Page 16 of Under the Mistletoe
“Later, boy.” He ruffled the dog’s ears, then closed himself in the guest room he’d claimed yesterday. The meeting shouldn’t take long.
Hopefully, Zoom wouldn’t choose today of all days to need an update. He flipped open his laptop and angled the camera so it showed the lavender wall behind him and not the unmade bed.
In truth, he wasn’t surprised by this meeting. It hadn’t been his best book. He’d felt that when he was writing it. But that was what editing was for, right?
He took a seat at the desk and clicked the link. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as it connected. Now he was waiting to be let in by the host.
After a moment, his screen came to life with the meeting. Only it wasn’t only him and his editor. The marketing director as well as his agent were also staring back at him. This was not good. Maybe the manuscript needed more than a little editing.
“Good afternoon, Logan.” His agent, Mark Rattner finally smiled. The guy’s black hair always appeared as though he’d been running his fingers through it. “Glad you could join us.”
The way he said it, these three had already been meeting for a while. Really not good. “Of course.”
“Let’s start with the positive. I’ve been approached by a large studio in Hollywood for the movie rights.” Mark flipped through the pages in front of him.
“That’s awesome!” Movie rights? Who would have guessed back when he’d first sat down to writeThe Keeperthat it would become all this? Optimism rose in him. Maybe this meeting would go better than he anticipated. “I do want to have input on the screenplay. I don’t want it to become one of those situations where the movie is trash and doesn’t follow the book.”
“That can all be discussed. But what we need to focus on right now is that without a strong ending, the series and the movie franchise will flop.” Mark leaned toward the camera. “We need book four to be as strong as books one through three.”
The long pause said it all.
It wasn’t.
Logan rubbed his hand over his hair as his little bit of optimism crashed and burned. “What needs done? I can handle edits.”
His editor, Sandy Pruitt, sat up a little straighter. Sandy had to be in her mid-forties and had long, blonde curly hair with pink streaks along the sides. She eyed him over her tortoiseshell glasses. “I don’t hate it, not completely.”
But she hated itpartially?
“It’s just missing something.” Sandy tapped her lip. “It’s almost as if you’ve lost your spark. I don’t feel the magic of the first three books.”
Well, that was specific. Logan resisted rolling his eyes. “I can rewrite it. When do you need it back?”
He picked up his pen and made a note on a pad of paper. He’d have to bury himself away in his cabin, but he might be able to get it to them by the beginning of the year.
“The thing is”—Sandy jumped in again—“we don’t think you can get it done in time to keep the current publishing date. We’re not talking a few revisions. We feel as if you need to take the book a whole new direction.”
“New direction?” He dropped the pen.
He’d been working on that story for nine months, night and day. He didn’t have anew direction.
“It doesn’t seem to match the rest of the series.” Mark flipped through the pages in front of him. “Honestly, I was bored before I got halfway through. Bastian comes across as bitter and harsh.”
“No, he’s finally standing strong with what he wants.” At least, that was what Logan intended.
“He’s not likable.” Sandy tossed the manuscript on the table. “And you’ve pretty much erased Ellia from the storyline. Actually, I was trying to be gentle, but I need to be honest. I do hate it. All of it. Every page.”
That was honest, all right.
“Don’t be discouraged.” Sandy stared at him through the camera again. “You’ve written three strong, powerful books, and we want to help you land the plane well with the fourth book.”
Land the plane well? As in his first attempt crashed and burned? “What if I like it this way?”
But did he? He’d known in his gut it needed changes, but writing it had nearly wrung every last bit of his creativity out. He doubted he had another book in there. He wouldn’t have turned it in if he didn’t think it had at least some merit.
Sandy pulled off her glasses and tapped them against her lip. “We love Victor Holt. But this”—she jabbed her finger at the manuscript—“is not a Victor Holt novel. We won’t publish this.”
“Listen.” Mark steepled his fingers in front of his face. “I know this story was giving you trouble from the beginning. We get that.”
