Page 38 of Pick Me

I woke up Tuesday morning half tempted to just show up at CPA for my lesson despite the fact that I still hadn’t heard from

Owen. Then I considered how sad and desperate I’d look standing outside the locked door, begging to be let in.

I curled up in bed and remained miserable.

My texts and calls to Owen did nothing. I was starting to feel like a stalker, relentless and blind to the fact that the object

of my affection wanted nothing to do with me.

But deep down, I knew that he did. I just needed to prove it to him.

Which was exactly what every stalker thought.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, ignoring my scratchy throat, which I hoped was nothing more than being overtired. I needed

to muster up some enthusiasm, because I was tagging along with Meredith later in the day to check out the space she was considering

for her studio. She’d been so busy and excited that I hadn’t gotten into the Owen details.

It was better that way. I didn’t want to think about him.

I navigated to check my email. Howard had made good on his promise to edit my registration, and he was now showing up as my partner in the tournament roster.

It was some much-needed cheer in my miserable timeline.

I’d even texted Owen about the change, hoping it would be neutral territory and happy news, but he’d ignored that message as well.

I had to connect with Owen eventually, even if it meant barging into CPA and causing a scene at the front desk. Not my ideal way

to get his attention, but desperation could push me to do crazy shit.

Like learning how to play pickleball to try to impress a guy.

I heaved a sigh and squeezed my eyes shut. I was an idiot who made idiotic choices.

A new message popped into my email from Piper, with the subject line “Are we still chatting today?”

Fuck. We’d set the meeting at the end of last week, but I’d been so busy with Wes’s visit and the resulting mess with Owen

that I’d completely forgotten about it. Plus, Piper never seemed to remember that I was on EDT not BST, so her casual pre-lunch

Zoom meeting was during pajama time in my world.

But still. Normally I wouldn’t let something like a status call with my editor slip my mind.

I was officially a mess.

I found the meeting link, shoved my hair on top of my head, pulled on a clean T-shirt, and logged on.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.” Piper fake-smiled at me when the video started.

“Sorry, I had guests over the weekend and it threw me off,” I said apologetically. “How are you?”

Her expression went tighter, but the smile somehow remained. “I’m well and eager to discuss a new direction with you.”

Yes. Finally some good news.

“Really? Okay, I’m all ears.”

She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses.

“We’re moving to a new payout model, which means that our authors will now reap the fruits of their labors when their books do well.

So instead of a second payment upon receipt of the finished manuscript, we’re moving to paying royalties based on sales.

A more traditional scenario, if you will. ”

“Huh.” I tried not to frown, because I hated the sound of no second payment. “How will that work exactly?”

“You’ll still receive a small advance when you turn in your first ten thousand words, and then you’ll be paid a percentage

of sales six months after each book launches, and then every eight months thereafter. For as long as the book is available.”

It most certainly was not good news. My gut simmered as I considered just how bad it was.

“Um... when will this be put into practice? And do you have royalty projections based on my past book sales?”

“We’re beginning with your Montana cowboy series.”

She said it so smoothly that I almost forgot about the contract I’d signed, just like for every book I wrote with them. A

contract that stipulated two payments, the second one of which was due to me very soon.

If I ever finished the damn book.

“We signed a contract, though,” I said gently, hoping that there was still room for negotiation. “I’m getting ready to turn

in the completed manuscript, and I was counting on that payment.”

“I know.” The corners of her mouth turned down like she was apologetic. “Unfortunately, you voided the contract when you didn’t

turn in the agreed-to word count for the first section. But, Brooke, trust me, this scenario is going to work out beautifully

for you!”

Tell that to my credit card payments. I tried not to grind my teeth.

“We did run numbers, to give you some peace of mind. Let me share my screen to show you.”

Her face disappeared, replaced by a graph with numbers that made my blood run cold.

“What’s the royalty percentage?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach as I studied the thing.

“Two percent across the board,” she said in a stupidly upbeat tone. “Ebooks, audio, paperbacks—”

“But you don’t always publish paperbacks,” I interrupted. “You haven’t for my last two books.”

“Oh, that could change; don’t worry,” she cooed at me.

“I am worried,” I exclaimed, since she was making it sound like it was a done deal. “That’s a tiny advance and a long time between

payments. And two percent is nothing.”

“Not if you sell a lot of books.” Piper grinned like she was delivering a punch line and not a death knell.

“ I can’t do anything to sell books,” I reminded her. “It’s not like I can jump on social media and promote them. No one knows

I’m Dakota. Once the book is out of my hands, I’m powerless to do anything to move it.”

“Right, right,” she said quickly. “Rest assured that we do everything in our power to promote. And won’t it be lovely knowing

that you’ll get a nice royalty payment as time passes? Like Christmas!”

Christmas as celebrated by Scrooge. Based on their projections, all that the new model would do is take my primary paycheck,

reduce it by a third, and then spit out a little tiny payment at best once a year.

I was fucked.

“We have new paperwork you should look over,” Piper con tinued. “And a revised contract for the book you’ll be turning in . . . when exactly?”

I sighed as I gathered the courage to say what had to come next.

“Actually, if you force me to accept the new payout structure, I won’t be turning it in.”

My response shocked both of us.

“I’m sorry?” Piper’s faux-chipper expression fell.

A scene played out in my head: Austin and Abby rushing out of the horse barn, desperate and scared, then their bodies dissolving

and slowly disappearing into vapor.

I felt terrible to see them go, but I knew what I had to do.

“These changes don’t work for me,” I said firmly. “It’s basically a demotion. Is there any chance we can keep our current

payout for this series, then discuss a different model for future books?”

I already knew the answer.

“Brooke, I’m still processing what you just said about the first book in this series. You’re refusing to submit it?”

I shook my head and leaned closer to my laptop. “Not if you’re not going to pay me as we agreed.”

“But... I explained to you that... Brooke, we have a contract .”

“You said I voided it.”

Her eyes flashed. “You cannot publish that book under your own name. Those characters belong to Liaison. Our legal team will come after—”

“Piper.” I sighed. “I’m not going to do that. That would be fraud, but apparently you’re not familiar with the concept.”

“We already have a rollout underway,” she sputtered. “We’ve announced the series. Brooke, please.”

I shrugged and hoped I didn’t look as stressed-out as I felt. “You’ve mentioned that Janet Li wants to get into this genre; I’m sure she’d be thrilled to take over.”

Piper’s expression softened. “But we love your writing.”

“Not enough to pay me,” I fired back.

My heart was thundering in my chest, because I was basically talking myself out of the only steady income I had at the moment.

I was going to wind up writing every shitty press release and instruction manual possible to make ends meet.

Although... maybe this was my sign to give up on writing completely and go back to copywriting full-time? Because it sure

as hell wasn’t working out for me.

“I have to admit that I’m shocked by your reaction.” Piper shuffled through papers just off-screen. “I think you should take

some time to consider everything before you make a rash decision.”

“Is there any way we can keep things the way they are?” I asked.

“This is a company-wide decision that we took a great deal of time considering.”

“So that’s a no.” I paused to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m stretched thin as it is. This change means that Liaison

isn’t viable for me.”

Her mouth went tight. “Then we’ll need to involve legal in this conversation.”

“That’s fine,” I said, sounding lighter than I felt. “Happy to chat about the voided contract with them.”

“Perfect,” she sniped. “We’ll be in touch.”

She disconnected before I could reply.

I stared across the room in a daze and tried not to cry as reality seeped past my anger. I had no job, no Owen, and no reason to even need a muse. Austin and Abby were officially out of my life. As much trouble as they’d given me, I already missed them.

I’d planned to spend the day in Montana, getting them closer to their happily ever after. I sniffled and wiped my nose.

I still had Verdantia. And Einar and Zandria. I hadn’t heard back from Celeste about the pages I’d sent her, but now that

I had absolutely nothing to focus on except for the dumpster fire that was my life, at the very least I could distract myself with their story.

I navigated to where I’d left off. Einar injured by an invader’s sword, Zandria tending to his wounds, trying to be strong

for him and hiding her worried tears.

Three hours later, I finally looked up and took a breath.