Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I don’t know how to feel about that. Having my name on something I didn’t actually write? I know many super popular authors use ghost writers, but it’s also more or less common knowledge that they do. What if the showrunners write garbage episodes? Make the characters do something stupid or sexist or say something terrible and I’m blamed for it? That alone makes me hesitate…along with not being able to see Sam.
The producer promised I’d build up a good working relationship with their writers, and they’d continue the series as if I was still there.
“Right,” I tell Vanessa. “I shouldn’t even think about a new project until I’m done with my book.”
“I agree. You already have a good thing going with Nightfall. How is that book coming, by the way? Did going back to Silver Ridge help?”
“It was very inspiring.” I’m smiling again, mind going back to Sam. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet.”
“If it helped, go back,” she says with a laugh. “I’m going to go over the contract from the network with a fine-toothed comb and have another agent sit in on it with me. There are things right away I’m changing before we can even consider moving forward. It’ll take me a week or so to get a new contract drawn up, so don’t let this stress you out,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “I know you.”
“You do.” The waiter brings us our food, and my mouth waters when I look at my spinach-and-kale-loaded omelet. What I really wanted was a big fluffy pancake with a side of greasy bacon, but this place doesn’t serve meat, and anything made with eggs is dependent on the free-range chickens that live out back. “The NDA thing is what gets me the most.”
“I figured it would. Let me talk to Michael from the agency and I’ll see what we can do.”
“Thanks.” I dig into my omelet, glancing at my phone every now and then as Vanessa and I talk and eat. Sam is at work and is going to call when he gets a break. I left for my meeting at seven-thirty, which was nine-thirty for Sam, and he was already at work. He never has a set lunch time, but we’ll talk at some point today.
I go to the barn after lunch and am happy to see Spartan doing much better. He was cleared by the vet for some light riding, but I don’t want to push our luck.
“Hey, buddy,” I tell him, smiling when I lean on the pasture gate. The grass is browning and dry, reminding me that a threat of another wildfire is all too realistic. “You’d love the grass in Michigan.” I climb over the gate, grabbing his blue lead rope to clip onto his halter. “I’d have to slowly wean you onto it, so you don’t colic or founder, though,” I go on. The big thoroughbred lifts his head, nickering softly to me. He breaks away from the small herd and lazily walks over, nostrils flaring to see if he can smell a treat in my hand—he does, and I give him the peppermint.
“Your days of being pasture eye-candy are over.” I run my hand over his smooth fur and clip the lead rope to his halter. He blows mint-scented hot breath in my face as he sniffs me and then lowers his head so he can rub it against my back. I brace myself, laughing as he almost pushes me over as he scratches his head against me.
I always wanted a horse when I was a kid, but we couldn’t afford one. I didn’t get back then just how expensive horses could be, and how fast the vet bills can rack up, as they have been with Spartan getting injured. I adopted him years ago from an off-the-track racehorse recuse based in Kentucky.
I take him to the outdoor wash rack; he’s way overdue for a bath and has the green grass stains on his haunches to prove it. It’s relaxing, standing here in the warm sunbathing my horse. The stress of the real world melts away, and I’m feeling like a new person by the time we’re done and I bring Spartan around front to graze on his lead, knowing he’ll just go roll in the dirt if I put him in the pasture.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I grin ear to ear when I see Sam FaceTiming me.
“Hey, babe,” I answer, turning so he can see Spartan in the background. “You look hot in your scrubs.”
“Want me to wear some the next time I see you?” he asks with a cheeky grin, making warmth flood my veins.
“I am overdue for a checkup.”
“Then I will perform a very thorough examination…soon? Did your meeting go well?”
“Yeah…I have to say it did, but it gave me a lot to think about.”