bed and hand her the computer, taking her orders like a trained monkey because she’s right: I can’t let this situation drown me. I have to keep on moving.
When I get out of the shower, Brooke is voice messaging Erin about making a few social media posts about the release and organizing a giveaway for her to run in conjunction to the posts. The day moves on, and so do I. I do what I can to busy myself in an attempt to dissipate the ever-hovering clouds above. I take my time with my makeup and fix my hair before getting dressed. Brooke sets the computer up for a Podcast interview I have scheduled with one of the bigger blog reviewers out there. Once live, I discuss the book and answer questions that come in real time through Twitter, all the while wearing the mask of deception. I smile and beam as I talk excitedly about the book I couldn’t have cared less about, because all I care about is myself, but I deceive the fans well. If only they knew the person who lives behind Madilyn Kline.
The day goes on with phone calls from my editor and agent, both thrilled about the rankings that have improved from earlier this morning.
“This baby just might secure a spot on the New York Times,” Tabitha says with a tone of relief, and I apologize again for my unprofessionalism.
Facebook messages roll in from bloggers and fans, and I do my best to respond while Brooke talks to a few more authors she’s become close with through book signings. I’m truly lucky to have found a small group of author friends who refuse to get caught up in egos. We stick together, no matter what successes and failures we have. We’re always there to help and support, and today is just another example of our sisterhood.
Publishing is a game of strategy and luck. Some say it’s purely talent, but I say that’s bullshit. I’m now ranked number twenty-two on Amazon’s overall top one hundred with a crappy book with even crappier writing. This book has about as much talent behind it as an auto-tuned boy band. But the cover is good, and I’ve got great contacts with book reviewers, columnists, and authors who promote me. Most of all, I’ve got the greatest fans out there. They are loyal and loud, creating the best buzz one could ask for. I have an agent with balls of steel who fights hard for me, and an editor who refuses to give up on me. But most of all, I have Brooke. She busts her ass for me every single day. She’s my secret weapon.
Even though I have all this goodness, my world continues to crumble around me. If it weren’t for Brooke, I’d still be in bed sleeping the day away, because when I don’t have Alec, the hours are too much to battle on my own.
I tried texting him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. He told me he’d be in meetings all day, but it’s nearing three o’clock and a part of me was hoping for some acknowledgement from him in regards to my book publishing.
We order room service as another hour passes. I’m now ranking eighteen on Amazon, the powerhouse of all the bookselling platforms. Brooke is stuffing a wad of fries in her mouth while telling me what she’s going to be spending her bonus on. It’s always been our deal: if I make the New York Times, then I pay her a hefty monetary reward.
I call room service to deliver a pot of coffee when I start to lose steam. Another phone call comes in—an old friend from college who I still keep in touch with. She congratulates me, and after a few minutes of chitchat, we hang up. I take the last bites of my salad when room service knocks on the door.
“I have to pee!” Brooke announces for the fiftieth time today, and I roll my eyes at her need to make the announcement each and every time.
I walk over to the door, drained and exhausted and in need of caffeine, but what I get is so much more. A current of electricity sparks through muscle, tendons, and bone. Alec looks amazing in a suit with an unbuttoned collar, holding a much too expensive bottle of champagne.
“You’re here,” I beam with an obnoxious smile.
I sling my arms around his neck as he walks us into the room and shuts the door