“I like to work,” I defended, heading back to my closet. I also quit that job a while ago, but I hadn’t told anyone about that either.
I had only had the job to keep Steven from questioning where I got my money. He had no idea that I had a few million in my bank account. If he did, I was sure he would figure out a way to get me to give him all of it. And I was stupid enough to let him.
Because of love?
No, something else. Something nameless that made me stay. Something that kept me from starting over from scratch once again. Something that locked me where I was and prevented me from escaping. Maybe I was simply addicted to suffocating.
She released a breath, something she did often that caused the pit in my stomach to grow. “How is your writing going?”
Well, from the two completely opposite reviews I had gotten at The Club, I didn’t think it was going well. Starting over on that book seemed like the best idea at this point. “It’s fine,” I half lied. “I’m talking to my publisher at the end of the week to renegotiate our deal.” Three days, actually. Three very short days.
“And you’re still publishing under Abigail Ross?”
“Yes mom, please don’t tell anyone in your book club” I hadto remind her of this at least once a week. She both hated and loathed the fact that I used a pen name. It all depended on the day, the weather, and if she felt fat when she woke up that morning, so I had to cover my bases just in case she decided that today was the day she wanted to be proud of what I had done.
I already had to change my name to get out from under their shadow, I didn’t need the world finding out that I was Abigail Ross. I was sure that once they found that out, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that Abigail was also Olivia Lemont, the daughter of the most successful oil company in America.
We had the biggest oil operation in Texas, it was a seriously prolific company, but I had lived in the spotlight as my parent’s little toy dog for my entire life. I needed to go out and figure out who I was outside of that, which they had said time and time again that they didn’t appreciate. Mainly my mother. She wanted me to be soproudof who I was and where I came from, but I also wanted to figure out who I was without cameras constantly flashing in my eyes. Without her controlling how I looked, what I said, what I ate.
I didn’t deny that having the money, the inheritance, the privilege of growing up in that world had its advantages, but still, it was nice doing this on my own.
Partially on my own, at least.
“Oh, I know, I know. Sweetie, please think about coming to visit soon. We really miss you and I haven’t gotten the chance to meet Steven yet.”
Yeah, because she hadn’t made the effort to come visit me either. It wasn’t a one-way street. If she wanted to meet Steven that badly, she could come down here too, but I didn’t see that happening. Ever. So, she would just have to wait until I had the time. Until Steven felt like making the drive.
I glanced at myself as I headed back for my bed, more dresses in hand. The black eye was a little lighter than it had beenyesterday thanks to the ice I had held against it for hours the day before, but it was still angry looking. It would take some time to cover it up. “I’ll try, I promise,” I told her. Another half lie. “I gotta go, mom. I need to work on my writing.”
“Okay, tell Steven I said hi, plan a trip with him!”
Unlikely. “Okay, tell dad I said hi.”
“Anything you want, sweetie. Toodaloo.”
I rolled my eyes and hung up.
I showered, put on some makeup, changed into a cute little white and pink floral summer dress, grabbed my messenger bag, and pulled on some sandals before finally saying goodbye to Lucy and heading out the door.
I’ve had a writer’s block for a week now and it was starting to become just plain frustrating, but there was nothing like a small café on the corner of a busy city street in the middle of Spring to break a person out of their rut.
Fingers crossed at least.
When I got to the café, I ordered my favorite drink and found a spot right in front of the big bay windows. I plugged my headphones in, playing my favorite playlist and finally pulled up my emails.
I was supposed to get the first chapter of my new book out to my publisher by the end of last week, but I had to ask for an extension. She was going to be angry during the renegotiations if I didn’t have at leastsomethingto give her. It might ruin my chances of getting another four-book deal.
Did I even have it in me to write four more books?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Focus. I just needed to start over.
I pulled up a new document and took a long drink of my blended mocha with three extra shots. Usually when I hadwriter’s block, I just wrote about my surroundings. Something interesting that would give me a base in which to start, but I had already written several café scenes in other books, so I needed something new. Something fresh, even if the scene never made it into an actual book, I needed something that would get the inspiration flowing.
I chewed on the corner of my lip, letting the music slide over my skin as I stared at that blank screen.
