Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“So let them, B. You might not realize it, but all you’ve done, everything you’ve accomplished, came from inside you. You, Brooke. Not some hotshot celebrity type—you. The people love your books and are going to love the show because it came from your brain. Stands to reason, they’d like all the other stuff that comes from it too, you know? So, let them see you. Let those fuckers use X-ray vision goggles if they want. You’ve got this.”
I’m so touched by my sister’s speech, I can’t help but give her some hope to hold on to in return through my sniffly tears. “I’m going to send you something in the mail. Cruise tickets for the parental units. Departure: as soon as effing possible.”
She hoots. “If you’re going to send someone on a cruise, make it me. I’ll just tape a note to the kids and run.”
“Sounds like a plan.” My tears morph into a few soft laughs, but eventually, those laughs turn into a sigh. I rub at the microfiber cream fabric of the couch cushion beside me, but Sam’s voice is a soft cut through my contemplation.
“Love you, sis.”
“Love you too, SissySam,” I reply, using the nickname I gave my sister way back when we were kids.
The nostalgia feels good. Grounding, even. It makes me remember where I came from, which, of course, makes it that much more obvious where I’ve come.
She’s right. I, Brooke Baker, am going on a Netflix tour for the show based on my books. By the end of the month, my Shadow Brothers—my sweet, ghostly inventions—will be a household name all over the world. People won’t just be dreaming them—they’ll be streaming them.
And whether I’m able to admit it to myself or not, that’s really something.
I just hope I survive the motor home trip through success.
Three weeks with Chase Dawson while I work on Clive and River. Three weeks of reading hot, skin-flushing sex I never thought I’d confront ever again. Three weeks of looking him in the eyes and keeping my shit together while I pretend this is just like any other book.
Three weeks.
Three. Weeks.
Buck up, Brooke. Things are about to get interesting.
Wednesday, May 17th
Chase
An hour ago, I arrived at Liberty Harbor RV Park, where June, the Netflix liaison, made arrangements for the motor home to be dropped off and temporarily parked. The place is located in New Jersey, but it’s only a short ferry ride and walk from Lower Manhattan.
Yesterday, the keys and a packet of information were couriered to my office, and this morning, I didn’t have too much trouble locating the home on wheels.
And now, I’m sitting at the small kitchenette table of the very place that’s going to house both Brooke Baker and me for three weeks as we cruise the country, stopping at public appearances and working on edits for Accidental Attachment.
Once I checked it all out, and made sure everything appeared as it should be, I’ve been waiting for Brooke to arrive.
That wait started about fifty minutes ago.
I’m both nervous and excited, and it’s the latter that causes the first. Going on tour with an author is a completely untraditional thing for an editor to do, and as such, I should be feeling awkward about how I’m going to keep myself out of Brooke’s space while simultaneously being in it.
Instead, I’ve found myself daydreaming about endless hours of Brooke’s humor and brilliant smile and shared meals over late-night campfires.
It’s outrageous thinking at its finest, and that level of unchecked foolishness makes me nervous.
Spinning brown hair is the first thing to catch my attention through the paned glass directly in front of me, followed by very loud cursing.
Brooke’s bent in half, her suitcase upright but undeniably precarious on the curb behind her, and Benji is circling her avidly, trying to find a way to help. He’s dressed in a Captain America costume and has his own matching backpack strapped over his service dog vest. His backpack, mind you, is more secure, compared to Brooke’s leather one that dangles from her shoulders and appears to be mucking up the works even further.
Brooke turns back to her suitcase and flips it up so it only sits on two wheels instead of four, all while trying to wrangle Benji’s leash in the other hand, and I can’t help but think it looks like an intro to an episode of The Three Stooges.
Moving quickly, I head for the door to my right, located directly in between the living room area and the narrow hallway that houses both the bedroom and the singular bathroom at the back. I swing it open and jog down the small metal stairs, walking swiftly in Brooke’s direction.
Benji dodges left and then right as Brooke’s suitcase gets caught on a pebble first and then the curb and then rocks to a stop in an impressive crack in the pavement. Part of me wants to jump in and help—and the other part wants to see where the bag, the dog, and the woman end up, sans intervention.