Page 76 of I Will Break You
My spirits plummet. I did until Xero wiped my computer. If I tell the truth, she’ll ask if I’m taking my meds.
The doors open, and the line moves forward. My heart pounds at the thought of advancing toward my dream. Even if today yields nothing tangible, I’ll be forever grateful to Myra for introducing me to the publishing world.
After our tickets get scanned, we enter a conference hall filled with chatter. Stalls line the massive space in a U-shape, adorned with tall banners, branded tablecloths, and book displays. Authors stand behind their tables, engaged in conversations with excited readers.
Butterflies flutter in my chest as I scan their faces, recognizing many from social media. One day, this will be me.
Myra pulls me to the section at the far side of the hall, dedicated to agents and publishers. Our first stop is her old firm, where a well-dressed woman behind the table rises with a frown.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
Myra tips the leather military hat she borrowed from Wonderland that makes her look like a dominatrix. “Pitching for my new client,” she says, her manicured fingers skimming her leather pencil skirt. “I’m sure you recognize her from the Official Xero fan club?”
From their tense interactions, I’m sure this is the senior manager who fired Myra along with her embezzling boss. The woman behind the table sweeps her gaze up and down my body.
I’m wearing my signature outfit, a black corset with fastenings at the front, long black gloves, and a mini skirt with a lace trim. I’ve paired it with a thick black choker and a silver crucifix that dips between my breasts. On my legs are a pair of pink stockings that match the rinse I’ve used on the left side of my hair.
The woman tries to speak, but Myra interrupts. “Amethyst has almost completed a book based on the letters she exchanged with Xero Greaves.”
My heart flops around my chest like a dying fish. What the hell is she doing? I asked her not to pitch the Xero book.
The woman leans across the desk, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. She turns to me and asks, “Do you have a synopsis or sample chapters?”
“Sorry, Beth,” Myra says with a smirk. “My other clients and I need to work with a more reputable firm. I wish you all the best in your endeavors.”
She loops her arm through mine and walks back to the middle of the hall, where the organizers have set up green screens, ring lights, and backgrounds with the book fair branding for social media opportunities.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“Beth went crazy when Xero’s mugshot went viral. I once overheard her telling my boss she was a closet Xeromaniac.”
“Is that why you talked me into writing the book? To make her regret firing you?”
“It’s not like that. I believe in you as an author. You have a great voice, but you’re never going to become rich with fairytale retellings.”
A dozen fantasy authors rise to the top of my mind. I’m about to counter her point when Myra raises her finger. “Hear me out before you rattle off a list. You already have a platform of women who love sexy serial killers. Write what you know they would gobble up.”
My shoulders sag with the weight of my defeat. The Rapunzelita manuscript flopped with agents, and that was after I’d wasted years on refining its prose until it sparkled. Can I afford to trigger another spiral of depression?
“You’re right, but I need to start fresh with a character that doesn’t remotely resemble Xero.”
“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “Are you ready to meet some movers and shakers?”
“Excuse me?” asks a deep voice.
I turn around and look into the eyes of a man wearing an executioner’s hood. My gaze wanders down his muscled chest, tight abs, and even tighter leather pants that showcase an impressive dick print.
“Oh my god,” Myra says. “It’s the Well Hung Man.”
He chuckles. “That’s right, my dear. Can I have a photo? I’m a huge fan of your podcast.”
Before I know it, the hangman places an arm around my shoulder and escorts me to one of the green screens. I refuse to call him well hung, even though the bulge in his pants confirms he lives up to his name.
A small crowd gathers around us. From what I overhear, the hangman has five-hundred thousand followers and makes thirst traps on social media. Apparently, he’s a big deal.
Myra takes photos and video clips, goading him into grinding against my side for the camera. I play along, knowing she’s helping me make content for my new account.
Another man approaches after we finish with the hangman. He wears a three-piece suit, demon makeup, and a pair of curved horns. Myra hisses that he’s a voice actor named Big Dick Johnson with three-hundred thousand followers. And he tells me he would be honored if I called him BJ.