A Fresh Start

Chapter 2

Alan Barden wasn’t very happy. He had an event.

He hated events.

What he really wanted was to be left alone to write. That’s what he did, wasn’t it? If he couldn’t write, they would have nothing to market and bother him about. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone and let him get on with his job?

It was infuriating to have to dance to the tune of people who thought in dollars and cents. Alan didn’t care about the money.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Alan didn’t have to care about the money because he had enough of it now. If he had to worry about things like how to pay the rent or how to pay for his next meal, he’d feel differently.

The simple fact was that he already had made more money than he could possibly spend. Selling his first novel had taken luck and perseverance, a stubborn refusal to accept that it couldn’t be done, as so many editors and publishers had told him. He’d stuck with it, and with his dead end job as a mechanic, getting his hands very literally dirty.

But he had sold it. Rachel had taken a chance and agreed to be his agent six years ago. She had got multiple refusals before his book was finally published, and she had insisted on holding out for ridiculously good terms. She had believed in him right from the beginning.

He did know that she was being reasonable. She had run with his demands even when he’d been a rookie at the game and done a splendid job as his publicist without any effort from him. He was lucky. He knew that.

But now, she insisted on events. He did not like events.

He had a screenplay to write, didn’t he? His first book had been turned into a movie, and he had written the screenplay. Rachel had even managed to make sure that he had the right to veto any drastic changes from the screenplay. The producers and director had bitched and moaned, but that hadn’t been his problem. Rachel had made sure of that, too.

So when she told him that it was time to start doing a few events and paying attention to PR, he felt like she had strong-armed him into a position where he couldn’t possibly say no to her. How could he? She had done everything on his terms so far, and he knew it hadn’t been easy for her.

Frowning, he glared at the invite. Oh, it was classy and well done, and he had made sure that nobody he disliked could be invited. There would be a great many people he didn’t know, but that couldn’t be helped.

So he would sign books, make small talk – the frown turned into a scowl that could stop clocks at the thought – and get through the three hours he was required to spend at the event.

Of course, Rachel had given him an out, as she always did. He didn’t like her idea, not one bit. She had known that she was putting him right in the middle of a rock and a very hard place. He couldn’t possibly take the other option. Could he?

Alan wondered just how painful the event was going to be. If it was bad enough, he might even consider Rachel’s option, though he wasn’t completely sure she hadn’t been kidding about it. No sane person would offer advice like that, surely!

The longer he thought about it, the more pissed off he got.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like meeting people who enjoyed his books. It was just that once he finished his books, he wanted to leave them behind. He loved that people enjoyed them, but he didn’t want endless questions about what he’d meant by them. Really, if they couldn’t come up with what the books meant to them, maybe they shouldn’t be reading at all.

Alan was already working on his next book, and it was compelling. It was fighting to be put down on paper and he had to do it. He had to.

Doing readings from what was, to him, his old book was a distraction. He didn’t want to do it.

Rachel would remind him that very often in life, you have to do what you absolutely don’t want to do. He was lucky he had to do it so rarely.

“Alan, are you sulking again? Look, the event is tomorrow. You’ll have a couple of weeks before the one after that. Why don’t you just relax and get through it?”

Alan glowered at her.

Rachel was used to it. She was a slim, tall woman with olive skin and sharp features, and she didn’t care much about Alan’s moods. She was used to dealing with artists. They always took themselves far too seriously.

But she did have a very soft spot for Alan. He had had to deal with more than most people should have to. She didn’t blame him for not liking people.

Besides, that dislike for company was part of the reason why he was such a great writer. Now, people were amazed at the amount of legwork she’d had to do to get him a deal. People in the business were amazed by how she’d had the balls to hold out for the kind of deal they had finally ended up with.

He was brilliant. She had no doubts about that. But the world had changed so much since he published his first book. Now, success was almost impossible without public presence. He needed to put himself out there.

If he refused to do that, he needed to find somebody who was inextricably tied to him to put themselves out there for him. She felt bad about pushing him about it, but she was finally left with no choice but to do that. Alan’s personal life would soon become public property if he didn’t take control of that exposure.

“Well, take my options into consideration, then. It won’t be so bad, Alan. I’ve had my hand in all of it. Look, you hired me to be your publicist and agent because you trust me. Well, trust me now. This is about being in control. You need to do it.”

Alan didn’t stop glowering, but he nodded.

“I know,” he said, and Rachel knew that was the best she’d get when he was so tightly wound.

It wasn’t going to be easy, she though ruefully. She’d been in the business for nearly twenty years, and Alan Barden was a genius. She recognized that.

If she weren’t genuinely fond of him, she’d consider him a pain in the ass. But Alan, when he was being himself, was worth all the trouble. And so much more.

*****

Grace got to work feeling disheartened. She had finished the book.

No, not the manuscript, unfortunately. She hadn’t been able to get through the last three chapters. She’d had to reward herself every two pages by then, it was that bad.

An apocalypse averted by rainbow unicorns being ridden by sparkling werewolves, fighting alongside pixies who, and she was not the one who’d made this up, sneezed diamonds. Apparently, a cold was precious. Grace had gotten horribly drunk, trying to deal with it. She’d stopped when she’d realized, horrified, that it was beginning to make sense to her.

So now she was behind, of course, and she knew she was in for it. Katie would be mad.