Page 11 of Role Play
Rejection hurts everyone. But I wonder if humiliation makes other people want to shut their eyes and never open them again, like it does to me. When is adulthood going to stop feeling like the torturous hell of grade school?
Trad publishing is my out. An agent like Dane was supposed to be step one of my master plan of survival. I need support. I need someone in this industry to have faith in me because after three long years, I’m starting to lose faith in myself.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say finally.
Dane cocks his head to the side, meeting my gaze. “Sure.”
“Why take this meeting if you had no intention of representing me? Was it just to get me off your guys’ back?”
“I hear you did email a shocking number of times…long emails.” He pumps his brows playfully. “I’m teasing you, Sora. I really wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
He leans back into the green, tufted sofa chair and rubs his hands together. I glance over his shoulder to see the hot single dad from earlier across the café seated directly in my sight line. As if my quick glance is summoning, he suddenly looks up from his takeout cup and matches my stare. He lifts his dark, angular brows as if to say, “Caught looking, missy.”
Dammit.He probably thinks I’m into him. He’s sorely mistaken.
“There’s a rumor going around the office I was hoping you could clear up,” Dane says, reclaiming my attention.
My stomach lurches. The word “rumor” is triggering for me. It usually ends in some kind of cat fight that I most definitely don’t want to participate in. “That rumor being?”
“Is Sora Cho your pen name or your legal name?”
“Both,” I reply, hesitantly, careful not to offer any further details. My stomach continues to churn as I slowly piece together exactly where this is going. The real reason why Dane Spellman wanted to meet with me. “Why?”
“How can it be both?” he asks. I think he’s smirking because he’s catching me in a trap. This is going to be much easier if we get this over with quickly.
“My legal name is hyphenated. Sora Cho-Cooper. Cho is my mother’s maiden name. I dropped Cooper from my author name…for obvious reasons.”
“You’re shitting me. So, it’s true… You’re J.P. Cooper’s daughter?The J.P. Cooper?” Dane scoots forward in his chair, showing genuine intrigue now. “Are you guys in touch? Are you estranged? Pardon me for asking, but with your father’s name, how the hell are you struggling with your author career?”
Dad, aka J.P. Cooper, writes literary epics as commentary on societal structure. His books sit on shelves next to George R. R. Martin and Tolkien. His first series sold at auction for well into seven figures. Studios are fighting over the developmentoptions, wondering whether they’ll make more money on HBO or the big screen. Emmys are all but guaranteed for anyone attached to the project.
But to answer Dane’s question, I’m struggling because Dad does not give out free lunches, not even to his own daughter. When I told him I wanted to become an author, he tried to deter me. When that didn’t work, he made it clear I was to keep my career far away from his.
“My dad prefers I keep his name off of my projects.”
“It’s your name too, though, isn’t it?”
Is it?My eyes drop to my lap. I rotate my thumbs in slow circles, contemplating Dane’s response. “I guess?—”
“I read in an article that his agreement with Meek Publishing is about to expire, and he’s considering going back to auction with theHell & Heroesseries. Is that true?”
“If you read it in a public article, then you know as much as I do.” I wish he’d stop interrogating me about this. My dad’s wild publishing success is not a sore subject for me, it’s a throbbing, infected, open wound.Stop poking at it.
“He doesn’t have an agent listed anywhere.”
“Because he doesn’t use one. He finds a lawyer for paperwork, but otherwise, the publishers go directly to him.” I bite the inside of my cheek until it hurts.
Dane clears his throat as his stare grows more intense. And now I’m the one losing interest in this conversation. “But I also heard he’s working on a new series. That has to be a lot to manage. Surely, he could focus more on writing if he had a team to represent him, right?”
Trying to avoid Dane’s eager stare, I pick up my empty mug once more. Bone dry. I can’t even fake a sip without looking ridiculous, so I set it back down. “I suppose.”
When I finally look up, Dane is holding out his business card, wiggling it between his fingers. It’s a bland professional’s card but I notice there’s a handwritten number scribbled on the front.
“I think I’ve sent your dad about as many emails as you’ve sent my agency.” He chuckles as if his joke is funny. “It’s been years. He never responds. I heard he hates agents, but Spellman Literary could do some great things for J.P. Cooper. I wrote my personal cell phone number on this card. I never give that out, but if your dad calls, I will drop whatever I’m doing and answer. Do you think you could pass this along?”
I want to lug my empty mug at his head. This was never my meeting after all. I was simply bait.
