“Once I rediscovered my muse,” I finished. “I’m getting there; it’s just been bumpy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been struggling. In any other scenario, we’d make adjustments to account for you needing time,” Piper explained. “But this book is already well underway and to make major changes now will have a cascading effect on the rest of the timeline.”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “I totally understand.”
“Related, there’s something else I wanted to address on this call in addition to your current timetable.”
I swallowed hard and tried to keep my face expressionless as I waited for what had to be a bombshell. My hands went clammy.
“I recognize the timing isn’t ideal considering you’re having a rough go right now, but we’re wondering if it would be possible for you to write books two and three in this series at the same time, once you finish this one?” Piper asked. “We’re looking to release them back-to-back.”
My mouth dropped open. Here I was, staring into an endless white space that was my current output, and the thoughtof trying to writetwo morebooks in my state of mind felt like diving headfirst into that vast unknown.
“There’s no pressure to give me an answer now,” she continued. “And if it’s not possible for you, we can assign one or both to Janet Li. She’s looking to transition out of mafia romance.”
I snapped my mouth shut. I knew that I wasn’t the only Dakota Sinclair—the pen name had been churning out books for close to ten years—but for the past couple, I’d been the only contracted version of her. I still needed to find my way as Brooke Murphy, writer, but for now I felt comfortable living in Dakota’s skin.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to share her with another writer, but I also didn’t know if I had the inspo to churn outthreeback-to-back, no-breathing-room cowboy romances given my current output.
Plus, if I was being totally honest with myself... I was sort of tired of writing side plots about sick cows, irrigation issues, and land disputes. I felt myself yearning for a world where the stakes were different. Bigger and less tied to scary real-world shit like climate change and predatory rancher billionaires.
But Dakota was my port in the very unpredictable storm that was the publishing industry. I wanted to write, Ineededto write, and doing it as Dakota was the only way my work got out there. And without Liaison pushing me, well, I worried that I’d stop writing fiction altogether.
“Wow, that’s quite a shift in production. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to give that some thought?” I asked.
“Of course,” Piper said. “We’re roughing out the calendar now, so just keep an eye on Depot as we firm up the dates.” She paused. “We plan to release them in quick succession no matter what, so please don’t feel pressure if it’s not going to work foryou. We’d love to have you write them, but we understand if it’s too much.”
I’m sure she didn’t mean for it to sound like a threat. She probably thought that the fact that they had a plan B would take the pressure off me, but all I heard wasYou’re replaceable.
“Okay,” I said in my cheeriest voice. “I’ll get back to you either way soon. And I promise you’ll get some Austin and Abby vibes from me in a week. I have a good feeling.”
My gaze landed on the pickleball paddle again.
“Lovely,” Piper replied. “Looking forward to it. Talk soon,ta.”
Instead of stewing about the Liaison drama, I felt drawn to grab the paddle and ball. A couple of meditative bounces would be a good energy shift from the tension of the call to the stress of the blank page.
Of course, I managed two bounces before the ball fell off my paddle and rolled away. I dropped to my knees to retrieve it from under the futon. A text sounded out from my back pocket when I was contorted with my arm stretched out and my ass in the air.
It was Owen, like he could sense my sorry attempt at coordination.
Hey. Good session this morning. Don’t forget to practice.
I held up the paddle, snapped a pic of it with my bookshelf fuzzy in the background, and sent it to him.
Nice. And a color-coded bookshelf? Scared of you. I looked up your name and couldn’t find any of your books. Where are they available?
I usually didn’t tell people about Dakota, seeing as I was contractually bound to keep it a secret, but Owen didn’t strike me as the type to out me on a Goodreads forum.
I write as Dakota Sinclair. Shh, don’t tell!
A pen name, got it. Which one should I read first?
I frowned at my phone. He was serious about reading one of my books?
Definitely The Hart Ranch Brothers Book One; Rogue Cowboy.
I blushed when I remembered the extended sixty-nine scene after Trent and Eliza’s midnight skinny-dip. How was I going to look him in the eye once he knew I’d written the phrase “come on my tongue, you sweet girl”?
