Grayson: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 3

by Christopher Harlan

  I high five her. It’s music to my ears. And she’s right—if there are any three people less deserving of sympathy it’s those goons. I’m just happy that things are over with them now. Really over. “Hell yeah. But like I said, I’m just happy that you didn’t get hurt. That would have been the worst thing ever.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Of course! I’d take ten of those beatings that they gave me to spare you even a second of what happened.”

  She kisses me. I start to feel turned on but then it just kind of hurts, and not in a good way. “How much can you move?” She asks.

  “I never thought that I would say these words, but I don’t think I can have sex right now.”

  “Who said anything about sex, Captain Arrogant. You think I want your dick all the time?”

  “Well. . .”

  She fake slaps me and laughs. “Contrary to popular believe, I have other interests besides getting banged by the infamous Grayson Smith.”

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant Blackman.”

  “Ha ha. You never did as Colton his real last name, did you?”

  “I forgot. With all the guy-holding-a-knife-to-my-throat happenings I totally forgot that he had a funny last name. I’m such a ditz!”

  “I see your sarcasm game is strong right now.”

  “Always. But it wasn’t sex I had in mind when I asked you how you felt.”

  “Then what?”

  “I was hoping we could maybe make that pasta we never got to make. Bottle of wine. Netflix and chill. A good night’s sleep.”

  “I can definitely move for that. That sounds amazing.”

  “It’s a plan, then.”

  “I can’t believe that I almost lost you, Rowan. Twice.”

  “I’m here, Grayson. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Music to my ears. Her words are music to my ears.

  Chapter 27

  Grayson

  Waking up to a screaming woman is never a fun thing.

  Apparently Rowan has a howl that can wake the dead. I jolt straight up in my bed, disoriented as a person can be, my eyes wide open as I look around the room. My heart starts to race, and as soon as I realize that the scream is coming from Rowan my body leaps up from bed, ready to fight. She’s not in the room, so I start to think the worst. I think there might be a break in, and that she’s being attacked in the other room. I don’t even bother to get dressed, I just run, instinctually, into the other room as fast as my feet will carry me.

  My body is in complete fight-or-flight mode, and I’m ready for whatever’s on the other side of my bedroom. “Rowan!” I yell, running into the next room. Before I’m in there she yells back.

  “I’m in the living room. Grayson, get in here!”

  I’m still thinking the worst when I turn the corner, but when I get into the room Rowan is sitting by herself, a cell phone held against her ear. I look around the room frantically, half expecting to see a home invader that I’m going to fight until the cops get there, but there isn’t anyone but Rowan in the room. “What the hell is going on?” I ask. Not only is she okay, but she’s smiling, ear to ear. In fact, she looks happier than I’ve seen her in days. I shrug my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, can you hold on one second? Thanks.” She’s not talking to me, she’s speaking to whoever it is on the other end of the phone—the person who made her scream like she was being killed. The cell phone she’s holding is mine, and I’m totally confused at what the hell is going on. She takes my phone off of her ear and puts it on mute. “Grayson, you want to take this call.”

  “What the hell is going on? You scared the shit out of me. I almost came out swinging.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I was really excited. I didn’t meant to wake you, but I’m glad I did. You need to take this.”

  “You’re not making any sense, who. . .”

  “Gray, just take the phone. I saw it ring and I picked it up. You’re going to want to take this right now.”

  I go to ask another question because I still don’t know what’s happening, but the look on her face cuts me right off, and I take my phone back. “Hello?” I ask, curious as to what I’m going to hear on the other line.

  “Grayson Blackman?” The voice asks.

  “Yes. That’s me. Who is this?”

  “Mr. Blackman my name is Jeremiah Leman. You probably don’t recognize my voice because we only met once.”

  Met once? What the hell is he talking about? I’ve never met this person in my life. I start to think it’s a prank call—maybe Colt or Mike fucking with me by throwing their voice, but the person on the other end doubles down. “I agree it was an odd meeting. I know you probably weren’t expecting to hear from me again.”

  Once I start to think it’s not a prank call I start to wonder just who the hell this guy on the other line is. He sounds vaguely familiar, and very friendly. I don’t want to be rude because he clearly knows who I am, but I can’t keep talking to him without asking. “I’m really sorry, but this is?”

  “Oh, sorry. That’s rude of me. My name is Charles Raymore. We met when you almost knocked me over in Donovan’s Books when you were down in Arizona.”

  Holy crap! I remember that guy. It was when Rowan and I were leaving. I bumped into him right in front of the display of books before saying goodbye to Mr. Donovan. I wonder what he wants. “Oh, right. I didn’t think that. . .”

  “You’d be hearing from me? No, Grayson, I didn’t imagine you would. This may seem out of the blue but I’m staying at a hotel in Manhattan for something I’m doing for work. Would you have an hour to meet with me tomorrow for lunch? I have a few things I wanted to discus with you, and I’d much rather do it in person than over the phone.”

  “Umm. . .of course, yeah. That’d be fine.”

  “Great. I was thinking one o’clock if that works for you. I can text you the address. It’s a little café right by the hotel I’m staying at.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow at one. Thanks Charles.”

  I hang up and look at Rowan. I’m not sure which one of us is making more of a confused face. “Why were you screaming?” I ask her. “I nearly came in here shooting.”

  “Sorry. He told me who he was and I got really excited for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t he tell you who he works for?”

  “No, actually, I didn’t ask.” Now that I think about it it is kind of strange that I agreed to meet him so easily without even asking what he does for a living. “Who?”

  “Harlequin. The publishing company.”

  I can’t believe my ears at first. My heart skips a beat when she says it, and right at once I understand exactly why she was screaming. But I don’t want to get too excited, that doesn’t really mean anything. “That’s cool,” I say, pretending to be calm about the situation. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Not sure it’s a screaming situation just yet. He just wants to talk.”

  “Yeah, and what do you think he wants to talk about?”

  “I have no idea.” I really don’t, and I’m way too superstitious to thing the best. It’s just a lunch. Lunch with a strange guy I bumped into a few months ago in a bookstore in Arizona. Totally normal stuff.”

  “Well I’m going to be optimistic, even if you’re not.”

  “That pretty much sums up our relationship, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, yeah. I’ll put out good vibes into the universal and we’ll see what happens at your lunch tomorrow.”

  “Ok,” I tell her. “I’ll try to be positive also, I promise.”

  “Good. Cause that’s not the only reason I was screaming.”

  “Then why?”

  “Have you checked Amazon?”

  Shit. I actually haven’t looked. We had such an amazing night that I didn’t even think of it. “No, now that you mention it. Why? It Graceful Cocky Knockout doing okay? Top 100?”

  “Higher.” She says.
r />   “Top 75?”

  “Even higher.”

  “Let me see.” I grab my computer and check the books Amazon page. When Rowan sees that I see, I hear another little scream. “Holy shit.”

  “I know!”

  I see the banner before I see the number. That little orange tag is so small, yet it’s something we work out entire careers for in some cases. It read “#1 Bestseller in Anthologies” next to the title of the book. Our names are just under that, and I smile, ear to ear. The satisfaction rushes over me as much as the disappointment did last time. Cordelia is always telling me in therapy not to base my emotions on external factors, but I can’t help but let this feeling of joy inside me. “I’ve gotta call the guys!”

  I call Mike up first and he already knows. He’s still really excited. Colton is out with Harley when I call, and I hear him scream and curse like a savage in the middle of wherever the hell he is. Knowing him it’s a crowded restaurant where all the other patrons are now staring at him, wondering why he’s screaming ‘oh fuck yes’ into his cell phone while his girlfriend shushes him. But who cares. We made it to a bestseller list!

  “I’m so proud of you. This is fucking amazing! You should be jumping up and down like I am.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever jumped up and down in my life. But on the inside? My head’s hitting the ceiling.”

  “That’s good to know. Now where are you taking me out to celebrate?”

  “Anywhere you want.”

  “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

  <><><>

  I don’t know why I’m nervous about this lunch. I don’t even know the guy past bumping into him—literally—back in Arizona, and getting a completely random call from him yesterday. And I can add an impromptu lunch to that list. He seemed like a really nice guy both times we spoke, and knowing what he does for a living has my interest really sparked. After my Uber driver fights the Manhattan traffic I end up at the place he texted me the address of. He’s already waiting for me when I get inside. He smiles and waves like he’s excited to see me.

  “Charles?”

  “Grayson, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Really good, actually. I got some news about one of my books yesterday and I’m really excited.”

  “The one you co-authored with your friends, right? I saw.”

  Woah. I’m a little shocked when he says that. How the hell does he know about the book? Was he following up? “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “It’s my job to know these things. Congrats, by the way. Amazon tags are a nice first step.”

  First step? Did he just say first step? “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Amazon bestseller tags are a great thing, don’t get me wrong. But if that’s the top of your career, then you haven’t had the kind of career that you can.”

  “Huh.”

  “Look, Grayson, I’m in no way trying to diminish your accomplishment, it’s a great thing, and you should all be really proud. All I’m saying is that if you don’t use that early success to build to an even greater success, you’re missing opportunities. Think of it like this—if you were a athlete with Olympic level potential, would you be satisfied only winning a national title?”

  “No, absolutely not.”

  “Exactly. And that’s not to say a national title isn’t more than most people achieve in a lifetime, it’s just to ask why you’d limit yourself. There are always greater things to accomplish.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Like USA Today. Like the Wall Street Journal. Like the New York Times. Like more things than you can even imagine.”

  “I’m sorry, Charles. I don’t mean this to come across the wrong way, but who are you, and how’d you even get my number. We’re sitting here talking best seller lists, and my book, and I don’t really have a lot of context to the whole situation. Can you fill in some gaps for me?”

  “He said you were smart. He was right.”

  “Who’s ‘he’?”

  “Good old Mr. Donovan.”

  “Mr. Donovan?”

  “Yeah. He spoke about you like you were his son. He was so effusive that it forced me to listen. You’ve got talk to that kid! Do you know who that was? That was Grayson Blackman, he said. He used to spend summers in this bookstore helping me stock books. We’d talk about his favorite stories all afternoon, and now he’s publishing books of his own. He went on for quite some time. That’s why I’m here, Grayson. I got your number off of social media, to answer your other question. But I’m here because the reason I was at Donovan’s Books in the first place was because I work for Harlequin, I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well what you may not have heard is that they launched a new initiative about six months ago based on an idea of mine.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Have you ever tried to publish traditionally, Grayson?”

  “No. My friend Knight is doing that now. It sounds like a process.”

  Charles laughs hysterically. “That’s a great euphemism. It’s definitely a process. And for most people it ends up with them never getting a deal. Or, even worse, they get a bad deal and end up leaving the industry altogether. It’s a shame.”

  I’m listening to him, trying to figure out exactly where the conversation is going. He’s a smooth operator, that’s for sure, and I want to make sure he’s not trying to sell me any snake oil. Any indie authors with any degrees of success knows how many fake agents and promoters there are out there. My inbox is constantly filled with spam from predatory scammers looking to sell you their services to help make your book a hit. Ninety nine percent of them aren’t real, so I always have my guard up when someone starts pitching me on what they can do for my career. On the positive side, this would be an awful lot of trouble for a scammer to go through just to make a buck.

  “Please don’t think me rude, Charles, but why are you telling me all of this?”

  “Good boy,” he says. “You ask good questions. I apologize but I’m a little long winded. I’m getting there, just bear with me.”

  “No problem, go on.”

  “So the initiative that I mentioned—I pitched it a year ago and it began in full force a few months back. It’s a lot of work on my part, but that’s part of how I got the program approved. If it picks up steam—and I hope that you’ll help be a part of that evolution—then maybe I’ll get some employees who’ll travel this great country of ours instead of me having to do it all. But we’ll see.”

  “So. . .”

  “Right, sorry, there I go again. My program is all about finding undiscovered talent. This country is filled with it. In the arts, in sports, in every venue you can imagine, there are people who you’ve never heard of just waiting to get their shot. I spent years at the company seeing what the publication process can be like, and I’ve seen some really talented authors slip through the cracks because they couldn’t write a proper query letter, or because they chose the wrong agent, or a million other reasons that had nothing to do with the quality of their writing. And what I’ve always believed—what I still believe—is that, at the end of the day, the writing is what matters, not all that other shit. Pardon my language.”

  “Not at all. I couldn’t agree more. Knight’s going through it now and it sounds very involved.”

  “To put it politely.”

  “That sounds like a great program, but how do I fit into all this?”

  “Well, Grayson, to cut to the chase for once, I’d like to offer you a one book publication contract.”

  “What?” I’m trying so hard to not get too excited. I don’t want to jump the gun. This guy could be full of shit. “Are you serious? How does that work?”

  “See,” he says. “Another intelligent question. How it works is that, if you like what you hear, and after having your lawyer look over these papers, you sign a single book deal exclusive to Harlequin. Unlike some other companies it can be for an already published
book, or it could be for what you’re working on right now. That’s your choice. The only catch is that whatever book you choose is has to be unpublished by you if it’s a book that’s already out. If it’s a new one, then the book falls under the Harlequin library, and we handle all of the promotion either way. You keep the rights to all you past and future work, and we don’t touch any of the royalties you make on your self-published work whatsoever. We’re not predators, after all.”

  “This seems too good to be true, Charles. You know what they say about those situations.”

  “You’re a smart man, Gray. I can tell just in the few interactions I’ve had with you in a short period of time. Let me break it down for you so that you know I’m being real with you. The reason my company gave me the green light is because I agreed to do all the work, and I have been, for months now. That’s why you ran into me in a little nothing bookstore in Arizona. It’s why I’m going to another store just like it later on tonight, and why I’ve been to forty different states in the last six months. I’m not making an extra penny for this, but the potential upside to the company is huge. If I’m wrong, then all I’ve wasted is my own time. But if I’m right, and even one author that I find writes the next Fifty Shades of Grey, then the company reaps tremendous benefits. So I’m not looking to rip you off—of course there’s a royalty deal in place, just like with Amazon when you self publish. I’m not promising you some get rich quick scheme. But I am offering you an opportunity to reach a wider audience than you’ve ever dreamed of reaching. And who knows where you can go from there!”

  I listen, closely, and I like everything that he’s saying. I had about ten questions for him, lined up in my head like a laundry list, but he’s addressed all of them except for one. “I understand. But why me? Why not Colton, or Knight, or a million other guys out there writing romance?”

  “Now that’s the easiest one you’ve asked me so far. And the answer is your friend and mine, Mr. Donovan.”

  “Wait, how?”

  “I usually deal with bookstore owners, not individual authors. It’s just easier for me that way. I only travel to stores that support independently published authors. That way I can talk to the owner about who’s selling and who isn’t, along with some other factors. That’s why I was at Donovan’s Books. After you left that day, the man couldn’t stop singing your praises. He went on and on about you, so I checked out your social media presence, your platform, and I read the book that you left for him on my flight that evening. I loved it.”