Chapter One
Ryker
“A writing partner?No fucking way!I am notcollaborating with a phony-ass fame chaser like Wes Stewart.I workalone, end of!”
Ryker Desoumas stopped yelling to take adeep breath and pace the hardwood floors in his New York City loft,counting down from a hundred in his head to calm the rush of angerand anxiety that raced through his body.
Despite his success as a science fictionauthor, he was still a neurotic mess for the most part.Or maybethat was why he was such a prolific writer—he had so much crap inhis brain to work through.As an introvert, a workaholic, and aself-admitted grumpy pain in the ass, he was best left alone.Hekept to himself, his work, a few close friends and family, hispets, and the occasional hook-up with a hot man when he needed it.What more could a thirty-three-year-old gay man want?
His friend and publisher, McIntyre Duran,chuckled on the other end of the line.Mac was a charming bastard,but wily as hell.The cool negotiator could convince anyone to dojust about anything, and Ryker was next on his hit list.That low,rumbling laugh of Mac’s meant he was up to no good and plotting hisnext move.
“Phony-ass fame chaser?Man, you should usethat line in your next book.That’s fucking awesome!”Mac continuedto laugh for a bit, then cleared his throat.“But seriously, Ry,this is an amazing opportunity.I liked the first draft of1,000Days of the Darkest Planet, but maybe it’s time to switch itup.I know you’ve wanted to write a fantasy series with a gayromance angle for a while now, and here’s your chance.With bothyour names attached, it will sell to a wide audience, maybe evensnag a movie deal.Wes Stewart is a celebrity author.Between hismysteries and non-fiction books, he’s an international bestseller.Reputation and visibility equals success.Mainstream literature andmedia need more gay relationship representation.You and I havetalked about this.”
Ryker and Mac both came out in their teens.While Ryker’s mother had always supported and loved him, Mac hadnot been so lucky.Mac no longer spoke to his very wealthy extendedfamily, with the exception of his grandfather.
Ryker sighed and ran a hand over histhree-day stubble.“Look, Mac, I want to write that series, but Iwork alone.I haven’t collaborated on anything since I worked attheEvening Post.And that didn’t end well, as you know.”Hepaused, shivering.
Thinking back to his days as a crimereporter was not a pleasant trip down memory lane.Wheneversnippets of that life entered his thoughts, the nightmaresreturned.Mac knew the gist of what had happened to Ryker duringthat period in his life, but the details remained in Ryker’s mind,only to be shared with a shrink.
Running his fingers up his face and throughhis long black hair, Ryker paced again, glancing at the whiteboardhanging on the wall beside his desk.Book ideation was a uniqueprocess for every writer, and Ryker was no different.He startedwith his board, adding copious notes, pictures, and other items forinspiration and brainstorming.Then he moved into his organizedchaos of character development and plotting.Looking at it now, hecouldn’t imagine how he’d work with someone else.
“You could end up with a real-life murderstory on your hands if I have to partner with someone else,especially Wesley Stewart,” Ryker said.“From what I’ve heard, he’sa charming, self-promoting tool.I’m a curmudgeon at the best oftimes.How’s that gonna work?”
Shaking his head, he walked over to his deskwith the view overlooking Central Park and glanced out the window.The spectacular scene of the city below made his breath catch everytime.Then his gaze caught on his tired reflection—shoulder-lengthblack hair, beard scruff, and blue eyes with even bluer circlesunder them.He wore his usual uniform of ripped jeans, blackt-shirt, and dark-framed glasses.After several nights of workingrather than sleeping, he was in dire need of rest.And a haircut.But why bother when he’d be stuck here for another week revisingthe first draft of his latest work in progress?Who did he need toimpress?
“Jesus, Ry, you’re already dismissing theidea when you haven’t even sat down with us to discuss it and meetWes in person.I know you’re opposites, personality-wise, but he’sa great writer.He’s versatile and has a huge fan base.Combiningyour talents could result in amazing things.He’s thrilled about agay fiction series.He wants it to reach a large audience,something with depth and substance, and you can bring that.”Macfinished his response with so much passion Ryker put the call onspeakerphone and clapped as the audience of one.
“Nice pitch, Mac.Bravo.And to your point,considering the self-help bullshit he peddles now, he’s badly inneed of substance and depth,” Ryker replied sarcastically, crossinghis arms and eyeing the phone in front of him.Christ, just thethought of upending his routine by having to work with anyone,especially an attention-loving narcissist, was making him sweatlike a five-mile run.
Despite his snarky comment, Ryker ponderedhow to handle this situation.One teeny, tiny part of him was alittle bit intrigued.Like an inch.Maybe two.
He would never admit to Mac that he hadsecretly read a few of Wes’s fiction books and they were prettydamn good.Intriguing plots with witty dialogue from a recurringcharacter that made him laugh out loud—light, entertaining readswhen you needed to unwind.But vastly different to Ryker’s novelsin terms of the tone and length.And just because he enjoyedreading Wes Stewart’s books didn’t mean Ryker could—or should—workwith him.
“And, Mac, he’s happy right now because hehasn’t met me yet.All he knows about me is what’s written on thebook jacket, which is not much, considering I write under a penname.I’m a fucking hermit compared to him!I’m not in thisbusiness to have my life plastered on the news, like he is.”Hepaused and lowered his voice to a low grumble.“So forget it.Murder He Wrote can go find another writer to work with.”Ryker sathis ass down on the royal-blue sectional and took a deepbreath.
“Ry, I’m asking you, as my friend, to keepan open mind about this.Please?Look, I have another meeting, so Igotta go, but we’ll talk more about this at dinner on Saturday,okay?You are still planning to be there, right?”Mac asked.
Mac held monthly dinner parties for hisfriends and business contacts, and there was always an eclectic mixof guests, which made for interesting conversation.Mac wasgenerous and welcoming, and Ryker appreciated that he was alwaysincluded.Ryker could handle dinner parties with limited guests,but big events were usually a no.
Much as he hated socializing, Ryker wouldn’trefuse Mac’s request.He wasn’t vocal about how much his closestfriends meant to him, but he would always be loyal to them inwhatever way he could.They had been through the good and the badtogether over the years, and he would stick by them no matterwhat.
“Yes, of course I’ll be there.Is Calgoing?”Ryker asked.
Callum Pattison was a mutual friend and amixed medium artist and illustrator.His work had recently pickedup the attention of established patrons in New York and beyond.Besides his own work, Cal designed Ryker’s book covers.
Ryker was both in awe and slightly enviousof his two closest friends and their ability to connect so easilywith others.Ryker was always too much in his head to relax insocial situations.Unless he had a drink or several in him, whichdidn’t happen often.At least, it hadn’t for a long time.
He had a curious feeling that might changeSaturday night.
“Yes, Cal will be there to keep everyoneentertained with his travel stories and unusual sexcapades.Shit,you never know what’s going to come out of that mouth of his,” Macreplied, laughing.Cal did not hide anything—his bisexuality, hisopinions, or any thought he had about, well, anything.
Ryker sighed.“Better him than me.But I’lldo my best to socialize despite my grumpy demeanor,” he said.Rykerknew Mac well enough to bet he was now rolling his eyes.Rykerwondered how many people would be attending, but Mac was crypticabout details.“And at dinner, don’t sit me next to anyone whoworks in media or public relations or…”
Mac interrupted Ryker.“Yes, bud, I know thedrill.Just come and enjoy yourself, okay?You need some humaninteraction.I haven’t seen you in three weeks, and I worry.Youget so wrapped up in your work, you don’t do anything else.”Mac’svoice was suddenly muffled, like he’d covered the receiver to speakto someone else.“Sorry about that, but my other meeting starts ina few minutes.Talk soon, okay?”
“Later, Mac.”
Ryker placed his phone on the arm of thesofa, crossing his left foot to rest on his right knee, his legbouncing up and down.A prickle of unease crept up his spine andradiated into the back of his head.
