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)
All week I’d been waiting to see the little mouse in her housekeeper uniform moving around the castle. I wanted to see her reaction when she realized what I was reading. But we’d never crossed paths, which seemed strange because I felt like I’d caught glimpses of her often in the past.
I wondered who else had approached her for the film rights. She’d mentioned they were two well-known producers. A flash of urgency and something unpleasant crawled through my chest.
Was that … jealousy?
Did the thought of someone else adapting these books fill me with actual jealousy? That both amused and pissed me off. I was never possessive. Over work or humans.
But if I was honest with myself … I wanted this bloody series for adaptation.
Fuck.
There was my own rule to consider, however—that I always write my own screenplays. But if I went off and wrote something similar to Sarah’s series, I’d feel like a failure from the start. Juno was not my idea … and, truthfully, as much as we (shockingly) shared a similar sense of character development and portrayal, Juno was Sarah’s. Only Sarah knew Juno to her core.
If I adapted the series, I’d need Sarah on board.
But did I really want to work with the little mouse? With her blushing and lack of assurance?
Her writing, however, did not lack confidence.
It still astonished me that she was S. M. Brodie.
Picking up my phone, I opened my text messages to the latest text from my writer and producer friend Colleen. She knew I was struggling with writer’s block and said she had a short break in her schedule if I wanted to come to London tomorrow to brainstorm with her.
My thumb hovered over the keys to reply.
With a sigh of frustration, I exited her text, and my eyes snagged on another two rows down. The contact wasn’t saved because it was my brother. Although I’d blocked him several times this week, he just found new numbers to message and call me from. I had several voicemail messages from him that I’d deleted without fully listening to.
A knock sounded on my suite door.
“Theo, you there?” The familiar Scottish accent made me shove off the bed.
Opening the door, I gave my friend North Hunter a droll look. “Finally dragged yourself out of Ms. Howard’s bed, have you?”
We both knew the reason I hadn’t seen him lately was because he’d started filming a new Scottish crime series in Glasgow. He was only here at Ardnoch now to visit his fiancée, Aria Howard, Ardnoch Estate’s manager. North had been the star of my most acclaimed and award-winning TV miniseries, King’s Valley. We’d become good friends after working together. The lovesick bastard now spent what free time he had with his fiancée. So I was surprised to see him at my door.
He smirked at me. “Aria has work to catch up on, and your last few texts sounded almost manic. I thought I better check on you.”
I grabbed my room key and turned to pick up my phone, too, and instead eyed the paperback from Sarah. Taking hold of it, I turned it toward North. “Have you read this series?”
Stepping into the room, North took the book from me. “No, but I’ve heard of it. Jack Irving, the guy producing the new series I’m on, told me about it. I think he might be in negotiation with the author’s agent over the rights. Is it any good?”
The level of my agitation at that news was alarming. I had to clear the irritation from my throat as I answered blandly, “It’s not bad. Better than most of the penny dreadfuls that saturate the genre fiction market these days.”
North snorted. “You do know this is the twenty-first century, Theo? Penny dreadfuls are no longer a thing.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I shrugged and gestured him out of the room. “Let’s get a drink.” I wondered how far into negotiations Jack was with Sarah’s agent. Had she just decided to sell it to whomever when I said I wasn’t interested? I huffed.
“What?” North asked as we strode down the castle corridor.
“What, what?”
“You just made a sound of exasperation.”
I did? I flicked him a look. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’m fairly certain you did.” North narrowed his eyes. “In fact, you seem off in general.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I drawled. “I am never off. I am the sun.”
“What? Bad for the skin?”
“Fuck off, old boy.” I usually was in the mood to banter with North, but I was distracted. Little mouse was nowhere in sight and Jack Irving might be producing my adaptation.
“Well, that sounded sharper and more sincere than usual.” North stopped on the stairwell. “Theo … I am here to talk if you ever need me.”
The truth was I knew I could probably trust North with … well, with anything. But I didn’t want to give voice to the fact that my brother was plaguing me and I couldn’t tell him Sarah was S. M. Brodie because it wasn’t my secret to tell.