Page 2 of The Author

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I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes before putting them on again. Glancing at the time, I couldn’t believe I had been on my laptop for over ten hours. I swear if I get this manuscript back to re-write parts of it, I would tell Tom to shove it up his ass.

I noticed my phone light up and checked to see what the notification was for. It was my agent.

Greedy Bastard: Hey, Kyle. I know you are almost done, but I wanted to let you know that the London office had a fire, so send the manuscript to the address I emailed you. Well done, buddy. You did it.

Fucking condescending bastard.

He is only good at getting me out of public events. He got paid enough commission from each book I wrote. My mind returned to self-publishing. It was worth delving into if it was good enough for my hero, Stephen King. It should be more than sufficient for me. After this book is done, I may need to go to Devon for a break and review my self-publishing options. I was sick of everyone taking a slice of my hard work.

My stomach rumbled, and I went onto my takeaway app. I would have plenty of opportunities to start eating healthy again once I got to my holiday home in Devon. The one thing I didn’t stop was my daily workout. If I didn’t do that, I had to purchase new items such as laptops, crockery and other breakable items that I took my fury out on.

I checked the estimated delivery time to ensure I had enough time to finish working on this chapter.

I smiled grimly. If I worked fast, I could do it.

Chapter 2

Kyle

It had been eight days since I had sent my manuscript. They had never taken this long before. The greedy bastard had assured me it was because they were in a temporary office.

How the fuck was that my fault?

If I knew where the greedy bastard lived, I may have been tempted to pay him a visit. I've already murdered him several times in my head. It was probably for the best that I didn’t know where he lived.

I've put blood, sweat, and tears into my book. Sometimes I felt as if incompetent assholes surrounded me. A sudden feeling of panic ran through me.

Was there something wrong with the manuscript?

I rushed towards my office and opened up my laptop to email Tom. He usually emailed me back quickly. I sat there tapping my hands on my keyboard, waiting for a response.

I may have missed an email notification from there. I leaned over my desk to check my screen carefully. There was nothing new, only junk mail. I refreshed my emails several times before giving up.

Fuck them.

I needed to get to the barbers and sort out my hair. I was beginning to resemble a tramp. My mind flickered to the author's photo in my books. I looked pristine in that photo shoot. If anyone saw me now, they wouldn’t be able to recognise me.

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I rubbed my jaw and moved my head from side to side to check that the cut was done as requested. After fixing the top of my dark blonde hair, I had to admit I looked good, considering I was forty next year. I wriggled my forehead and fake smiled at the mirror.

Nope, still no wrinkles.

I needed to get laid as soon as I got rid of the book. If I weren’t so grossed out about diseased pussy I would have considered an upmarket escort. Normal pussy was too much hassle. If nothing else, two years’ worth of wanking will have strengthened my arm.

The barber tried to make small talk again. I ignored him and stood up, ripping off the bib he had given me and walked towards the counter so I could pay and get out of there. You would think, after years of custom, that he would know I don’t want to chat about current events, the fucking weather or if I had any holidays planned.

Fuck off, you nosy cunt.

I walked down the side street where I had parked my car. A woman walked past me as I reached my car. She turned back to look at me. I gave her a smile. She wasn't too bad looking, but her dress sense put me off. It was a fluorescent pink colour. There was no chance she would get run over. Shame.

I opened my car door, shaking my head.

I could do so much better.

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