Page 69 of Novel Problems

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HANNAH

A welcome breeze of fresh air hit me as I walked out of the Bergen Street subway station and headed down a residential street full of gorgeous brownstones and leafy green oak trees toward Court Street. I took a deep breath. Not only did it feel good to get out of the subway, which was never pleasant during summer, but it was also nice to get out of Manhattan. Brooklyn was only a bridge away, but it felt like a completely different world.

Now that I’d had time to process Michael’s revelation, my mood had lightened significantly. While I was still kicking myself about signing the wrong name in the pre-order book, it was a huge relief to get to the bottom of it and get the confirmation that there had been no sinister motivations behind the whole thing. And while the publicity meeting with Rosie and Lucy had not started as planned, I was happy that by the end we had a plan to help minimize interest in me.

I turned onto Court Street and was soon standingoutside Cobble Hill Books. A pang of homesickness for Novel Gossip hit me as I peered through the large windows into the bookstore. Thank god the local community had rallied to save it. It wasalmostas cute and cozy as Novel Gossip. And damn, would I give anything for George to be there, behind the counter, her face lighting up like it usually did when I walked in to start my shift.

My lunch with Emma had gone longer than expected. Not only was there a lot to debrief on, given the events of the past few days, but we hadn’t caught up properly for months. I’d tried giving George a call after we’d finished, but she hadn’t responded, probably busy either working or entertaining her mom.

I shot off a text to George, letting her know I was about to go to Chris’s talk and wouldn’t be available for the next couple of hours, and then pushed open the door to the bookstore. The chairs that were lined up in rows were almost full, so I pulled off my hat and sunglasses, walked in, and took a seat at the back, giving Chris, who was seated at the front, a small wave on my way. They waved back, smiling, and a few audience members’ heads turned to look at me.

As I took a seat, it struck me that, for someone wanting to avoid the spotlight, going to a fellow fantasy author’s event while there was significant media attention on me was probably a terrible idea. This adorable bookstore was full of devoted fantasy readers, many of whom had probably read my books and seen the recent articles or social media posts. My heart sank, and I looked down to avoid any eye contact.

I got through the interview and audience Q&A without anyone recognizing me, but as I stood up to hide amongst the bookshelves until Chris had finished signing, a young man approached me, his face flushed.

“Excuse me. Um…sorry to bother you, but are you H. M. Stuart?”

I tensed and considered denying it, but lying didn’t sit right with me.

“Yes,” I said, trying for a smile. A group of people nearby must have overheard, as they turned to look and then edged closer to me.

I spent the next twenty minutes making small talk with a number of the attendees. While they were all lovely and only had positive things to say about my books, the experience just affirmed my decision to push back on my publicity team earlier today. My small-talk skills had improved, probably as a result of working at Novel Gossip, but I still hated being the center of attention and found the whole experience excruciatingly awkward. I liked talking to people when we were on an even playing field. When they saw me first and foremost as a successful fantasy author, that made things difficult. While I worried that perhaps I was being selfish, I reminded myself that I preferred to give back to my fans in ways that did not make me uncomfortable, like signing 841 pre-order books, writing free bonus scenes, and responding to emails I received from readers. I was also worried that I was stealing the limelight from Chris, but each time I looked over at them, they were busy signing books for the long line of people who were waiting. At least it looked like I didn’t need to worry about that.

As soon as I could, I excused myself to go to the restroom and sat on the toilet seat, scrolling through my Instagram feed—which consisted of photos of a few friends, a lot of cute dogs, and my favorite female comedians—until I felt more relaxed.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself to go back into the bookstore.

“There you are! Are you ready for that drink?” Chris asked as soon as I exited the restroom. “Please say yes.” Desperation tinged their voice.

I chuckled. “Sure am. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

Chris nodded, and we walked down Court Street to Congress, a small bar known for its cocktails. We ordered drinks from the friendly bartender and then grabbed a seat at a table in the corner.

Chris took a long swig of their old fashioned and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “These events really take it out of me. I can’t wait for them all to be over so I can squirrel back into my cave and get back to what I actually enjoy—writing.”

I looked at Chris, surprised. “To be honest, I don’t know how you do events. I’d find them incredibly stressful. But you’re so good at public speaking. Your answers are always very clear, you weave in funny anecdotes, and you come across as so genuine and warm. Both times I’ve seen you, you’ve had the audience enthralled.” I sipped my gimlet, the refreshing lime and gin combination going down very easily.

Chris grimaced. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I find them nerve-wracking. I spent weeks doing practice interviews, rehearsing those anecdotes, and I still feel like I’m about to vomit before they start. I wish I could be as brave as you and just refuse to do them altogether.”

I looked at them, startled. “Um, I don’t think avoiding public speaking is exactly brave. If anything, it’s the opposite.”

“I don’t see it that way. In this industry, there’s so much pressure on authors to sell their books—to constantly be on social media, have a website, do interviews and events. Publishers expect it, and most authors I know feel like theyhave to do it, even though they’d often prefer to be writing their next book. The fact that you were able to draw some firm boundaries and push back on those expectations seems pretty brave to me.”

Huh.I’d never thought about it in that way before. It had always felt like a personal failing that I wasn’t willing to put myself out there publicly. But when I looked back to those initial discussions I’d had, first with Emma and then with Tania and other representatives from my publisher when they offered me a book deal, there had been a lot of pressure from all concerned for me to do all the things Chris had just described. But I’d held steadfast to my position that it was my job to write the books and my publisher’s job to sell them.

I frowned. “You know, I’m not sure I could have convinced them on my own. I think having Tania on my side made a huge difference. She had, and still has, a lot of influence at the publishing house and really fought for me.” Tania and I hadn’t been together when I signed the contract—we’d started dating shortly after—but she’d seen how important privacy was to me. Tania was by no means perfect, but she’d had some good qualities as well.

“Maybe I should see if I can switch editors,” Chris said, a joking glint in their eye.

“Well, she might have an opening since she’s lost one of her authors recently,” I said, smiling. “And she is an excellent editor.”

On the subwayride home I checked my phone. Two text messages. One from George, letting me know she was free tonight if I still wanted to talk. I smiled. I couldn’t waitto get back to the hotel and call her. And one from Tania. My heart rate picked up as I clicked on it.

Hi, I heard you’re in New York. We need to talk about dividing our assets, and I’d prefer if we could come to an amicable agreement rather than getting our lawyers involved. Are you free tomorrow to meet up and discuss? T

I shut my eyes. Despite feeling like I’d well and truly moved on from Tania, I did not want to talk to her about dividing up our assets. There were some things, like the painting of our dog, Henry, who had passed away a few years ago, that I knew we’d both want, and the idea of having to hash those issues out made my stomach turn. Maybe once the media attention had calmed down and I was back in Sapphire Springs, I’d feel more prepared for that conversation.

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