Chapter 1
Brent
I should have known my agent was up to something when she led with "trust me."
I shifted my phone to my other ear, navigating through Denver traffic toward the mountains. "Cassandra, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need to 'reconnect with my creative spirit' or whatever self-help podcast you've been binging."
"It's not self-help, it's business." I could hear the eye roll in her voice. "You haven't turned in a new manuscript in eighteen months. Your publisher is getting antsy. And the last three proposals you sent me were—"
"Garbage. I know." I merged onto the highway, watching the city skyline shrink in my rearview mirror. "That's why I didn't submit them."
"Exactly. Which is why this retreat is perfect. One week. No distractions. You and other writers who understand what it's like."
I'd reluctantly agreed three weeks ago, mostly because Cassandra was right—I was creatively bankrupt. Every thriller I outlined felt like a pale imitation of my previous work. Every character felt hollow. The truth was, I didn't want to write another B.L. Cross commercial thriller. I wanted to write work that mattered.
But that wasn't what my six-figure contracts paid for.
"Fine," I'd told her. "But I'm using my real name. I'm not doing this as B.L. Cross."
"Even better." She'd sounded far too pleased. "More authentic that way."
Now, two hours later, I pulled into the circular drive of Elk Haven Lodge, regretting every decision that had led me here.
The retreat center was admittedly beautiful—a sprawling timber-and-stone structure nestled among towering pines, warm light spilling from every window. Expensive. The kind of place that charged three thousand dollars a week for the privilege of sitting in a room with other writers and pretending we all knew what we were doing.
I grabbed my duffel from the passenger seat and headed inside.
The main lodge was everything the website had promised: soaring ceilings with exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace crackling with fresh wood, and enough cozy writing nooks to make even the most antisocial author feel inspired. A handful of people milled around the check-in area, clutching tote bags and looking nervous, excited, or both.
"Mr. Lafferty!" A woman in her fifties with short gray hair and an enthusiastic smile rushed over. "We're so thrilled to have you. I'm Danica Hale, the retreat director."
"Please, just Brent." I shook her hand, feeling the familiar weight of being "on." This was why I'd wanted to come as myself, not as B.L. Cross. I needed a break from performing.
"Of course, of course." Danica beamed. "We've prepared a private room for you, naturally, and—"
"I registered under standard accommodations," I interrupted gently. "Shared room is fine."
Her eyes widened. "Oh! Well, if you're sure. We do have the space available if you'd prefer—"
"Shared is fine." I repeated it partly because I didn't want special treatment, but mostly because a roommate meant accountability. Someone to notice if I spent the entire week staring at a blank screen.
Danica's smile returned, though uncertain. "Wonderful! Let me grab your packet."
While she bustled off, I surveyed the other arrivals. A woman in her forties studied the welcome board with intense concentration. A younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, photographed the architecture. Two women were deep in conversation about their works-in-progress.
People who probably still loved writing. Who hadn't turned it into a cynical machine for churning out predictable plots and cardboard characters.
I was going to hate this week.
"Here we are!" Danica returned with a folder stuffed with papers. "You're in Suite Seven, which you'll be sharing with—" She consulted her list. "Brent Lafferty. Oh! That's you. Sorry." She laughed at herself. "Your roommate is Jason Foster. He hasn't checked in yet but should be here soon."
"Thanks." I took the folder and room key. Danica's hand landed on my arm.
"Oh, one more thing." Her eyes sparkled with poorly contained excitement. "We'll be announcing the surprise at tonight's welcome dinner. I think everyone will be very pleased."
Wonderful. Surprises. Exactly what I needed.
I made my way up the wide staircase to the second floor, found Suite Seven at the end of the hall, and let myself in.
