“That sounds wonderful,” Aiden comments and we both agree.
After telling us that the beds are already set up with fresh linens and there are towels for us to use in the bathroom, Tom starts to head out. I walk him outside, leaving Aiden inside.
“Thanks for…everything.”
“No, thank you for coming,” Tom says. “I really appreciate it.”
“So, how’s everything going with Carrie and her family?”
“It’s fine. But you know, they’re WASPs so they’re a little hard to read. They like to keep their cards close to their chests.”
I nod. I know exactly what he means. They are probably the type of people who would wine and dine you and treat you like a princess, but then turn on you the first opportunity they get just because being nice trumps everything including being honest.
“Well, in any case, I’m looking forward to the party tomorrow night. It sounds like it will be fun,” I say.
“I hope so,” Tom says, smiling. “Oh, Caroline and her date…Taylor…are here already. I’m sure that you’ll see them in the morning. If you're hungry or want to get breakfast in town tomorrow, the driver will take you anywhere. I think Aiden has his number. There’s nothing official going on at the house until the party.”
“Got it.” I nod, feeling slightly relieved. I was really hoping that there wouldn’t be any obligations for us until the party. I’m hoping to get some alone time with Aiden and really take in the scenery since I’ve never been here before.
“Okay, see you tomorrow night. All festivities start at six p.m.”
I give him a brief hug and watch him disappear down the winding path leading to our cottage.
When I get back, Aiden has already made himself comfortable on the couch. He even started the fireplace.
“Wow, you got the fireplace going?” I ask. “So quickly?”
“It’s all remote controlled.” He smiles, staring at his cell phone. Walking by, I see that he’s not doing work but rather reading something on his Kindle app. That’s a good sign, I say to myself. But it also reminds me…
I head to my bag and retrieve my laptop. My book should be up on Amazon by now. I check my email and spot it right away.
Congratulations! Your book is now available on Amazon.
“Oh my God!” I say, getting up from my seat and walking over to the couch with the laptop. “Here it is!”
I show Aiden my book.
“Ella Montgomery?”
“Yes, that’s the pseudonym that I chose for the occasion.”
“It’s very pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, let me do you the honors,” Aiden says, going to his Amazon app on his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to be your first paying customer.”
“No!” I try to take his phone away, but it’s too late. He’s too dexterous and his arms are too long. A moment later, my book appears on his Kindle app.
“Aiden, you can’t read it,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because…because, it’s personal.”
“It’s on Amazon. A million strangers are going to be reading it.”
“Well, don’t you have a highfalutin view of my career as a writer? Millions? Please. I’ll be lucky to get a handful.”
“Even better then. So, why can’t I be one of those handful?”
I shake my head. I don’t really have a good answer. I’m just embarrassed over the whole thing. I mean, who am I to call myself a writer, let alone an author? I’m just some little girl with probably nothing good to say.
“Listen, Ellie. I know that you have doubts about your writing. But you really shouldn’t. If it’s something that you have to do, if it’s your calling, who cares what anyone else thinks? Even me. Your boyfriend. And with this title and cover…I think you’re bound to sell a few copies.”
I take a deep breath. I won’t lie. I love how encouraging he is. His approach definitely makes me feel a little more confident than my mom’s negative comments or Tom’s scorn at the whole romance industry.
“Okay, but you have to promise not to freak out over all the sex that it has,” I say after a moment. “I mean I know that it’s a lot. But that was one of the most fun parts I had writing it.”
“Oh my, how little you know me, Ellie. Of course, I won’t mind the sexy bits. I love sex.”
“Yes, I know you like sex,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But you know, it’s kind of about what happened on your yacht. So, I just don't want…things to be weird.”
Even though I fancy myself a writer, I often find it difficult to use just the right words when expressing myself.
“Shh.” Aiden puts his finger to his lips as he starts to read. Unable to deal with the thought of someone actually reading my book in front of me, I decide to do something useful to distract myself. I take my laptop back to the kitchen island and open my mailing list. Then I write all 2,457 people an email, asking them to post a review for the first book. I’ve received a number of these from other authors, so I have a vague idea of what to include. But still, I find the words difficult to come by. I re-read it a number of times before I gain enough strength within myself to actually send it. Once I do press send, I close my laptop immediately and decide to not give it any more thought tonight. Worrying about something you can’t control won’t change anything, so you might as well not worry. I chant this to myself over and over until I finally believe it.
An hour later, I fall asleep to an old Jewel album coming in through my earphones while Aiden is still on the couch, devouring my novel.
Chapter 10 - Ellie
The night of the party…
The following morning and afternoon, I find myself riding a high. Aiden is quite impressed with the book and loves the sexy scenes. He says that he has never read a book quite like it, and I tell him that if he likes it then he should check out Fifty Shades of Grey and some of the more popular erotic self-published authors. Because some would say that my book is tame in comparison to theirs. Still, my heart beams with pride knowing that he approves of my writing. And not just approves. He is actually proud of me. He is encouraging, loving, and everything any struggling writer full of anxieties and fueled by numerous rejections craves.
In addition to Aiden’s overwhelming praise, Auctioned Off also drums up over thirty, four and five star reviews in a day and I receive a number of emails from people who read the free book telling me how they can’t wait until the second one comes out. I decide that if I really put my head to the grindstone and work after we get back from the weekend, I can probably have the second installment ready within the month. By the time that I’m getting ready for the cocktail party, I even have two thousand pages read and ten sales!
“Wow, people are actually reading this book. I’m just…shocked,” I tell Aiden, watching him put on another pressed immaculate suit in front of the mirror.
“Of course, they are,” he says. “The blurb is awesome and so is the cover. Let alone the whole premise.”
“Still, you know, lots of people have those things and don't sell anything.”
“Listen, you don't have to tell me about how business works,” he says, laughing. It sounds like he’s being condescending, but by the tone of his voice I know that he isn’t. “When I started Owl, there were at least a handful of other programmers who had very similar ideas to mine. But Owl rose above the pack.”
“How?”
“Marketing. It’s all about marketing. You can have the best product out there, but if you don't have the marketing to go along with it, you’re pretty much dead in the water.”
I nod. That’s pretty much what all the self-publishing podcasts have also confirmed and preached. Without a good marketing strategy, it’s all futile.
“But you seem to be doing the right thing. I mean, growing your mailing list. That’s the key. You already have almost twenty-five hundred people who are your book’s target audience and the
sky’s the limit. Plus, content. Content is one of the most important aspects of staying ahead. You have to keep publishing when everyone else gets tired or bored. You need a steady flow of books to make a name for yourself.”
“I know,” I say, applying eyeliner to my eyes and following it up with a heavy dose of mascara.
“How long do you think you’ll make this series?”
“I have no idea.” I shrug.
“I’d say go with at least five books,” he says. “I did some research on the genre last night after you fell asleep and you should do quite well if you have at least five in a series.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” I say, taken aback by how daunting that seems.
“Well, if this is what you want to do for a living, then that’s what you need to do,” he says.
I nod. I don’t know how he knows so much about what I’ve been teaching myself over the last few months, but all of his advice is pretty much spot on with what everyone else has said on all those podcasts, YouTube videos, and blogs that I’ve devoured.
“Okay, then, well as soon as we’re back, I’m going to start writing again,” I say.
“There’s no rest for the wicked.”
Aiden turns around to face me and I’m in awe of how handsome he looks. His suit fits like a glove, accentuating every gorgeous aspect of his toned body. His shoes are polished and his hair falls slightly in his face, but that only makes him look even more handsome and polished.
“You look…amazing,” he says breathlessly. I glance at myself in the mirror. Yes, he’s right. I clean up well. I’m wearing my tight red dress with four inch pumps. My hair, recently washed and blow-dried, cascades around my face, softening my strong jaw. My lips are blood red to match my dress and my eye makeup is sultry, making me look just a little dangerous.
“Shall we?” Aiden gives me his arm and I follow him out of the cottage.
* * *
***
When we get to the porch of the Warrenhouses’ Queen Anne estate, there are so many people coming and going that we simply walk through the grand double doors and join the party. We decide to come by at six fifteen rather than right at six, so that we’re not the first people through the door. But by the time we arrive, the party is already in full swing. Everyone is dressed in their cocktail best with women in black, tight fitting dresses and high heels and men in suits that cost more than most people pay for their mortgage every month. I scan the room for a familiar face. After a few moments, I spot Tom and Carrie across the room. We make our way over, helping ourselves to glasses of wine and some hors d’oeuvres.
Tom again greets me with a warm hug and I make the introductions to Aiden. Carrie is pleasant and nonchalant as ever. She’s dressed in impossibly tall heels, which accentuate the narrowness of her waist. She’s a natural waif and as we speak, she towers over me. It wouldn’t bother me so much if she wasn’t also quite smart and witty, in addition to being gorgeous.
“So, how is everything?” I ask. I don't necessarily want to bring up BuzzPost, but it seems like it’s inevitable and at least I can do it on my terms.
“Great. We’re busy, as ever,” Carries says. “The site’s popularity is at an all-time high. So, people are loving it.”
She doesn’t mention the exact number of unique visitors that the site is getting, but I know that she’s telling the truth. BuzzPost has always been very popular with the eighteen to twenty-four crowd.
“And how’s the expansion into the world of news?” I ask.
That has always been the sticking point for them. What made them so popular initially was that they were a fluff site, a distraction, a fun place to go to get away from the world. But then they wanted to expand into real news and reporting. And as many other sites and newspapers have found out the hard way, real news with their cold hard facts isn’t the most popular thing on the internet. In fact, it’s quite hard to make that sort of thing interesting to keep people coming back in the middle of their workday.
“It’s actually going really well. We’re sending out reporters on the campaign trail to report on what’s going on the ground. You know, with the presidential race coming up.”
I nod.
“Tom has always been very interested in doing that sort of thing,” I say to Aiden. “Right?”
“Well, yes,” Tom says.
“So, are you going to be going to the battleground states?” I ask.
Tom looks away, casting his eyes toward the floor.
“You’re not?” I ask. “I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for you to do what you want to do.”
“Well, the department is relatively new,” Carrie pipes in. “And Tom would be better served by continuing to do what he’s doing in the office.”
I nod, in agreement. I mean, what else is there to say, really?
“And what about you?” Carrie turns to me. “What are you up to these days?”
“I’m actually doing a lot of writing,” I say. I don't really have any intention of telling her about my self-published book. The thing is that the publishing industry and people who work in it do not look upon self-publishing in the best light. It’s always been something to smirk at, laugh at.
“And not just writing,” Aiden says. “But also, publishing.”
“Really?” Carrie asks, raising her eyebrows. “What publishing house?”
Of course, she would make this assumption. I should’ve had a talk with Aiden about this. But he’s just too proud of my work to keep his excitement contained.
“Actually, she’s publishing it herself. It’s a romance,” Aiden volunteers.
I want to crawl under a rock and die. I had no intentions of telling Carrie and Tom about my book any more than what I had already told him. And I definitely didn’t have any intentions of telling them that I was publishing it myself.
“Oh, I see,” Carrie says. “And why is that? Did you get turned down a lot?”
Yes, of course, self-publishing is the last reserve for the failed writer. At least, that’s what everyone in the industry tends to think.
I take a deep breath as I consider how I should deal with this issue. The cat is out of the bag already, so there’s no option of stuffing it back in.
“Well, actually no,” I say. “I didn’t submit it anywhere. I’ve been researching the topic for some time and a lot of self-published, indie authors do quite well for themselves. Even better than those who are traditionally published. Especially, those who write romance. So, I thought I would give it a go myself. You know, make my own marketing plan, make Facebook ads, grow my mailing list, stuff like that.”
“Yes, of course,” Carrie says, nodding, clearly not impressed.
“I mean, I can always submit it to agents and publishers later,” I add. “If things don’t work out.”
“Oh, c’mon, of course they will work out,” Aiden says, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Your writing is brilliant and people are already loving it.”
As much as I love his perfusion of praise, something about it makes me quite embarrassed in front of Tom and Carrie. Maybe it’s because I know the extent of their snobbery and how little they think of self-publishing. I mean, not long ago, I was one of them. I was the one who ranted about all of these indie writers calling themselves authors and putting out a book a month. And now, I am one of them. But the thing is that that was before I knew what I was really talking about. That was before I knew anything at all about the industry and exactly how well many of these indie authors did for themselves. And even if they didn't do that well, how freeing it would be to work just for yourself and write things that you wanted to satisfy your readers.
Of course, I can’t explain any of these things to Carrie. The coldness that’s emanating from her is as strong as an Arctic wind. I don’t really know if it’s because of my quitting or because she knows a lot about what happened between Tom and I. Not that anything really happened, but he did (or does) have feelings for me and no fiancée wants to k
now that about the person she’s about to marry. My only hope is that he had kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell her anything that would hurt her feelings and not make things any better between the two of them. Because, in reality, I do actually wish them well.
Luckily for me, the conversation shifts to other topics, which are a lot less painful for me to discuss. First, we talk about how beautiful Maine is and the weather and then we turn our attention to the Warrenhouse mansion itself. Even though I’ve only made it through the foyer and the living room, I find myself in awe of how beautiful this house is. As soon as I mention that, an older woman who has a strong resemblance to Carrie joins our circle.
“Well, thank you very much, darling,” she says, laughing and tossing her hair back. I swear she could be the spitting image of Carrie, but only ten years older.
“Ellie, Aiden, this is my mother. Eileen Warrenhouse. Mom, this is Ellie Rhodes and Aiden Black.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Warrenhouse,” I say, extending my hand.
“Oh, please, call me Eileen,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Robert! Robert! You have to come here and meet Ellie and Aiden. Aiden, aren’t you the founder of Owl?”
“Yes, I am,” Aiden says shyly.
“Oh my God! My husband is just going to flip! He would love to meet you.”
Eileen calls her husband over again, but he’s in the middle of a conversation and raises his finger to indicate that he’ll be here in a minute.
“Oh, well, his loss. So, you want to know about the house?” Eileen asks, turning to me.
“Yes, very much so!”
“Well, Robert and I bought it about fifteen years ago. It was built in 1890 and it was owned by a very prominent doctor at the time, who bought it for his second wife. It was quite a scandal at the time, as you can imagine,” Eileen says, finishing her glass of champagne and immediately reaching for another.
Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction Page 8