Naughty Neighbor - Lauren Runow Page 0,5
me happy. Yes, my mom hasn’t dated anyone since my dad walked out on us, but that’s her choice. And this is mine.
I try to lighten the mood by laughing when I say, “Coming from the girl who’s never liked guys.”
Charisse throws a strip of lettuce at me. “Totally different, and you know it. I just hate seeing you not even trying to get back out there.”
I play with my glass, pretending to think about it even though I’m not really. I have no interest in dating. Not anymore. My book boyfriends are all I need. This one just isn’t talking to me yet. I know he will eventually.
Melody nudges me and says with a sweet tone, trying to lift up the mood, “Come on. You’ll like Tommy. He’s really sweet, and he totally understands what it’s like to have a broken heart. His girlfriend walked out on him last year. I have his number. I can set you guys up.”
It’s not that I haven’t ever wanted to meet someone and fall in love. Being married and having children have always been the end goal for me. I love love, and I love children even more. It’s just hard to explain to others who are living the blissful life how I feel about the possibility of experiencing heartache again.
A telephone rings in the distance, and I realize it’s coming from my cell phone in the foyer. I jump out of my seat, anxious to get out of this conversation of a potential blind date.
Taking my phone out of my purse, I see Wendy Walcott—my agent—on the screen. Ninety percent of our conversations happen over text or email, so the fact that she’s calling me at seven on a Saturday night is not a good sign.
“Hi, Wendy.”
“So,” she sings out, “how’s it going?”
“Everything’s good. Really good. The manuscript is coming along,” I say, sliding my hand in my jeans pocket.
Then, I hear Charisse cough out from the kitchen, “Liar.”
I walk around the corner to give her the evil eye, and they both laugh, so I walk back down the hall to get some privacy.
“That’s awesome because I have huge news for you. I’ve been shopping you around to a bunch of publishing houses. Winston Arms just returned my call, and their editor read your books and is loving this series. She said they’re looking for a new author to sign on, and she thinks you might be a perfect fit for their readers.”
My hand flies to my mouth as I take in the magnitude of this moment. Winston Arms is one of the premier publishing houses in the country with an imprint dedicated to the romance genre. Anyone who signs with them becomes an instant New York Times best seller.
“Oh my God, Wendy, this is huge!”
“Honey, this is beyond huge. If you sign with them, you’re talking a massive signing bonus and royalties that will make you drool.”
I pump my fist in the air as the excitement builds up in my body, making my eyes well up. Being a self-published author has been amazing, but I’ve been dreaming about being signed to a publishing house. I could extend my reader base and get my books on the shelves of bookstores.
“What’s the next step? Do they want to meet me?” I ask.
“They want to read you. They’re looking to sign you to a three-book deal, but all is contingent on how you close out this series. If you can outsell the first two books in the series and show you have the stamina, then they’ll sign you on the spot. I told them that’s a no-brainer. Talked you up big time. I said I’ve already seen the pages and that the writing is brilliant. Now, don’t make a liar out of me. When can I see the first half of the book? Can you get it to me by the end of the month?”
I inhale a sharp breath and pull on my bottom lip. If I thought disappointing my readers was giving me writer’s block, this monumental moment—in which my entire career is riding on—is sending me into writer’s shock.
“Three weeks? I don’t think I can—”
“Girl, this is the big leagues. They’re looking for a writer who can do the work and do it fast.”
Fast. Well, I have always thrived under pressure. Maybe this is the boost I need.
“Sure. Yeah, I can make that happen.” It’s a lie. There’s no way I can get forty thousand words out by the end of