I dropped my phone and stared unseeing at the bedroom wall. Well, I had wanted the little mouse to surprise me. She’d shocked the fuck out of me. After devouring her first book in one night, I’d downloaded the next book onto the e-reader app on my phone. Then the next and the next and the next. I’d read the first nine in her series this past week. According to the online retailer, the Juno McLeod series had eleven books so far.
When I wasn’t reading in the library, I read during meals at the dining table as I binged the atmospheric world Sarah created in her Juno McLeod books. The only time I took a break was to use the rower in the gym and to get a sexual health check at the clinic in Thurso, thanks to the timely reminder I’d set on my phone.
Otherwise, I was all about Juno.
Juno, a detective inspector, was based in Dundee, the crime capital of Scotland, but her cases took her around the country. A main plot wove throughout the entire series while a secondary subplot opened and then was resolved by the end of each new book. Juno’s primary antagonist was the serial killer she was hunting, and the dark connection between them was intriguing and nuanced and, to be frank, bloody brilliant. That alone would enthrall audiences. But so would the intelligent, complex, funny Juno. The stories were gritty. And Sarah often explored real-world social issues many would find relatable.
Moreover, she took the reader all over Scotland, and her prose brought the country to life. So much so, I envisioned epic cinematography via drone camerawork.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered to myself. Sarah’s depth of writing was astonishing. It would be fantastic on-screen if the right person wrote and directed it. Also, casting would be essential. The right actor for Juno was pivotal. She was in her late thirties and had the confidence and realism that came with age. I could already think of a few actors who might fit the bill.
All week I’d been waiting to see the little mouse in her housekeeper uniform moving around the castle. I wanted to see her reaction when she realized what I was reading. But we’d never crossed paths, which seemed strange because I felt like I’d caught glimpses of her often in the past.
I wondered who else had approached her for the film rights. She’d mentioned they were two well-known producers. A flash of urgency and something unpleasant crawled through my chest.
Was that … jealousy?
Did the thought of someone else adapting these books fill me with actual jealousy? That both amused and pissed me off. I was never possessive. Over work or humans.
But if I was honest with myself … I wanted this bloody series for adaptation.
Fuck.
There was my own rule to consider, however—that I always write my own screenplays. But if I went off and wrote something similar to Sarah’s series, I’d feel like a failure from the start. Juno was not my idea … and, truthfully, as much as we (shockingly) shared a similar sense of character development and portrayal, Juno was Sarah’s. Only Sarah knew Juno to her core.
If I adapted the series, I’d need Sarah on board.
But did I really want to work with the little mouse? With her blushing and lack of assurance?
Her writing, however, did not lack confidence.
It still astonished me that she was S. M. Brodie.
Picking up my phone, I opened my text messages to the latest text from my writer and producer friend Colleen. She knew I was struggling with writer’s block and said she had a short break in her schedule if I wanted to come to London tomorrow to brainstorm with her.
My thumb hovered over the keys to reply.
With a sigh of frustration, I exited her text, and my eyes snagged on another two rows down. The contact wasn’t saved because it was my brother. Although I’d blocked him several times this week, he just found new numbers to message and call me from. I had several voicemail messages from him that I’d deleted without fully listening to.
A knock sounded on my suite door.
“Theo, you there?” The familiar Scottish accent made me shove off the bed.
Opening the door, I gave my friend North Hunter a droll look. “Finally dragged yourself out of Ms. Howard’s bed, have you?”
We both knew the reason I hadn’t seen him lately was because he’d started filming a new Scottish crime series in Glasgow. He was only here at Ardnoch now to visit his fiancée, Aria Howard, Ardnoch Estate’s manager. North had been the star of my most acclaimed and award-winning TV miniseries,King’s Valley. We’d become good friends after working together. The lovesick bastard now spent what free time he had with his fiancée. So I was surprised to see him at my door.
He smirked at me. “Aria has work to catch up on, and your last few texts sounded almost manic. I thought I better check on you.”
I grabbed my room key and turned to pick up my phone, too, and instead eyed the paperback from Sarah. Taking hold of it, I turned it toward North. “Have you read this series?”
Stepping into the room, North took the book from me. “No, but I’ve heard of it. Jack Irving, the guy producing the new series I’m on, told me about it. I think he might be in negotiation with the author’s agent over the rights. Is it any good?”
The level of my agitation at that news was alarming. I had to clear the irritation from my throat as I answered blandly, “It’s not bad. Better than most of the penny dreadfuls that saturate the genre fiction market these days.”
North snorted. “You do know this is the twenty-first century, Theo? Penny dreadfuls are no longer a thing.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I shrugged and gestured him out of the room. “Let’s get a drink.” I wondered how far into negotiations Jack was with Sarah’s agent. Had she just decided to sell it to whomever when I said I wasn’t interested? I huffed.
