Apparently, there was a little mix-up with my reservation. Maya booked the reservation as part of her room block, and the check-in lady thought it was her room. But she’ll be glamming it up with her bridesmaids down in the Oak Cottage—all five of them squeezed into three bedrooms, which apparently left no space for the bride’s sister. Hence the honeymoon suite.
I set my suitcase—my sensible, decidedly unfancy suitcase that probably cost less than one of those throw pillows—on the bench at the foot of the bed and can’t help but laugh.
This room is ridiculous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Maple Lake, where late-February sun glints off patches of ice still clinging to the surface like it’s not quite ready to let go of winter. The bathroom has a jetted tub and heated floors. Heated. Floors.
If I wasn’t so embarrassed about beingliterallysingle in the honeymoon suite, I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven.
I start unpacking. Hang up the dress I brought for the rehearsal dinner. Set my toiletries in the bathroom that’s roughly the size of my entire apartment bedroom. Toss my giant tote filled with all the contracts, files, and timelines for the wedding onto the bed, and a manila folder skids across the duvet.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at it.
The return label readsStratton Publishing.
I don’t know why I even brought that thing along, except that it was sitting outside my door when I went to pack Jessa’s car, and I couldn’t bear the thought of opening another rejection in front of her, so I stuffed it into my tote and let it burn a hole in my brain for the next three hours and seventeen minutes while Jessa drove me to Maple Lake.
The envelope stares at me, waiting.
Fine. Let’s just get it over with.
I lean across the bed, snatch the envelope, and plop down on the edge of the bed. The envelope is heavier than I expected. Thick. Official. It makes a very crisp tearing noise when I slide my thumb under the flap.
The letter is printed on heavy cream-colored cardstock—the expensive kind that makes you feel important just holding it. Stratton Publishing logo embossed at the top.
Dear Ms. Chloe Dawson,
I am writing to personally extend an offer for your manuscript,Sparkle, the Dragon. Your voice is exactly what we’ve been searching for in our children’s literature line, and I believe your work has the potential to resonate deeply with both parents and children alike.
After careful consideration, Stratton Publishing would like to discuss the potential of a five-book deal with the following terms:
•Advance of $5,000 for the first book, payable upon contract signing
•$10,000 per book upon successful completion and acceptance
•Eight-month delivery schedule for the finished collection
•Standard royalty terms as outlined in the attached contract
•World English rights with subsidiary rights to be negotiated separately
We envision releasing your books in rapid succession to build momentum and establish your presence in the market. The first book would be scheduled next fall, with subsequent releases every four months.
While this is an aggressive timeline, we believe your talent and the commercial appeal of your writing style make this an achievable goal.
Please review the attached contract proposal and reach out to us with any concerns you may have. We would appreciate your response within the next two weeks, as we are hard at work acquiring titles for our upcoming publication year.
I look forward to welcoming you to the Stratton family.
Sincerely,
Milo Brooks
Chief Executive Publisher
Stratton Publishing
I blink. Hard. Read the letter again. This is…this isn’t real, is it? And it’s signed by Milo Brooks himself. The CEO.
