Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I sign in with reception and head toward the stairs to the third floor. I go to tuck the champagne under my arm and change my mind. This trip should be made by lift or I’m going to end up wearing most of this champagne.
By the time Mrs. Fletcher meets me at the entrance to Fletcher and Associates, it’s three forty-five on the dot.
“Just in time,” she says. Holding out her arm, she guides me through the door with a sweeping gesture. “Your auction ends at four sharp. We’ll see where we’re at.”
“I never did ask what a round-robin auction is.”
“Well, round robin is how it started off. Now we’re down to best and final because it was all taking too long.” Her office overlooks Piccadilly Circus and it’s almost silent, compared to the chaos down below. “Take a seat. Let’s leave the champagne until the top of the hour. I might have sneaked something into the fridge myself too.”
“When you say things were taking too long, do you mean people were slow with their offers?” I ask, taking a seat in the camel-colored chair that’s exactly the same color as Mrs. Fletcher’s rollneck jumper and skirt. I glance down. Even the carpet is camel-colored.
“WHI Books have this long and laborious process for making offers and it was tiresome. I think it takes two board meetings to get anything approved. This way, they can really think about what the manuscript is worth to them and put their best foot forward. It was the best way in the end.”
“So WHI is one bidder. What about the others?”
“The thriller and mystery imprint at Collins and Simons. And RedPrint.”
“And whoever bids the most will win,” I say flatly.
“That’s up to you,” Mrs. Fletcher says. “You’ll have the top bids from three of the four biggest publishers in the world. You can accept any one of them, or you can accept none of them. Next stage, I would suggest, is to meet with their teams. See if the editor is someone who shares your vision for the book. You can talk to their marketing people. Then you either pick the offer you feel most comfortable with, or you say no to everyone.”
“And then what?”
She laughs. “You burn it and have a story to tell at dinner parties for the rest of time. Or you self-publish it.” She shrugs. “It’s completely up to you. I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me to accept any particular offer. You’ll know in your gut what feels right.”
People keep telling me to listen to my gut, but I’ve always been driven by science and data. I look at evidence and facts. That’s what scientists are trained to do. “I’m not sure what my gut will say.”
“You’ll hear it, mark my words.”
Before I can disagree, the glass door of Mrs. Fletcher’s office opens and a woman enters, pushing a trolley topped by two glasses and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.
“Thank you, Bridget,” Mrs. Fletcher says and glances at the clock on the camel-colored wall. “We have offers from RedPrint and Collins and Simon, but we’re still waiting on WHI.” She glances at her computer screen and rolls her eyes. “Nope. They’re leaving it until the last minute.”
Bridget is standing behind me against the wall, her hands behind her back, like a soldier awaiting orders.
Mrs. Fletcher’s mobile rings on her desk and she rolls her eyes again. “How they get anything done, I have no idea.”
“Fletcher,” she answers. “Yes. No, I don’t have it. Yes, I’ve refreshed.” She clicks her mouse a couple of times. “Hard copy would have been fine too. Yes.” She keeps clicking on her mouse, her face a picture of utter disdain for whoever is on the other end of the line. “Here it is,” she says. “Yes, I can open it. Very good. I’ll be in touch.”
She doesn’t wait for a goodbye before pulling the phone from her ear and ending the call. “WHI were just under the wire. Of course if they were late, we still would have let them participate, but it doesn’t hurt to make them sweat.”
This woman is a complete and utter baller.
She leans back in her chair and grins as excitement rises in my veins. “So, Dr. Cove. You have three mid-six-figure offers for the first two Butler Mystery novels. Any one of them is going to make you the next big thing in genre publishing.”
Thirty-Three
Zach
Apparently, friends don’t spend Christmas with each other’s families. That’s according to Ellie. I suggested we spend the holiday in London together, but apparently friends don’t do that either. She’s pulling away from me, and there’s nothing I can do. And I miss her already.
Instead, I’m in Norfolk with two of my four brothers, contemplating whether it’s acceptable to put brandy in my coffee this early in the morning on Christmas Eve, while Vincent, who’s inexplicably visiting again, is typing away at his laptop.