“HOLD up! I’m saying that you need to disappear completely. All I’m saying is that you probably need to just slip under the radar for a little while until this all blows over.”
Ivy gripped the mobile phone between her fingers and hoped to the heavens that her agent could not hear the grinding of her tooth enamel. It was lucky that the phone was made of toughened glass and metal or she was fairly certain it would have been reduced to a thousand crumbled pieces by now. As she clenched the phone in her hand, she closed her eyes and vividly imagined reaching through the handset and strangling the wretched agent.
Her soft, well-kept hands around the narrowness of this neck. The thought was almost too good for her to let up and for good reason.
It was because of his incompetence and useless blunderings that they now found themselves in this situation to begin with. She never should’ve trusted the weasel in the first place but it was too late for should-haves.
“You…,” she forced herself to swallow between words and struggled to keep her voice controlled. The last thing she wanted to do was draw the attention of those sitting at the tables around her. “You told me, promised me, that we were on to a winner and that there was a market for that book. And now I have my name on a… dud… and have hordes of people slandering me all ways from Sunday. It’s not your name on the cover. It’s mine. How are y-…”
“Now, now. Don’t you think that is a little bit extreme? Things like this happen all the time. It’ll come to pass, I can promise you that. You know your next book? I promise you that it will be the golden ticket and everyone will forget that this book even existed. You’ll be back on the bestseller lists before you can even blink.”
She cringed. How dare the spinless git use the word promise again. The oaf was full of all sorts of promises, some so farfetched that she didn’t know how he slept at night. Unfortunately for her, she only just came to realise that now. She wasn’t sure that she would ever recover from such a travesty of a release. It was him who convinced it to make edits.
Him who said that it was going to be a hit.
Him who said that this draft was much better than the previous.
And it was because of him that she was now accused of butchering a world which she had so carefully – so delicately and lovingly – crafted through written words at this exact same coffee shop; at this exact same table. If only she would’ve listened to her instincts; if only she would’ve stuck to her guns instead of being rolled.
Ivy lifted the handset to her ear as her agent started to babble once more. He was desperate to backpaddle from the situation; to keep her in the good books and as one of his clients. She was one of their most well-known writers and if she walked, there was a good chance that he’d receive the boot from the dogs higher in the corporate chain.
“Leave town for a few days. Catch your thoughts. Work on something new until it blows over. Then, we can hit the ground running once the media crucifixion is over. What do you say? Heck, we will even pay for all the expenses. Can’t get much better than that right? First class tickets. Accommodation. Wherever you want to go: New York, London, Africa, Japan… you name it and it’s a done dea-…”
“Actually, I know a place.” He was left hanging after a sudden musing of her brain. She fumbled with the book which sat in front of her on the table and flipped it open to the brochure which was inside. The gloss had started to fade and the corners had become tatty from wear. It had accompanied her on countless train and plane rides, and often took the place as a page marker in her books. She had lost track of how long that thing was in there for – she assumed over a year or more. She had become fascinated with the history and the rumours which had surfaced. She was enthralled by its notorious reputation.
Her agent immediately started fumbling on his words, oblivious to the promise which he had made mere seconds earlier. She could imagine the short man sitting straight up in his chair, lighting an emergency cigarette with fumbling fingers. He may have even loosened the noose of a tie around his neck to give him more breathing space. According to him, she was signing her own death warrant if she did so much as step a foot on the grounds. “No, absolutely not. We spoke about this. It is not happening.”
“Listen. You just told you me that you would be willing to send me anywhere because of this absolute shitstorm which you, and only you, have created. Either you send me to where I want to go or I walk. Do we have a deal?”
There was silence on the other end of the line as the dumpy man pondered the ultimatum.
“It’s your funeral.”
Slipping the brochure back amongst the pages of the book, she heard beeping as the line was disconnected.
She couldn’t help but let her lips spread into a smile as she took a sip of coffee. Nothing tasted better than a cappuccino. That was, unless it was accompanied with a side of victory.
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