Subject: Congratulations! We are thrilled to offer you an advance on your next book!
The moment I got that email, I swore my days of being a broke indie author were officially over.
I bought a new house, traveled, splurged on things I definitely didn’t need… and, um—kind of forgot to actually write the book.
By the time my deadline rolled around, I had almost nothing to show for it. My endless “Just need a little more time for my muse” excuses weren’t cutting it anymore.
So, I swallowed my pride and came clean—while hatching a plan to get “inspiration” and pay back some of the advance at the same time. The plan? Get a job at the very publishing company that gave me the deal, so I could:
1) Make money to keep a roof over my head.
2) Start repaying the advance.
3) Gather firsthand material for the office romance I was two years late delivering.
It sounded like a good idea… until I actually got the job.
Until I realized the CEO of the publishing house was an arrogant, cunning wolf in a bespoke suit—
The same man I told to f*ck off two nights ago.
The same man I may have thrown a drink on (but that’s a story for another day).
Now I swear being his so-called “intern” is an exercise in hell… and from the way he’s circling me, I have no intention of being his prey.
