Page 15 of Rage Finish

Amanda gently assures me, “The goal is to read books you wouldn’t typically read.”

“I’ve also read Merlot’s books,” Harriet admits. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to read Sloane’s this weekend.”

“Oh, I, uh… I guess?” I wince, hating the idea of not one but two other authors reading my backlist.

Amanda adds, “To be clear, this isn’t about constructive feedback; we aren’t working as alpha or beta readers this weekend. The exercise is to encourage you to broaden your horizons. The only rule I have is that we treat each other with respect and only provide positive feedback, if any. I don’t care if it’s only complimenting their cover or saying nothing at all. This weekend is about working on our books surrounded by a supportive community.”

I take a deep breath and nod, but all I want to do is scream. Wyatt is the last person I want reading my books. What if he hates them? What if he gets halfway in and can’t finish it?

Worse, what if I hate his?

10

WYATT

The entire morning, Sloane avoids me. Or, rather, it feels like she is. After the workshop, I wanted to invite her to walk down the street to a small indie bookstore I spotted on my way to the hotel yesterday, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, I went by myself and ran into a few other authors while I was there to pick up one of Sloane’s books. The socializing and networking were productive but also took away from my writing.

Sloane has a significantly more extensive backlist than I do, so deciding on the right book was a struggle. Admittedly, I cheated a little, checking reviews online to ensure I wasn’t going to start a story with an unhappily ever after. Not only could it affect the tone of my own manuscript, but I don’t ever want to be put in a position where I’d have to lie to her about how much I enjoyed her book.

On the walk back from the bookstore, I spot a little café. It doesn’t have the same charm as coffee shops back home, but it’ll have to do. After the night I had, I’m in desperate need of a caffeinated pick-me-up.

As I open the door, I sling my laptop bag higher onto my shoulder, and I’m met with the familiar aroma of freshly brewed espresso. I make my way to the counter toward the back, but do a double take at the little booth beside it. Sloane is sitting across from a woman with short blonde hair, who, from behind, looks like she could be Harriet. It would be easy to walk over and say hello—Ethan is Harriet’s uncle, so we’ve met a few times before this weekend—but I should wait for an opening.

While they’re laughing at something Harriet said, Sloane's face falls the moment she sees me. She quickly looks away and offers Harriet a small smile, ignoring me altogether. I know she’s worried about gossip—the publishing world is small—but it doesn’t mean she can’t say hello.

It could be that I read into everything that happened last night, and she really just needed somewhere to crash, a shoulder to lean on. Maybe it was all in my head?

I make quick work of ordering and keep to myself by the hand-off bar, scrolling social media on my phone to avoid making eye contact. After a minute or two, Harriet calls over to me, “Wyatt?” I glance up. “Hey! Want to join us? I was just telling Sloane about my sister’s latest adventure.”

“Oh… sure.”

I’m not sure which is worse—sitting next to Sloane or across from her. Harriet thankfully makes the decision for me and shifts over to make room for me. “I don’t know if you’re aware,” she begins, “but my sister, Lizzy, is married to Amanda’s husband’s brother.”

“So, her sister-in-law,” I confirm.

“Exactly. The brothers are archaeologists, and Lizzy works for a museum in San Francisco. She recently joined the boys on one of their projects in Scotland.”

“Isn’t your next book set in Scotland?” I ask Sloane, and her cheeks flush.

“Um, yes, it is. How do you know that?”

“I noticed the preorder was available when I was looking for a book to read.”

“A man with attention to detail. You’re a rare breed,” Harriet teases. “It shouldn’t surprise me, though, seeing as you used to work for Ethan.”

“Wait, you used to work for her uncle?”

I nod. “Yeah, I did.”

“We’re not actually completing that little assignment, are we?” Sloane winces. “You aren’t really going to read one of my books this weekend?”

I pull her paperback from my bag. “I absolutely am.”

“Fucking hell.” She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Me too!” Harriet beams. “I’m looking forward to it! I don’t remember the last time I read something that wasn’t fantasy or romance. Well, anyway,” she continues without skipping a beat, “I was telling Sloane that she should ask her publisher to do a book tour stop there. Scotland is beautiful. Have you ever been?”

“I haven’t,” I admit, “but it’s always been on my bucket list.”