I don’t understand what I’m looking at, because I turned this offer down. Twenty-nine days ago. The morning I woke up in Brody’s arms.
Why?
Because the only way I could dream of finishing five fully illustrated books in eight months was if I was out of debt. If I had the money from our contract to hold me over while I wrote the books. And I was going to break that contract.
Lose the money.
And it would have been worth it.
But now?
Now the wedding is over. The contract has expired. I have time.
And someone—somehow—negotiated better terms.
I pull out my phone. Text Jessa.
Chloe
Did you negotiate with Stratton Publishing?
Her response is immediate.
Jessa
What? No. Why? I’m at the coffee shop btw, needed to escape the apartment.
Chloe
I got a revised offer. Way better terms. $15K on signing, 12-month timeline.
Jessa
WHAT? That’s amazing!
Chloe
You didn’t reach out to them?
Jessa
Seriously, I didn’t do anything. Maybe they just reconsidered? Or someone told him he was lowballing you? Does it matter? CALL THEM. Accept it. This is your dream, Chloe.
I set the phone down. Stare at the letter.
Someone fought for me. Someone told Stratton Publishing that I was worth more than five thousand dollars and a crushing timeline.
But who?
By six o’clock, I’ve accomplished exactly nothing productive.
I showered. Made coffee. Stared at the publishing letter for an hour. Scrolled Instagram (mistake). Tried to sketch (bigger mistake—everything I draw looks sad). Made more coffee. Stared at the letter some more.
The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Jessa’s still out—she texted that she’s meeting with an interviewee and won’t be home until late.
So I’m alone with my thoughts and a frozen pizza and the TV that I turned on for background noise.
Except it’s not background noise anymore.
