Billionaire Novelist's Fiery Debutante by Nic Saint Read Free Book Online

sales have been dropping steadily over the last five years. Every book is performing worse than the one before. If I don’t come up with something major, my publisher will probably dump me.”
    “Then self-publish,” she heard herself say. “That’s what I do.”
    He eyed her strangely. “And how’s that working out for you?”
    “Not… great… so far,” she admitted, “but I’m working on it. You could, too. For one thing, you have your readership. I bet they’ll buy your books whether they’re traditionally published or not.”
    He nodded, and she was surprised when he didn’t dismiss her idea out of hand. “You might have a point,” he muttered. “In fact I’ve been contemplating such a move myself for a long time. One of my friends did just that. He took his next manuscript straight to market and made quite a packet. Higher royalties, the instant gratification of watching your work being published just the way you want it… It’s just…”
    “Just what?”
    Her hand was still on his arm, and their shoulders touched. He drew his fingers through his short dark hair. “Christ. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I mean, I don’t even know you.”
    She remained silent, not wanting to discourage him when he was so clearly on the verge of unburdening his soul.
    “Look, writers like me, we live from the advance. This next book I’m writing?” He chuckled bitterly. “Or rather, not writing—the money is already in the bank. Millions of it. Half of it? Already spent. The other half? Has already been budgeted to be spent in the near future.”
    Millions? So this guy really was a bestselling writer? It now occurred to her that he still hadn’t told her what kind of books he wrote, or even his full name. Not that it mattered. She was pretty sure she’d never heard of him anyway. Unless he wrote in her genre, she was fairly oblivious to the current market leaders.
    “So if you don’t deliver—” she began, starting to see his predicament.
    “I won’t earn out. And they’ll dump my ass in a heartbeat.”
    “That’s why you have writer’s block,” she told him. “Too much pressure. It’s hard to perform under such stress.”
    “I guess you’re right. Which brings me back to this place.” He waved his hand at the villa. “I really need this retreat to work, Chloe. If I come back without the solid underpinnings of a great novel, I’m sunk.”
    She squeezed his arm, trying to figure out what to say. She wasn’t a bestselling writer. How could she possibly help? Then, suddenly, a crazy idea formed in her head. “You know,” she said slowly, “some of the best work out there is the result of a collaboration.”
    He gave her a puzzled look. “What are you saying? I should call up one of my writer buddies and ask for his help? They’ll shoot me down on sight, honey. It’s no secret that the Joshua Poole brand’s been slipping lately, and nobody wants to be associated with a loser.”
    Her eyes went wide. “Joshua Poole? You’re Joshua Poole?”
    He simply nodded, concern still etched on his handsome face.
    “My mother loves your books!” she squealed before she realized this was not the moment to go all fangirl on him.
    “That’s good to know,” he returned wryly.
    “Wait till I tell her I spent my vacation with the writer of Frankie Knox,” she blurted out.
    “The former writer of Frankie Knox,” Josh intoned somberly and slumped a little more. “I wouldn’t put it past the publisher to take away my characters and ask some other writer to continue the series.” He frowned. “I should probably ask my attorney.”
    She blinked a couple times, trying to get a grip on herself after this surprising revelation, and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Josh. I’ve got the perfect solution for you.”
    A glimmer of hope dawned in his eyes. “You have?”
    “We’ll write the next Frankie Knox together.” When his jaw dropped, she gave him her brightest smile. “You and I will