Page 3 of Rewrite the Rules

“Jesus.Calm down, there’s no need to start Adlering out.”

It is never ever a good thing when your name becomes a predicate. I’m too scared to ask what ‘Adlering out’ means.

Mani leans in so close to the screen I can see her itty-bitty makeup-free pores. It’s nearly nine o’clock in the morning in California. It’s basically the middle of the night for her. “How much did you get paid anyways?”

“Plenty,” I lie. I didn’t get peanuts. My contract got me broken peanut shells. But I’m not admitting that here to this den of lionesses who are ready to go to war for me.

“That’s bullshit,” Quinn mumbles. “You could’ve published this yourself and made out like a bandit.”

“Do we remember the last time I tried my hand at self-publishing?” I attempt individual eye contact with each of my friends, but they strategically avoid my gaze.Hmmm.The bland walls of this event room and the sticky tile floor arethatinteresting, are they?

Silence.Yeah. Thought so.

Ghostwriting is safer than owning up to your work. It’s so much easier to write when you know you’re exempt from the harsh reality of painful criticism and critique. And that’s if you can even reach an audience who will give you the time of day.Toy With Meexploded because of Tessa Rayne’s trademark and following, not because of my writing. She earned the praises, not me. She has the track record, not me.

She is brave…not me.

My writing is like a dog in water. It probably won’t drown, but can anyone really say the doggie paddle is graceful?

“Fine.” Quinn lets out a reluctant breath. “Let’s just put it out there. Murder mysteries aren’t your thing.” She refers to my epic fail as a debut indie author. I’ll admit the story had issues. It was a murder mystery that lacked an actual murder…and mystery. In summary, it wasn’t a murder mystery—just a massive mess. The book was a rabbit hole I hopped down after watching one too many episodes ofSnapped. At the end I just couldn’t kill off the husband. After about two hundred pages of his backstory, I got really attached to Seamus. Funny thing about books on murder—the readers kind of expect someone to die.

The Thing About Seamusonly sold about twenty units and I have a sneaking suspicion that each of my friends bought multiple copies.

“It tanked. The few reviews it got said the writing was sophomoric, the story was painfully boring, and the tone was haunting.”

“Haunting can mean something like harrowingly beautiful.” Noa offers an empathetic smile. It’s been four years and they are still coddling me. We’ve been through this. I went through all the stages of grief.

I’m now at acceptance.

I’ve accepted my name will never be printed on another book.

“It’s because you didn’t know your niche.” Reese tugs the book free from my clasp. She waves it in my face. “Thisis your niche. Hey, did you get one of these as a book perk by the way?” She taps the silver sex toy on the cover with her thumb. “Is it worth all the buzz?”

Yes.

“No, I did not.” I suck a squeaky breath between my teeth. “But what niche are you referring to? Erotica?”

“Love,” Quinn answers for Reese. “It’s good, Addie. Like,really good.I was late to a strategy meeting because I got caught up in a chapter.”

Whoa.Quinn—late to a meeting? Okay, I take it back. I might actually be the Stephen King of romance.

“Guys, I’m glad I’m behind the scenes. I’m happy here. More than happy. Who am I hurting? Can we cut to the end of this intervention, please? I only have a couple hours before I have to hit the real nine-to-five that actually pays for my shitty downtown apartment.”

“Gimme one legitimate reason you wouldn’t want to claim this masterpiece?” Quinn tugs at the low-hanging loose thread of my nonchalance, trying to unravel some emotion.

“Masterpiece? Isn’t that laying it on a little thick? For starters—there’s an index in the back to provide further information on all thedevicesthe book references. And, as you know, I use the p-word like a cat uses its claws—often and with ferocity.” I’m alone in my laughter at my tortured comparison. “Look, I’m sure this book is offending people. But now that’s Tessa’s problem to deal with.”

Reese rolls her eyes behind her thick dark lashes and pairs it with a loftypfft. “Offending who? The pearl-clutching type? There’s a warning on the cover and plus, everyone is reading it. I walked in on fifty-eight-year-old senior partner Wanda reading it…she thought she locked her office door…she did not.”

“Wait, did you just say ‘p-word’? You can write it but you won’t say it?” Noa’s smile is sly. A sneaky glint in her eye dares me.

“Not in front of you,Mom.”

Mani’s shrill cackle blurts through the video chat. The spotty connection has her on a slight delay. “That’s hilarious. Does anyone else find this all so ironic? Leave it to the virgin to write a best seller by blasting the word pus—”

Clap, clap, clap!

I smack my hands together like a dancing wind-up monkey with cymbals.

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