Page 21 of Smoke and Fire
“Let’s focus on deeper meanings later.” I rubbed the back of my neck with a heavy sigh. A bell announced the dryer was finished. “For now, what do you need from me for the launch ofWanderlust is a Battle?”
“What Ineedand what Iwantare two different things, so I’ll stick with what you requested. I need you to keep up on fan mail and not disappear. You don’t have to have your voice or your face attached to anything, but a few live messages wouldn’t kill you. Neither would an updated post or five on social media saying you’re excited about the launch or something. Readers can’t rally around an author that doesn’t care.”
“I care.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! I’m just . . . I’m at max capacity right now.”
“That’s fair. You have a lot going on.”
I stood up to pace. My fan mail inbox totalled in the thousands after my summer in the mountains. The email drama was the result of a low-level cliffhanger ending in the last book. This current launch would satisfy the clamor for more. Women all over the world had been messaging aboutWanderlust is a Battle, and Pri had started to get interest fromHollywood types,she called them.
Asking for more visibility really wasn’t unwise.
“Okay,” I said.
“Can that happen?”
She spoke crisply, and I didn’t doubt it was because she already knew the answer. No, I couldn’t be present to live message or respond to emails or hashtags. In less than twenty hours, I’d be back on another assignment for two weeks, and the launch was just over a week away. My only option had just backed away like the opportunity burned her.
“Someone can be present,” I said firmly. Just who thatsomeonewould be, I had no idea.
“With pictures?” she asked.
“How can we post pictures without outing me?”
“What if it was just pictures of the book and a coffee mug, or a bit of hair, or something?”
“That will only grow the interest behind who Jess really is. It’s like teasing the readers. That doesn’t seem very fair.”
She scoffed. “You are twenty-one chart-topping novels into this mess, Bastian. You are beyond teasing the readers. Give themsomething. Yes, there’s intrigue and mystery behind these vague pictures. Yes, that may only grow interest. Interest is a good thing. You’re just about to launch a #1 bestselling novel with preorders alone. That’s incredible. Let’s see it happen.”
Turmoil responded, but I thought of my latest paycheck. My publisher paid every three months, and I’d got a whopping $78,457. Enough to set aside a disconcerting amount for taxes, pay off a few monthly bills, another chunk of Dad’s mortgage, and tackle the savings account I’d set up for Inessa and her bills. It had been my biggest payout yet, but I’d need several more of those to keep my family in the clear.
Not to mention, at some point, live my own life.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay,” she drawled. “I choose to trust you and the person that you hire. Best of luck, Bastian.”
“Anything else?”
“Stay safe, please?” A note of pleading entered her tone. I softened beneath it.
“Always.”
The phone cut off, going to a dark screen. I stared at it with a welling feeling of despair. How on earth would I make this happen?
The numbers stacked in my mind, but I shoved them back. No, this would be fine. If I kept churning out books and the novels topped the charts, then I’d have a great head start on unknown financial situations.
Given time, there would be enough money in both savings accounts that I wouldn’t have to worry for at least a few years. Wildland firefighters made $15 an hour, and only had work for a few months. Given the amount of overtime we worked, I could store away the extra like a squirrel and live happily through the winter by myself. With Inessa and my father on the line?
Not happening.
I stood, stretching my fingertips and forearms as I headed into the back for laundry, round six. A few more and the clothes would be washed and ready to go. No amount of soap removed the grime or the scent of smoke, but at least I wouldn’t be oily and stinky.
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to Dahlia.Right now, I could go for a coffee, mixed with the scent of caramel and the hiss of a machine. Coffee shops were soothing. They were a reminder of life and noise and people, but without required interaction. Being around falling, burning trees, quiet forest, and filthy hotshots had a way of creating a bubble.
