Page 29 of Toni and Addie Go Viral
Toni
Of course willpower only went so far. Toni made it a week without emailing Addie, but in the past year, they hadn’t once gone more than a week without any conversation.
Not since the first email. By rights, it was Addie’s turn if the note with flowers counted as a message.
They’d taken turns. On the other hand, the last email was Addie telling her about the audition.
So when Addie hadn’t written at all, Toni finally gave in to the urge to connect and sent her a quick note.
From: History Toni
To: Addie
I’m home safely. Book 2 is going surprisingly well. How is the show?
Toni
From: Addie
To: History Toni
Thank you for your email. I’m on set with limited access to email. If your matter is urgent, please reach out to my manager. Otherwise, I’ll respond to you as soon as I’m able.
Thanks.
Adelaine Stewart
From: History Toni
To: Addie
Out of office? It’s a bit early to be shooting, isn’t it? Do I need to talk to someone about keeping you too busy?
Toni
From: Addie
To: History Toni
Thank you for your email. I’m on set with limited access to email. If your matter is urgent, please reach out to my manager. Otherwise, I’ll respond to you as soon as I’m able.
Thanks.
Adelaine Stewart
From: History Toni
To: Addie
I hope it’s going well.
Toni
Out-of-office emails were not the response she expected, but Toni decided that she’d respect whatever logic Addie had in not replying.
She considered texting, but she’d been the first to email after their night-that-was-not-a-date, and since she was the one who insisted that they weren’t going to date, texting too seemed like the wrong move.
Friends text, though, right?
Toni considered it. Often. Her silence is for the best. Getting attached to Addie would only complicate whatever friendship they had. If Emily sent an out-of-office, Toni wouldn’t text her unless it was urgent, and missing someone wasn’t an actual emergency.
If not for knowing that she’d see her at Cape Dove, Toni would likely be more anxious.
The next two months also passed without a single word from Addie, and Toni was both relieved that Addie wasn’t being clingy and maybe more than a little let down that Addie hadn’t even texted.
Toni missed their email exchanges, but she wasn’t going to be a hypocrite and demand replies.
It was odd, though. Addie had always replied promptly. Toni, admittedly, had not.
But there was neither a text nor an email from Addie.
Not when Emily sent the flowers the day Toni left LA.
Not when Toni sent flowers again on the day the cast was announced.
The announcement of the cast was exciting, and the increased buzz about the book meant that The Whitechapel Widow returned to the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.
No texts or emails then, either.
Translation-rights sales kept pouring in, and Toni was starting to admit that maybe she really was an author—especially now that the sequel was zipping along.
Because of Addie’s influence.
Toni glanced down at the glossy ad for the show.
Like the rest of the promo Toni had seen, Addie was front and center in this one.
Her secretive smile vied with her loose fall of hair.
The Victorianist in Toni grumbled that her loose hair was historically inaccurate for a well-respected lady.
The part of Toni who might miss Addie lately simply thought she was a vision of loveliness.
Today was not the time for that thought, though. Emily had called to ease the anxiety that was currently washing over Toni.
“I don’t understand, Em.” Toni clutched the damnable letter in her hand. “I genuinely would like to visit Cape Dove Manor, but as me… not as an author. Why can’t I skip this? Maybe I could just go up for the day.”
“First, you are the author,” Emily said. It was like a refrain with her.
“Sure but—”
“You are the author of the bestselling book that just got selected as a book-club pick by a famous actor.” Emily sounded patient.
“The bestselling book with the upcoming show. They want you there because of all of that. You dodged the proposed book launch event there, and I’ve told you repeatedly that this event was required. ”
Honestly, Emily’s soothing tone made Toni relax enough to exhale a little, but she still objected. “I’m not good at peopling, especially on my own.”
“Many authors aren’t.” Emily sighed in that way that made Toni feel a flash of guilt. Then she added, “You’re charismatic, Toni. I’ve seen you lecture and, before that, watched you hook up at almost every bar like it’s an art.”
“Right… That’s different.” Toni stared at the foil type on the ornate invitation as she paced her living room.
The room was now the sort of space built around the idea of relaxation, stress-reduction, and comfort.
Aside from the Jeep, Toni had been exceedingly frugal.
She had bought a few new clothes for her increasingly frequent events, and she’d had a decorator do some magic on her home.
It was also her writing office and her cave to hide away from her job.
Most of the cash she’d received went to paying off debt, paying for her mom’s care, and into a few accounts—one for parsing out now and one retirement account to pay for her own possible memory care one day.
Publishing paid on a very weird schedule.
The Whitechapel Widow, the North American sale, was divided into signing, delivery, hardcover print, paperback reprint.
The sequel was all of that, plus a portion on synopsis.
So she’d received two hundred thousand dollars for signing the contract—one hundred thousand per book—as well as delivery and print for Book One.
Four hundred thousand dollars so far, not counting foreign or film rights.
And maybe that will be the end. There was no way to know. Some authors flopped after the first book. I could be one of them.
The money had paid off her mother’s debts and the year’s memory care for Lilian, with money left over for some clothes for Toni’s events and the Jeep.
She felt guilty spending it, but… Emily had reminded her that there was more to come even without film and foreign rights.
She still had checks for paperback and on acceptance of the second book.
And if that’s the end, it’s enough. I only wanted enough to pay off Lil’s debt.
Toni felt guilty for even considering wanting more, as if the ghost of her father was rising up to whisper to her that she ought to try to make one more good bet.
I’m not him.
I could cash out now. Deliver the second book and then go back to my actual plan for life.
Toni paced, even though the serene color palette of her home was specifically chosen to be calming, but Toni had yet to manage talking while angry without moving—or maybe her tendency to move during calls was a result of too many lectures. A moving professor was an engaging professor.
“Sweetie, this is a big deal,” Emily said, voice slipping to her manage-the-author tone. “It’ll be great for photos. They want to shoot some of you and the star of your upcoming show. ”
“I hate photos,” Toni grumbled. “Addie can do them without me. She’s gorgeous. Have you seen the ad in—”
“Toni, the sales numbers are great, and the publisher wants to discuss the next books in the series.” Emily sounded like she had on those rare nights when Toni was a little too tipsy to be left alone at a bar.
“For real?” Toni felt like the air was sucked out of her. “But the second one isn’t even finished. I can’t—”
“Preorders for Book Two are great,” Emily said mildly.
“They’re selling it before it’s written…?” Toni flopped onto her sofa, disturbing Oscar Wilde. “Can they do that?”
“There’s a show greenlit, a bestselling book, and the sequel is in process,” Emily explained patiently. “Greta is very optimistic. She—and I—have complete faith in you, Toni.”
Oscar Wilde stretched out and jabbed his claws into her leg and then slunk off. Toni stared at her cat, wishing she could be as blunt in her discontent as he was.
“Toni… you have no choice on this. I shouldn’t have let you weasel out of doing a launch event, but now?
With the sales? The preorders? The show?
You will go for the weekend, and you will stand beside that gorgeous woman and have photos taken to promote your damn books.
” Em’s tone of voice came through the phone with enough clarity that Toni could picture her taking off her glasses.
Maybe on another day it would elicit guilt.
Not today. Today was the anniversary of Anthony Darbyshire’s death.
The man who was solidly in the last place for Father of the Year perpetually.
“I hate publicity things,” Toni said. “You know that.”
And I don’t know how to feel about seeing Addie since she’s stopped replying to me, Toni thought.
Emily sighed in that way that made it seem like Toni was the difficult one. Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job at all.
Finally, Emily said, “There is a promotion clause in the contract, Toni. You know that. They are exercising their right to have you promote the book at this event. You avoided having a launch event at Cape Dove, so now it’s time to pay the proverbial piper.”
“I don’t have a Victorian suit.” Toni heard the concession in her voice as clearly as Emily undoubtedly did.
“You do, in fact. I ordered some things for you when I sent you the invitation.”
“Some things ? Not a dress? Seriously, Em, there are lines and—”
“Exhale, sweetie,” Emily interrupted. “Right now, you might think I’m a monster for not figuring out how to get you out of upholding one of your contractual obligations, but I’m not about to try to force you into a corset or bustle.” Emily chuckled. “Give me a little credit.”
Toni closed her eyes. “What did you order?”