”
I watch Malik down what must be scotch in one go. “What is she, like nineteen?”
“I am eighteen, in fact," I say, crossing my arms. "And in the room with you. Hearing you speak about me.”
He has the good sense to look a little chagrined. But his expression is still dark and unmoved. "Christ, not even nineteen, then." He looks at Michael. “No.”
“You don’t really get it, do you?” Michael says. “Your publisher, your editor, and even the fucking marketing and sales team are breathing down my neck for this book. They’ve delayed production three times. This book is getting written, whether it’s by you or not. So, get with the program.”
Slowly, Malik turns to look at me. “And where did you come from, exactly?”
I straighten. “I’m one of Michael’s other clients.”
“Oh? What’s your name? Not published yet?” He doesn’t even give me a chance to answer. “You’re here for the payout.”
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same when you were younger,” Michael says.
I flush hot. He doesn’t say that I’m a good writer and that I’m almost ready to go on submission. But I don’t think anything I say to defend myself right now will fall on willing ears. So, I wait.
Malik looks me up and down, and fuck, I wish that it wasn’t because he thinks I’m some scrawny kid who’s trying to steal his stardom. Because in any other situation, that look would just melt my clothes right off.