It was better that way. I didn’t want to think about him.
I navigated to check my email. Howard had made good on his promise to edit my registration, and he was now showing up as my partner in the tournament roster. It was some much-needed cheer in my miserable timeline. I’d even texted Owenabout the change, hoping it would be neutral territory and happy news, but he’d ignored that message as well.
Ihadto connect with Owen eventually, even if it meant barging into CPA and causing a scene at the front desk. Not my ideal way to get his attention, but desperation could push me to do crazy shit.
Like learning how to play pickleball to try to impress a guy.
I heaved a sigh and squeezed my eyes shut. I was an idiot who made idiotic choices.
A new message popped into my email from Piper, with the subject line “Are we still chatting today?”
Fuck. We’d set the meeting at the end of last week, but I’d been so busy with Wes’s visit and the resulting mess with Owen that I’d completely forgotten about it. Plus, Piper never seemed to remember that I was on EDT not BST, so her casual pre-lunch Zoom meeting was during pajama time in my world.
But still. Normally I wouldn’t let something like a status call with my editor slip my mind.
I was officially a mess.
I found the meeting link, shoved my hair on top of my head, pulled on a clean T-shirt, and logged on.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me.” Piper fake-smiled at me when the video started.
“Sorry, I had guests over the weekend and it threw me off,” I said apologetically. “How are you?”
Her expression went tighter, but the smile somehow remained. “I’m well and eager to discuss a new direction with you.”
Yes.Finally some good news.
“Really? Okay, I’m all ears.”
She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. “We’re moving to a new payout model, which means that our authors willnow reap the fruits of their labors when their books do well. So instead of a second payment upon receipt of the finished manuscript, we’re moving to paying royalties based on sales. A more traditional scenario, if you will.”
“Huh.” I tried not to frown, because I hated the sound of no second payment. “How will that work exactly?”
“You’ll still receive a small advance when you turn in your first ten thousand words, and then you’ll be paid a percentage of sales six months after each book launches, and then every eight months thereafter. For as long as the book is available.”
It most certainly wasnotgood news. My gut simmered as I considered just how bad it was.
“Um... when will this be put into practice? And do you have royalty projections based on my past book sales?”
“We’re beginning with your Montana cowboy series.”
She said it so smoothly that I almost forgot about the contract I’d signed, just like for every book I wrote with them. A contract that stipulatedtwopayments, the second one of which was due to me very soon.
If I ever finished the damn book.
“We signed a contract, though,” I said gently, hoping that there was still room for negotiation. “I’m getting ready to turn in the completed manuscript, and I was counting on that payment.”
“I know.” The corners of her mouth turned down like she was apologetic. “Unfortunately, you voided the contract when you didn’t turn in the agreed-to word count for the first section. But, Brooke, trust me, this scenario is going to work out beautifully for you!”
Tell that to my credit card payments. I tried not to grind my teeth.
“We did run numbers, to give you some peace of mind. Let me share my screen to show you.”
Her face disappeared, replaced by a graph with numbers that made my blood run cold.
“What’s the royalty percentage?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach as I studied the thing.
“Two percent across the board,” she said in a stupidly upbeat tone. “Ebooks, audio, paperbacks—”
