Page 2 of Lucky Shot
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize again.
My brain reels. Two years ago, before the worst year of my life, I wrote a sports romance. It was fun. My sister, Olivia, had just started dating Flynn—a professional baseball player. I was going with her to games, completely caught up in their love story. It was inspiring to watch them fall in love. So inspiring that I wrote an entire draft faster than anything before or since. It was different from what I’d written previously, but my early readers all loved it, including Molly, who I trust implicitly. She pitched it to my publisher at the time. They passed, noting they liked the book, but it wasn’t right for them. Then two more editors at different publishers did the same.
I shrugged it off because I was getting plenty of requests for more paranormal or romantasy. Publishing seemed to be telling me they wanted me to do more of what I was already doing, and I listened. We shelvedA Sporty Romance(still a terrible name) and I wrote another vampire book—the one that flopped.
My agent continues to smile through the screen, but I note the tension bracketing her mouth. Why wouldn’t Molly tell me she was shopping this manuscript around again?
Doreen continues, “I know the book is different, but it’s precisely why I love it. Not everyone can pull off switching genres like this, but I think you can. Your writing is gorgeous. The hero is charming, and your heroine is nuanced and lovable, if not slightly chaotic. The book has all the charisma and wit that your readers adore.”
“But my readers aren’t expecting a sports romance.” My readers may not be expecting anything, honestly. It’s been over a year since I’ve published, which wouldn’t be all that concerning if I were promoting or teasing something to come, but I’m not.
“If you partner with us, then I will make it my mission to convince your readers and everyone else that theyneedto read this book,” Doreen says without a beat of hesitation in her tone. She’s launched so many careers that her confidence is well-earned.
“I don’t know what to say.” She’s not known for her flattery, but she’s handed me several compliments in the span of five minutes. I try my hardest to let them land and soothe the previous rejections for this book. Even if she did call my heroine chaotic. Not exactly what I was going for, but I can smooth that out in edits. Oh my god, am I actually considering this?
“There’s just one little thing,” Doreen says in that way that foreshadows the little thing is going to be a huge pain to fix. She places her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “We’d like you to change the sport from baseball to hockey.”
Her words rattle around in my brain like a pinball machine. Baseball. Hockey. What’s the difference?
In the small image of me on the screen, my brows furrow. “Excuse me?”
“We have another baseball romance on our list this summer. Besides, baseball is harder to sell in this market. Hockey romance is what readers want right now.” She grins like we’re in on a secret. “And the sport is such a small part of the story.”
That’s true, but there’s one more thing she’s failed to account for. “I don’t know hockey.”
I barely know baseball. I had Olivia and Flynn helping me get the sport’s details right, but it was a huge undertaking.
“Oh.” Doreen gets the first flicker of disappointment on her face, and instantly I get the feeling that I’ve ruined everything. And judging by Molly’s face, she thinks so too.
There goes opportunity sprinting by.
I’ve wanted to work with Doreen since before I finished my first manuscript. She’s smart and powerful. She navigates publishing like a badass boss bitch. Her eye for picking out books from the slush pile and making them bestsellers is impeccable. If there’s anyone that can help revive my career, it’s her.
But hockey?
And if I say no, then what? I could have Molly send this book back around to editors. To be honest, I’d forgotten about it. I shelvedA Sporty Romance(sucha terrible title) in my metaphorical box under my bed with a dozen other manuscripts.
Maybe someone else would take it as is. Or I guess I could write another book, but, well, that hasn’t been very successful the past six months, i.e., I’ve written nothing except proposals.
“What Ruby means is that she would need additional resources in order to make sure she gets the hockey information correct,” Molly interjects. “I can help with that. I’m originally from Upstate New York. I know lots of people in the hockey world.”
I shoot my agent a look that I hope communicates my skepticism. Meanwhile, Doreen’s smile is back and wider than ever. “Great.”
“Great,” I mimic, with a lot less enthusiasm.
“I’ll send over my offer this afternoon. Take time and think it over, but not too much time.” Doreen quickly transforms back into serious editor mode, steepling her fingers in front of the camera. “We want to turn this around quickly and get it out with our winter catalog. You’re attending the Delaroche Book Fair this fall, right?”
I nod. It’s the one event Molly absolutely refused to let me cancel this year—otherwise I would have.
“Perfect. We’ll announce it then with big, flashy signage and advanced copies.” She gets that hopeful smile on her face again.
Panic rises in my chest, sending a flood of warmth through my body. “You want me to rewrite the entire book by the event in September?”
“Of course not. We’d need it by the end of August,” she says with not a single drop of teasing in her tone. “We’ll rush to print advanced copies for the convention.”
Several seconds pass where my entire body is frozen with a mixture of hope and terror. I want so badly to believe this is the chance to turn things around, but it’s so unexpected. Lying low in my apartment, plotting books and writing bad first chapters over and over again has become almost comforting.
“Okay.” Molly gets that look in her eye that tells me she’s heard all she needs and doesn’t want me to put my foot in my mouth. “Thank you so much, Doreen. I’m excited about this.”
