Page 92 of The Bodyguard Affair
His jaw unhinges and his eyes go wide, studying me, like he’s puzzled by my reaction. “Are you kidding me? That’s fucking amazing! How are you not freaking out right now?”
I shift uneasily, still holding my phone. “I don’t know. What if no publisher buys it? What if they completely botch the marketing?” Realistically, the book is doing amazingly well as it is. Do I really need an agent and a publisher, who will take an even larger cut of the profits?
While I launch into a speech about all the downsides and risks of publishing through a large house, Nolan’s expression morphs into one of genuine confusion mixed with frustration.He shakes his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Okay, that’s a lot of cons. What are the pros?”
“It would reach a much wider audience. If it did well, it could lead to mainstream recognition. Potentially international recognition. And mostly, my book would be sold in brick-and-mortar stores.” My heart thrums with longing at the mere thought of casually seeing my book on a shelf at a bookstore. Discreetly watching a customer pick it up and read the back. Maybe even purchase it. The more I visualize it, the more I realize how badly I’ve secretly wished for that to become a reality, as silly as that sounds.
Nolan senses the longing. “Are you seriously doubting this? You’ve got agents reaching out to you! This is what every writer dreams of. It’s like being scouted for the major leagues.”
I sigh, letting my head fall back against the headboard. “I know, it’s just—what if it fails, despite an agent and a publisher investing in me? What if this whole thing exposes the truth? That I wrote the books to begin with?”
He takes it all in, really considers it. “That’s a completely valid fear. All of it. But you have to know, what happened to you says nothing about your worth or your talent. I think you’d be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t at least take one call. Just one. And if you don’t like what they have to say, we don’t ever have to talk about this again. Regardless, I’ll still be here, supporting you.”
One look at him and I’m overcome with instant relief. “You really think it’s worth taking the leap?”
“Your books are already bestsellers. They’re already successful beyond what you thought possible. Even if an agent or publisher royally fucks things up, no one can take away your success.”
“One book is a bestseller,” I correct him.
He gives me an eye roll. “Andi, deflect all you want. But having people read your work has always been your dream, ever since I met you. And I’m not talking about making everyone else happy, or pleasing your mom. I’m talking about doing what truly makes you light up. Every time you write, you get this giddy look on your face. You literally glow when you talk about it.”
“That’s the sweat and angst, but go on,” I tease.
“I think you should do this for yourself. Not because you have anything to prove, because you don’t. But because you, of all people, deserve to live out your dreams in full.”
The breadth of his words hits me in the chest to the point that tears sprout, pouring over my lash line. Not because I’m upset, or scared. But because no one has truly seen me like him. No one has understood what I’ve gone through or what I need before I even understand it myself.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in so tight, I feel entirely sheltered. In his arms, no one can hurt me. No agent, editor, reader. No one.
I finally pull back and nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
• • •
Cher calls within five minutes of me confirming I’d like to talk. Nolan goes onto the balcony while I take the call, giving me privacy.
It lasts almost an hour, though it doesn’t feel like it. Cher has an immediate warmth, like I’m talking to a dear friend. It feels like it’s all over before it even begins, even though she walks through everything extremely thoroughly, graciously stopping to answer any questions I have.
I’m still absorbing it all by the time I head onto the balcony, back to Nolan, who’s pacing back and forth.
“How did it go?” he asks.
My lips curve into a small, tentative smile. “Amazing, actually. I mean, I should probably take the other calls, but Cher was so lovely. First, she talked about how much she loved the book and my writing. She thinks it could be really huge in the market and talked about how she thinks it should be positioned and which houses would be best placed for that.”
Nolan’s entire face lights up, and he steps forward to wrap me into a massive hug. “Holy shit.”
When we pull back, my face falls a little. “But what I liked most was that she was honest and realistic. She didn’t make any wild promises. And she also cautioned me about the risk of being doxed again when I told her I want to remain anonymous under my pen name, no photos, no interviews.”
“But people write under pen names all the time, don’t they? I mean, they can’t make you go on camera or anything.”
“She had no problem with me staying anonymous. But she couldn’t promise that people wouldn’t be able to find out my identity, especially if the book were as successful as she thinks it’ll be.”
He nods. “That’s fair. But hear me out—if it’s as big as we think it will be, will you really need to keep your job?”
I bite the inside of my lip in consideration. “I don’t know.”
“Even for your dream job?”
I shrug. “It’s never been something that seemed possible.” It’s not that working for Gretchen is something I absolutely love. But I’m good at it. It’s a known quantity. And after all this time, working for Gretchen has become my identity. I’ve never had theconfidence to even consider writing full-time, until now. If I did, I’d have no choice but to tell my family the truth.
