Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Cavendish attempted to mask his shock when he realized I was serious, but I saw a flicker of astonishment in his eyes as he took the book from me.
The first time I held a copy in my hand, I’d burst into tears. I couldn’t believe I’d finished a novel. My e-books were self-published. I’d done a lot of research on how to do it, on how to run ads, and as I wrote more books in the series, my income started to increase in very healthy increments. Enough so, if the industry wasn’t so unpredictable, I’d have considered quitting my job. Then, something miraculous happened, and word of mouth on social media platforms led to the series going viral in the US and UK a year ago. I hit number one and even now the first five books were still in the top 100 charts in several countries.
I’d made more money than I knew what to do with. Moreover, I’d gained a literary agent, sold foreign rights in twenty countries, the print rights to a publisher in the US and UK, and I’d been approached by two different and well-respected producers interested in film and television rights.
Which brought me here. With Cavendish. The mind behind one of my favorite TV shows of all time, King’s Valley.
I knew in my gut that Cavendish was the right person to bring Juno to life. She was a complicated human, driven by her trauma and darkness. Her relationship with the main antagonist in the story was twisty and dark, with an underlying sexual tension that would require a nuanced and delicate hand to pull off on-screen. Cavendish knew how to make those kinds of relationships work on film. I’d seen everything he’d ever done, and while he’d directed movies and guest-directed episodes of TV shows here and there, he’d only been the creator of TV shows brought to life from his own screenplays and ideas.
Until now.
I hoped.
In a blushing ramble, I spewed all this to him as he read the blurb on the back of the book.
Heavy, mortifying silence fell between us as Cavendish turned the book over to its front cover. “S. M. Brodie. Interesting pen name.”
“It’s my initials and my grandmother’s maiden name.”
He didn’t react. Instead, he ran his fingers over the embossed tagline along the top of the cover and read, “‘The Multimillion-Copy Bestseller.’”
When I didn’t respond, he looked up from it. “I’m to believe that an author who has sold several million copies of her series continues to work as a housekeeper?”
The idea that I might lie about my secret career made me clench my hands into fists at my sides. I didn’t inform him that today was my last day on the job. What was the point if he wasn’t going to believe me, anyway?
However, his eyes narrowed at whatever he saw in my expression. “No, you’re not lying, are you?” He stood, gazing down at my book again. “You really are S. M. Brodie. How surprising.”
I swallowed nervously. “Like I said, I’ve had two producers contact my agent about buying the film rights. I can show you the emails.”
Cavendish shook his head and held out the book for me to take.
I waved him off. “Keep it.”
To my irritation and hurt, he sighed and threw it on the bed as if it was an inconvenience. “Sorry, little mouse. I don’t do adaptations. I write my own stories.”
Even though I’d known there was a good chance he’d tell me that, I fought through the crushing disappointment. “You won’t say anything to anyone?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who would believe me? I barely believe it.”
I huffed, disheartened but not surprised by his carelessly hurtful attitude. “Right. I am used to people underestimating me, Mr. Cavendish. Sorry for taking up your time.”
“No apologies necessary,” he said to my back. “And congratulations on your secret success.”
The mocking tone made me stop at the door. I glanced over my shoulder at him, holding his gaze. “Congratulations on your wonderful work,” I told him sincerely. “I suppose as surprising it is that a ‘little mouse’ such as me is a Sunday Times best-selling writer, it’s astonishing that such a cliché of entitled aristocracy with your pathetic ennui and cynicism … is capable of writing television characters with such complexity and depth.” I strode out of Cavendish’s room, legs trembling from my daring insult, heart racing, skin flushed.
However, as I reached the staff elevator, a smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way Cavendish’s expression slackened with furious shock at my volleying his mockery back at him.
One
THEO
Iloved women. The silk of their skin beneath my hands. Their breathy gasps. The bite of their nails on my back, my arse. The way they can be pliant and submissive beneath me or ride me like there’s no tomorrow, mindless to everything but their passion and need. I loved their laughter, their easy affection. Give me soft, hard, voluptuous, slender, short, tall, redhead, blond, brunette, black, brown, white … I had no type. Woman was my type.