PrologueKaelee
Kaelee sat at a café in Dupont Circle with her former boss and current mentor, Toni Darbyshire. She had been Toni’s teaching assistant in the fall, but she turned it down this term to finish and hopefully sell a book—the one currently on submission.
No one at the café cared that Kaelee was on sub or that her lunch companion had made the jump from industry news to mainstream news. They were at the café for award-winning sandwiches like the monstrosity in front of Toni. Kaelee marveled at the messy thing, but she was barely able to eat today.
Right now, in Manhattan, strangers were going to bebidding onher novel.
“Stop staring at my lunch.” Toni grumbled the words, but over the last few months, Kaelee had realized that grumbling was simply Toni’s way of talking. She always sounded vaguely agitated—unless she was talking about history or her soon-to-be wife, Adelaine.
“I wasn’t looking at your lunch.” Kaelee scowled at her.
Toni looked down. “Well, then, stop staring at my chest. That’s what’s behind my sandwich.”
“You’re obnoxious.” Kaelee smiled, though, grateful for the distraction. “You know damn well I’m not staring at you or your lunch. I don’t know why I bother to be your friend.”
“Hey, you’re the weirdo who wants to be my friend. I’m aninnocent bystander.” Toni shrugged and took a huge bite of her sandwich. Toni, who was actually a valued friend, was relaxed here. Sometimes she was like that in her office, and she was definitely like that at A League of Her Own, the local lesbian and queer bar. Overall, though, Toni was prickly. She wasnotsociable.
And finding the right place for lunch was critical. Locals-only spots were the best idea. In DC there were politicians everywhere, so there was a sort of blasé attitude that prevailed toward anyone vaguely important. Visiting dignitary? Politically minded celebrity? The Pope? They all came to DC. Add that to the nonstop stream of tourists and there was always some sort of noise. The locals, however, just wanted to eat their pastrami and relax.
The problem was that Toni and her soon-to-be wife had made a media splash last year because of the television adaptation of Toni’s book. So occasionally, tourists would stop if they recognized Toni, and she was as graceful about it as a drunk Southern jock at a tea shop. Currently, though, they were at a tiny table with nary a tourist in sight. And Toni was her smart-assed best self. For that, Kaelee was immeasurably grateful.
I am not checking email again. I am not. I will not.
“Did you research any of the editors who have it?” Toni asked after she finished her oversized bite.
“I did not. I took your advice to trust Emily to handle it. No micromanaging.” Kaelee frowned.I could search right now.The impulse to research the four editors currently bidding on her novel was strong, but she had the combined guidance of Toni, whom she had TAed for the last two terms, and Emily, the agent who now represented both of them.
“If Greta wins, you’ll be able to ask me about her, but I don’t know any of the others. Who was the editor at Harper that Emily likes?” Toni paused as if she ought to retain all this even though she was secured and settled with Greta Clayborne.
“Is it weird if we end up sharing an editorandan agent?” Kaelee asked.
“Different genres.” Toni shrugged. “No editor is monogamous. Agents either. So being possessive over them is a waste of energy. And who knows if Greta will even want more books from me?”
Kaelee rolled her eyes. “Book one is atelevision shownow, and I bet the sequel will do great.”
“Or it could suck.” Toni eyed her in the way she typically had only done when dropping academic advice. “Don’t think that just because one book succeeds, the next is a sure thing. Publishing is fickle. Enjoy it when you can, but no author isguaranteeda successful follow-up.”
Kaelee glanced at her smartwatch again. “I’d settle for one success.”
“If it’s going to auction, there’s a good chance you’ll have one.” Toni gestured. “Check your email. You’re squirming like a child who needs to use the toilet. It’s irritating.” Her expression was friendly despite her harsh words.
An email was there waiting. Kaelee scanned it, feeling like her heart had crawled into her throat and was squatting there, choking her with every too-fast beat. “We sold it. No auction. There was a preempt. Deal memo forthcoming. Emily is going to call.”
“Which editor and house?”
“Yours.” Kaelee looked at her. “I swear I will try not to drive you spare asking questions.”
Toni gave a solitary nod. “Good.” Then she smiled. “I’m happy for you, and for Greta, and mostly for Em. This is a good thing for all of you.”
Kaelee repressed her snort.A good thing?Toni was the queen of calm and understatements.
Yeah, Kaelee selling her book at all was damn good; selling it for a preempt was amazing. She’d pulled it off, sold a book, two books in fact, to a New York editor with a major publishing house. She hadn’t used her family name or their connections to do it, either. Her father’s voice warning her that she was no one without her familyname echoed in her memories.Watch this, Tripp.She’d done it on her own as a veritable nobody.
Fuck you, Tripp,she amended silently, hoping the horrible homophobic man felt her words like a slap to his face back in North Carolina where he crouched atop his inherited fortune with his intolerant cronies.
After a moment, she added a second “fuck you” to the man her father had pawned her off on as a fiancée when she was barely legal, and her fiancé was old enough to know better. Then she shoved those thoughts away to concentrate on her victory. No use dwelling on the bleak parts of the past when she had a major victory in hand.
I did it. I really did it.
