“You make me sound like some kind of pathetic hermit.”
“I guess you haven’tquiteachieved hermit status. I’m just saying you need to break this pattern you’ve sunk into. Maybe this interview you’ve got coming up will be a good thing, make you feel all writerly again or whatever.”
“That’s not how it works. Talking about writing doesn’t make you a writer.Writingmakes you a writer,” I said. “And I haven’t been writing. If this woman’s worth her weight in salt, she’s going to know something’s up. I’m considering not even doing the interview.”
“I thought you said your publisher made it mandatory. They’re already pissed with you for missing all those deadlines. Unless…”
“Unless what?” I asked, hopeful my brilliant sibling had thought of a way out of this for me.
“Unless you’re ready to just call it a day. You don’thaveto do anything. You’ve already published seven books. You’ve made a ton of money. You could just retire. Who needs all the stress, right?”
I snorted. “Right. Likeyou’djust walk away from it all now that your company is a success and you’ve made millions.”
“Yeah well, I haven’t hit thebillion-dollar mark yet. Almost. When that happens, I’ll be happy, and maybe Iwillwalk away. I could just turn it over to the other guys and let them handle things while you and I buy a tropical island and spend our days surf fishing.”
I laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
But I knew it would never happen. No matter how many books I published or how much money I made, it never felt like enough. I never felt like I’d truly “made it.”
A little voice inside my head was always there whispering that I needed to do more, accomplishmore.
If I listened closely enough, it sounded like my father, the harsh ringing impossible to silence.
He’d never said so, but I could tell Hunter heard the voice, too. After all, he’d grown up in the same house, with the same unpredictable, unreliable, angry man.
“We’ll have to take a fishing trip at least,” I said. “AfterI finish this book. I don’t have a choice—about thatorthe interview.”
“Well then, just suck it up and do it, bro. Who knows? Maybe this newspaper chick is hot.”
“She could be Miss Universe and it wouldn’t matter to me. I’m going to give her a few rehearsed answers, let her take a photo of the foyer, and send her packing. It’s going to be over so fast I’ll barely get a look at her.”
“Whatever you say. What are you going to wear?”
I paused, confused, before giving him a sarcastic response. “Well, let’s see. I’m thinking of a sleek bandage dress with a push-up bra and my pink Laboutin heels. What do you mean what am I wearing?”
“You should wear a blue shirt. Women like blue shirts—believe me on this one. They’ll bring out your eye color. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be so dazzled by the famous Bestia family peepers she’ll forget to ask if you’ve actually written the book. Play your cards right, and she’ll print whatever you tell her to.”
“Yeah, thanks for the tip. Listen, I’ve got to go. Call me Monday and tell me how the Seattle pitch went.”
“Will do. Catch you later.”
Throughout the afternoon Hunter’s words bobbed to the surface of my mind. Not the one about the blue shirt. The one about making the reporter print whatever I wanted her to.
Nowthatidea had some merit.
My publishing house was forcing me to do the interview, but the writer and her superiors at The New York Daily Report didn’t know that. They just wanted an exclusive interview ahead of the new release, and I was betting they’d do almost anything to get it.
Including signing a contract specifying the type of questions she could and couldn’t ask.
Could you tell me about your inspiration for the Onyx Throne series Mr. Bestia?Sure, Miss Reporter, happy to—done it a thousand times, and the answer is already on my website for all to see.
Who are your favorite writers?No problem. Here’s a list of my inspirations and some of my recent favorites. I can talk about this all day.
Let’s talk about the outline for Book 7 that was leaked to the National Interrogator and then distributed worldwide online. Was it the real thing?
Nope. No way. Forget about it. Not going there. Not if your life and/or career depended on it. Next question.
I climbed the stairs again to my office, and for once, I had zero trouble coming up with the words I wanted. It was actually kind of fun.
