Page 1 of Lucky Shot
1
RUBY
They say be ready when opportunity knocks, but in my experience, opportunity is rarely that polite. In the best of scenarios, it trudges in wearing a cloak of uncertainty (that undoubtedly wears off on you) and takes up residence on your couch for months on end. Worst case, opportunity sprints by so fast you barely recognize it or the lifeline it tosses in your direction.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this moment is the latter. Because in what world does your literary agent email you on a random summer Friday with news that your dream publisher wants to meet?
Okay, for other people maybe that isn’t that rare. Me two years ago wouldn’t have even thought it was remarkable. But that was before…well, a lot of things.
I pull my hair down out of the messy top knot and finger comb the red tangles into some semblance of a tidy hairdo, then pull it back up. I don’t have enough time to make myself more presentable before the meeting alert chimes. And really, what should they expect? I’m an author. My idea of business casual is a nice shirt paired with my most comfy leggings.
My stomach is in knots as I click the link to join the call. Molly, my agent, is already present. So is Doreen, an editor for a top publishing house and my final hope of selling this book before I’m forced into retirement.
“Hi,” I say as I adjust my laptop, so I’m centered in the screen.
Both women smile at me while my pulse kicks up enough speed that my watch buzzes and asks me if I want to record a workout.
“I am so thrilled to talk to you,” Doreen says, leaning back in her cushy, leather office chair. Her gray hair is pulled back into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. She wears silver hoop earrings, and a scarf tied around her neck. She has that timeless style of a woman in her fifties that has found what she likes and sticks with it.
“You are?” I ask. My voice betrays me by wavering a little.
“Of course.” A small laugh leaves her as she rests one elbow on the arm of her chair. Her fingers absently touch one earring as she adds, “I’m a big fan of your work. You have been a big part of the resurgence of vampire romances, and no one does it quite like you. I’ve read every single one and I’m smitten with them all.”
“Even the last one?” I ask before thinking better of it.
Over the past five years, my career has rocketed. The first two books did well, but it was the third that launched my career to the next level. I hit bestseller lists in three countries, accepted foreign publishing deals, optioned movie rights, and had more ideas than I could possibly write in my lifetime. All that came to a screeching halt a year ago. My fourth book flopped, I went through a messy breakup, and then I was hit with writer’s block so hard I couldn’t come up with a single good idea. I haven’t sold anything since, but hopefully all that changes today.
Doreen lets out a hearty guffaw that somehow still comes off sophisticated and chic. “Was it my favorite? No. But your talent shines through even when the story isn’t compelling.”
I’m not sure how to take that. I know she meant it as a compliment, but I’m hung up on the whole "the story wasn’t compelling" part. She isn’t wrong.
“But none of that matters. Publishing has a short memory. And the most recent book Molly sent over shines like nothing else I’ve read from you.”
“Thanks,” I say, relief flooding me. I’m shocked, honestly. It was painful to write, and it was only a proposal and the first two chapters. If I manage to sell it, I’ll have to figure out how to get my mojo back—something I need to do regardless.
“It’s surprising and fun, and the tension between the main characters jumps off the page. What made you want to change things up? I mean, a sports romance from Ruby Madison?!”
I’m nodding along and smiling, eating up her words, until the last part clicks into place.
“Wait. Sports romance?”
“Yes.” She laughs again, smiling at first, but then she must read my confusion. She reaches for a pair of tortoise shell glasses and pulls them on, then glances at what I assume is a second monitor. “A Sporty Romanceby Ruby Madison. Thatisyou, right?”
A memory of me typing those words on the title page before sending it off to Molly flashes in my mind at the same time I inwardly cringe. Not my most original title, which is probably why that book was shelvedtwo years ago.
While Doreen waits patiently for an answer, I glance at Molly. She somehow continues to beam while I shoot lasers out of my eyes at her.
Silently, I panic scream,“You gave Doreen Walters my old manuscript!?”While she seems to say,“Just go with it, Ruby. We need this!”
The quiet stretches out for several tense moments.
“Yes, of course I wrote it,” I say as heat blooms in my face. “I’m sorry, I thought we were meeting about the vampire royalty book.”
“Molly sent over the proposal and chapters for that one too. It isn’t bad.” She pulls off her glasses and holds them in one hand, then motions toward her monitor. “But this is the one I want.”
“Why?” The question bubbles over and slips from my lips.
She lets out a laugh as she arches a brow. “IthoughtI liked it.”
