Page 3 of Wolfish Player
THE AUTHOR
HEATHER
@Harriet Ledger
Omg! The SEX in this book is so FUCKING HAWT!
@Brianna Harmon
I LOVEEE this man and his filthy mouth! Give me more!
@Emily Hilton
Do you have a release date for your next book?
That last comment is always my cue to log off the internet for the rest of the day.
As much as the readers’ excitement should inspire me, it triggers heart palpitations, sweat, and guilt—and then it forces me to open my laptop and return to where I left off in my manuscript.
The cursor doesn’t even blink in anticipation anymore. It’s like it knows nothing is coming.
My document still features the same two words that have lived there for months: Chapter One.
As much as I want to believe the “There’s No Such Thing as Writer’s Block” and “Just Sit Your Ass in a Chair and Write” notes taped to my desk, my silence on the page speaks for itself.
“You can do this, Heather.” I refuse to surrender today. “You can totally write some epic words today.”
I take a deep breath and briefly shut my eyes, envisioning what this story is supposed to be about.
Alpha male boss who rules the real estate industry. Heroine who stumbles into his world somehow—maybe housekeeping?
She’s a maid, I think.
And then um… spice. Lots of spice.
Hot banter. More spice…
“I’ve got it!” My eyes flutter open and I face the screen, stretching my fingers before adding the first new words in months. A centered timestamp under “Chapter One.”
“The start of this story.”
“Welp, that counts!” I smile, glancing at another note taped to my desk:“Any progress isgoodprogress.”
I close the document and log back into social media to read more comments from my readers.
My next romance novel, whenever I finish it, will be hot as hell and amazing.
I swear.
Later that evening
The wallsin my office are lined with framed covers of every story I’ve ever published.
There are twenty-six of them, and the last one was the charm. An office romance that did something none of my other books ever managed. It actually sold.
At first, it was a hundred copies a day—a personal record. Then a hundred books an hour. Then a thousand.
Before I knew it, I was swept onto a side of indie authorland I never knew existed. Readers were messaging me. My newsletter was gaining subscribers instead of spam reports. And whenever I looked at the sales dashboard, I felt hope instead of regret.
