Page 15 of The Jack*ss in Class

“Sure.” Parker was typing rapidly. “You study. I’ll just be over here making our donkey into a famous influencer. Maybe starting a merchandise line. Building his brand.”

Parker mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like her eternal diatribe about me not letting her build my author brand.

I just couldn’t afford to let the world find out. The therapy bills alone...

“He’s not our—” I stopped. The donkey had settled next to my bed, his crooked wings rustling as he dozed off snuffling his way into adorable little baby donkey snores.

Parker’s phone dinged again. “Ooh, the gamer guy wants to know if Mystery Donkey takes modeling requests. Says his team captain has some ideas for?—”

Gamers had team captains? Maybe DSU had an e-sports team. Huh.

“No.” I pulled out my Shakespeare notes, trying to think of anything I could possibly tutor Flynn and hissurprising comprehension of Renaissance literature on. I wasn’t telling the school, or my mother, I couldn’t tutor the captain of the football team. “No modeling. No sponsorships. No team captains.”

“Fine.” She turned back to her laptop. “You’re going to have to name him eventually. The internet wants to know.”

The donkey’s ears twitched in his sleep. I leaned in to snuggle his cute face and whispered, “And your name shall be...”

Nothing. I had nothing. This was worse than writer’s block. Because I couldn't use any of the hilarious suggestions Flynn had just tossed out, my brain matter was on creative overload.

My phone buzzed.

Wait. Oh, shizznit.

Not my regular one that I carried around with me. No, this was the super-secret sneaky phone. Parker and I looked at each other, looked at the phone as it buzzed again, and dove for it.

“Batphone alert,” she squealed and snatched it from my grasp. I blamed that on the fact that I had a cute donkey resting against my lap and clearly couldn’t move for fear of waking him.

“Holy donkey balls, Temp...” She stared down at the phone and licked her lips like her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

My agent only used the phone for big, important stuff. Usually we just emailed.

Parker slowly handed me the phone like it was made of fairy dust and cookie crumbs.

Gloria Horne: FlixNChill just threw an offer on the table. And they want all the books. Including the one you haven’t finished yet. Call me.

And now I was the one licking my lips searching for the moisture Gloria’s message had just evaporated. I just stared at my phone, my tutoring plans forgotten.

Me: In class. Can’t call. Give me deets?

Gloria Horne: They’re thinking eight episodes per book. But the way you’ve structured the series, they need to introduce each of the players in the club. Which means we need book 5 finished... yesterday.

I was on chapter three. Okay, chapter one. But I had ideas for chapters two and three. And there were supposed to be six books in the series.

Gloria Horne: Also, their marketing team wants you to do author interviews when they announce.

My stomach dropped. No, that didn’t even come close to the feeling. It dropped all the way out of my body, bounced on the floor a couple times, and rolled under the bed to hide with the dust bunnies.

Me: We discussed this. No public appearances.

Gloria Horne: Darling, you can’t stay anonymous forever. Your books are too big now. The readers want to know who wrote their favorite love stories.

Sometimes I missed the simplicity of self-publishing, back when I could control every aspect of my career. Back before my little stories about love and sexy times had somehow turned into an international best-selling series.

Back when no one cared who I was, what I did, or what I looked like.

Me: My mother is a surgeon who thinks romance novels are “trashy garbage” and my father’s a Shakespearean scholar who just laughed at a romance adaptation of his beloved plays.

Gloria Horne: And when you’re making multi-seven figures from the FlixNChill deal, merchandising, and even more backlist royalties because of the ridiculous amounts of publicity you’re about to get, you can buy them... I don’t know, a private hospital wing and a first edition folio to make it up to them.

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