Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 63289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Therefore, my office was a wonderland of paper, stacked in towers and piles throughout the space.
“Alrighty. I’ll continue.” Shi turned the page of the calendar. “And on the 6th you have two book signings.”
I don’t have time for that shit. What about my zombies?
I let out a long sigh, lowered to my knees, and began looking under my desk. “What times are the book signings?”
“One is at 4:00 pm at the Story Keeper. The other is 8:00 pm at the Cozy Bookworm. However, you also have a meeting with your agent, Horace at 6:00 pm at Sunshine Cafe.” Shi cleared her throat. “All of the locations are at least an hour’s distance from each other. Do you want me to reschedule the meeting with your agent to a café closer to the Cozy Bookworm so you won’t be late for the last book signing?”
“No. Just cancel the meeting with Horace.”
“My understanding is that this will be your fourth time canceling.”
Ass in the air and halfway under my desk, I pushed around crumpled balls of paper. “I need to start writing Zombie Love. I’ve been dying to finally get into it. Cancel the agent meeting. Horace will be fine.”
To my shock, Horace’s voice boomed in the room. “Actually, I will not be fine with another cancel.”
“What?” I lifted up and hit my head against the desk’s bottom. Pain bit at the top of my head. “Shit.”
Horace continued, “And, Maya, I thought I had convinced you to not write, Zombie Love?”
I slid out from under my desk, sat on the floor, and rubbed my head.
Horace eyed me silently with that ridiculous knowing smirk on his face. He had dark brown skin and short-cut black hair. Today, he wore a designer blue suit with a pink shirt and floral tie. His husband, Ryan used to be the city’s top stylist and always made sure Horace was impeccably dressed before leaving the house.
In Horace’s right hand, he held a brown leather briefcase.
In the left, he gripped several pages and a pen. That was the hand he used to gesture in the hallway. “Why is there a ticking image of Jesus out here?”
“It’s a clock from my mother.”
“But why is it in the hallway?”
“Because it’s loud as hell and I’m having my maid put it up.” I quirked my brows. “What are you doing here?”
“Good afternoon to you too, Maya.” Horace went over to my desk, pushed a few notebooks to the side, and placed the pages he’d been holding on my desk. “You still haven’t signed three audiobook contracts. When were you planning to get that done, during the zombie apocalypse?”
“I was getting to it.” I took my time getting up from the floor. “I’m searching for The Secret Garden of Love.”
Horace raised one hand in the air. “You haven’t sent that manuscript to the publisher yet?”
“I was getting to it.”
“Getting to what?”
“The revisions.”
“Jesus!” He placed his hand on his forehead. “You haven’t even revised it yet? No wonder the advance hasn’t come in.”
“I was really getting to it.”
Shi gave me a sad smile. “Perhaps, I can rush off and print another copy of The Secret Garden of Love, and we can finish going over your schedule later today?”
“Thanks.” I let out a long breath. “Shi, can you grab me some packs of paper too. I need some.”
“Are you insane? You don’t need any more paper.” Horace gestured to the stacks of unopened copy paper in the back corner. “And I thought you hired a fulltime maid?”
“I did. I just told you that she’s getting the clock out of the hallway.”
“Okay, but when is she going to clean the office?”
I headed over to Horace and hugged him. “Stop being judgmental, and where’s my coffee?”
He hugged me back. “I’m too busy for a coffee break with you. I have to get back to the office early today.”
I let go of him. “Anyway, the maid can’t come in here.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want things to get lost. It’s a mess, but for now, I know where everything is.”
“Yet, you can’t find a thick, printed-out manuscript.”
“Well, I’m missing a few things.”
“Unbelievable.” Horace extended his hand holding the pen and gestured to the contract. “Come on, Miss Bestseller. Time to make more money.”
“Things were less hectic when I was a broke and struggling writer.” I grabbed the pen and leaned over.
“I know you’re not complaining.”
Sighing, I began putting my initials on the designated areas of the first contract.
Horace watched me. “You want to go back to those days of cheese sandwiches and a roach-filled studio apartment with a homeless man named John Boy who would sleep outside your front window and pee into the street every morning?”
“Hell no.”
“Then, stop complaining.”
“Yes, sir.” I checked for more places to initial.
Horace gestured behind him. “How’s the new assistant doing?”
“I’m glad I hired her.”