Finding Mr. Write, page 2
Daphne’s catnip was fit guys with wholesome good looks, charming smiles, and a twinkle that said, Don’t be fooled by my wildcat exterior—I’m a kitten inside. Chris fulfilled the first part just fine. But the last one? This guy was neither wildcat nor kitten. He was a feral tom, strutting around and pissing on everything in sight.
Still, in Nia’s defense, filling this role had been such a Herculean task that Daphne had been two days from giving up the charade and coming clean. Nia had found a way for her to sign the contract with a bunch of legal cartwheels that Daphne still didn’t quite understand. Basically, she was legally doing business as Zane Remington, whose name she’d registered as a corporation, with the copyright held by that. If everyone presumed the actual author was male, well, she’d never actually claimed that.
So she hadn’t needed an actor for the legal part or even for the early publicity. Then the publisher decided to move her release forward—by five months—which made the situation desperate. Nia had taken charge of that, and Daphne’s only stipulation was that she needed a professional actor—she couldn’t take the chance of having an ordinary guy play the part. Then, at the last minute, Nia called to say she had “the guy.”
This guy.
“After that,” Chris said, “I did a series of ads for high-end vehicles. Nothing you’d be familiar with.” He waved toward her car with a chuckle.
She bit back the urge to say it was a rental. Do not feed the trolls.
“Most recently,” he continued, “I played a bit role in—”
“You’ve established your acting credentials, Mr. Ainsworth. I want to talk about this particular job. It might not be your thing.”
Chris lounged in his chair, long legs so far into the aisle that the poor server had to go another way to get past. “I’m an actor. I play roles.”
“This one is primarily modeling. You would be the face of Zane Remington.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. “Alakazam. I am Zane Remington.”
He steepled his fingers, and maybe he was supposed to look intelligent, but his expression suggested he should order the prune smoothie.
Daphne continued, “There may also be situations where you are required to give very short, very simple interviews, which I would coach you to answer through an earpiece. In the event of technical issues, you’d have scripted answers. Most questions will be about the book, which Nia sent to you.”
“She did.”
“Will you be comfortable representing it?”
He leaned back again, forcing the man behind him to tug in his chair. “Oh, I didn’t read it.”
“Not the whole thing, but I’m presuming you skimmed a few chapters.”
“Is that necessary?”
Daphne opened her mouth. Shut it.
Chris continued, “I’m an actor. I emote the lines I am given. You tell me what you want me to say about your book, and I say it. I’m sure it’s wonderful, but”—he shrugged—“I’m not much of a reader.”
There it was, dangling before her. The excuse to say no. Hell no. This whole idea was absurd. Better for her to come clean to the publisher and—
Her phone buzzed. A text from her newly assigned publicist.
Melody: Haven’t gotten that pic I asked for.
Melody: Don’t be shy. It’s not your jacket photo. I know you don’t want that, and we are honoring your wishes.
Melody: We just want to get to know you. Put a face to your incredible book.
It was dangerously close to pub time, and Melody had to know what they had to work with. Could they send Zane’s official author pic out with release promo? Or was it best only displayed on the website after clicking through three links and watching an ad for a celebrity bio?
Daphne glanced at Chris, with his ridiculous good looks. She surreptitiously snapped a shot as he launched into a story about the time he’d been mistaken for Captain America while walking past Vancouver’s Fan Expo.
She hit Send. No message. Just the photo. Then she waited for her excuse to end this lunch from hell. Waited for Melody to LOL and tell her to send a real photo, because no way in hell did this man pen a dark zombie thriller with a teen girl protagonist.
Melody: Holy shit.
Daphne smiled and prepared her “ha-ha” response. Hey, you said you wanted a photo. Didn’t say it had to be me.
Melody: Please tell me that’s you.
Melody: I just showed it to the publicity director, and I think she’s hyperventilating.
Melody: Please, please, please, tell me that’s you.
Daphne: You’d prefer someone a little more author-ly, right? Older?
Melody: Are you kidding???!!!
Melody: I need the professional shots ASAP. We’ll recommend a photographer if you need it. I’ll let you go. I can see you’re having lunch. Thank you!!!
Daphne lowered the phone and looked at Chris, who was still talking, as if unaware she’d been on her phone.
Now what?
If Nia recommended him, he couldn’t be as bad as he seemed, right?
She cut into his monologue. “When can you start?”
CHAPTER TWO
APRIL 15, TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS TO PUBLICATION
It’s real,” Daphne whispered, holding the padded envelope in her trembling hands. “Really, really real.”
Tika—bless her canine soul—did not judge Daphne’s temporary lack of vocabulary. The husky only danced at her feet, sensing her excitement. Then Tika raced to bring her favorite ball, and Daphne threw it toward the lake. As Tika tore off, Daphne pulled the book from the envelope.
Her book. In actual book form.
Yes, words were not her friend today, but could anyone blame her? She was holding a dream made real.
In less than a month, people were going to read her story. People who were in no way related to Daphne.
When Tika returned, Daphne threw the ball again. Then she lifted the book into the sunlight and grinned a silly smile that stretched her face until it hurt.
Her book. Okay, it read “Zane Remington” on the cover, but that didn’t matter. She’d written every word in this book. It was hers.
At the Edge of the World.
The title still threw her. She’d called the book Winter’s Sleep, but the publisher said they wanted to position her book as more of a literary thriller, which made her laugh. It was about a zombie apocalypse. Not exactly highbrow.
Taking a deep breath, Daphne flipped the book over to read the jacket copy. Instead, she found herself staring at Chris Ainsworth.
His face took up the entire back cover.
At that, she felt her first twinge of pricked ego. His picture on her book. That was the point, of course, but the entire cover? His photo was more important than anything about the actual book?
She opened it and found the synopsis printed inside the book jacket. She skimmed the words and tried not to squirm. Her editor had reworked her version into something that, well, vaguely resembled the actual story.
The main character, seventeen-year-old Theodora, had grown up in Vancouver, now Seattle. She’d been on her first camping trip in the Yukon—now Alaska—when the zombie outbreak erupted. The book began three years later. The zombies had made it to Alaska, and everyone Theo knew was dead or turned. The city girl had become a survivalist.
In Daphne’s fictional world, zombies hibernated in winter—hence her original title. That meant Theo had six zombie-free months to hunt and build and prepare. Yet summer was the time when game was plentiful… and that was when the zombies woke.
The synopsis portrayed Theo as a kick-ass heroine, while in reality, Daphne aimed for her character to be clever and resourceful rather than a superhero. It also gave away a twist that wasn’t revealed until halfway through the book. And, to her surprise, rather than glossing over the romance angle, the jacket copy made it seem more important than it was.
So, yep, the synopsis wasn’t exactly accurate, but she trusted that the publisher knew what it was doing. The main thing? She was holding a copy of her book. And in less than a month, it would be released into the wild.
She could not wait.
CHRIS
Chris sat on the balcony of his micro-apartment with the package Daphne had sent: a copy of her book. It’d been waiting when he returned from a long day of legal meetings, as Nia worked her magic on his case. Now he’d poured himself a beer, collapsed into the one chair that fit on his balcony, and exhaled for what felt like the first time today.
Things were going to be okay. Oh, he’d still take a financial hit from his ex-partner’s mess—one he couldn’t really afford—and he might have to slink back to his former firm, but he’d survive with his professional reputation largely intact. He might even get to keep his car. And it was all thanks to this little package he held in his hands.
“Thank you, Daphne McFadden,” he murmured.
He tore open the wrapper and gazed down at… his face.
It was surreal, seeing his face on a book cover, but it was also like looking at an amateur portrait of himself, where he could catch bits that looked familiar, but the overall impression was that of looking at a stranger.
He’d had the same reaction when he got the shots from the photo shoot. Is that really me?
In high school, Chris had been what girls had affectionately called “a cute math geek.” In other words, attractive enough but gawky and acne-prone. After he took on his first job, he’d nearly collapsed from stress at tax time, and a friend took him to the gym. There, Chris discovered both a remedy and a passion; his body took to it and filled out.
Around the same time his face had started to change, not only losing the acne but the youthful softness, too. He’d seen photos of his father and grandfather, and they’d been the sort of men who looked better at forty than twenty. His mom always joked that she’d married a sleeper hottie.
So part of his disconnect with the jacket photo was the fact he still didn’t picture himself as that guy, but it was more, too. When the publisher wanted to add a “small” photo of him to the book jacket, Nia had suggested ways to disguise Chris. He appreciated that, even if he knew Nia suggested it mostly for Daphne’s sake. She couldn’t have people recognize her book’s author as Vancouver accountant Chris Stanton.
Chris also didn’t want to be recognized as a book author when he wasn’t one. For the jacket photo, moody lighting shadowed his face, and the angle added to those shadows. He wore his Zane glasses and his Zane hairstyle and his serious-author Zane expression. Add in the photo editing, and no one was going to recognize him, which was good because it was not a tiny author photo inside the jacket.
It was the entire freaking back cover.
He held it up again and felt a stab of guilt. A memory flashed, one of being in a bookstore with his older sister. Gemma had picked up a hardcover adult novel and flipped it around to the back cover, with its giant author photo.
“This is going to be me someday,” she said.
“An old man?”
She flashed him the finger. “You know what I mean. My photo, on a book someday, when I’m an author.”
His sister was the writer in the family, and now it was his photo on the back of a book. At least Gemma wouldn’t see it—young-adult wasn’t her genre—and even if she did, she might only think that it kinda looked like her brother. It couldn’t be, of course. Chris might read nearly as much as she did, but he didn’t write.
He fingered the book. It didn’t feel right, seeing his photo on Daphne’s book.
It had been her choice, though.
Why had she chosen a male pen name? He had a feeling it wasn’t a random decision, and that bothered him.
APRIL 18, TWENTY-FIVE DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Daphne: Did you get the copy I sent?
Chris: Copy of…?
Daphne: The book?
Chris: Right! Yes, it arrived. Was going to text. Thought you said my photo would be a square on the back cover. It IS the back cover. The ENTIRE cover.
Daphne: Any chance you’re going to read the book before it comes out?
Chris: I’ve started. It’s a lot of words.
Daphne: 90,000 of them.
Chris: Wow. I did read the summary. Sounds like a good book. Kinda dark, though, don’t you think? With the zombies and the end of the world and all?
Chris: D? You still there?
APRIL 20, TWENTY-THREE DAYS TO PUBLICATION
From: Alicia Koval
Subject: Another Starred Review!!!
Zane,
Yep, Edge just got its third star, squeaking in just under the wire. That’s a star from all the major industry reviewers so far. Well, except Kirkus, but Kirkus doesn’t like anything.
Congrats!!!
Your very happy editor,
Alicia
P.S. Trish tells me you haven’t sent the new photos in yet. Can you do that ASAP, please? Thanks!
APRIL 21, TWENTY-TWO DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: So, about those “casual” photos the publisher wants. I’m thinking “man bun.”
Daphne: I’m thinking “hell no.”
Chris: Sumo ponytail?
Daphne: Not even answering that.
Chris: I’ve started growing my hair out, in case I need to do any in-person promo. I’m going for a sexy golden mane thing, Chris Hemsworth, circa 2015.
Daphne: Or Fabio, circa 1990.
Chris: I’ll schedule a haircut.
Daphne: Thank you.
APRIL 24, NINETEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: Got the haircut. I feel like I need something different for the photos, though. Maybe a full beard. I think Z would grow one up there in the winter. Nicely trimmed but full and bushy.
Daphne: A hipster beard.
Chris: That sounds like a no. Maybe a goatee?
Daphne: Definitely no.
Chris: How about scruff? A little sexy too-busy-to-shave scruff.
Daphne: Stop. Just stop. You look fine.
Chris: Hold on. I haven’t shaved in a few days. Let me send you a pic.
Daphne: That’s not really necessary.
Chris: Too late! What do you think?
Chris: D? You still there?
Daphne: Leave it.
Chris: You sure? Ten minutes with a razor and it’s gone.
Daphne: Leave it.
Chris: Awesome!
APRIL 25, EIGHTEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: The new photo shoot is tomorrow. I know we agreed on jeans, but I’m having trouble choosing. I’ve got old jeans, new jeans, new jeans that look old. I like the old ones best for Z. They’re snug and worn—but I’m worried the lighter color doesn’t do my ass any favors.
Daphne: Send pics.
Chris: Which ones?
Daphne: All of them.
APRIL 28, FIFTEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: Okay, so I got my new photos. Sending you my fave now. Did a little Photoshopping ;)
Daphne: The last time a guy sent me a Photoshopped pic, it wasn’t his smile he enhanced.
Chris: LOL No, it’s not that kind of pic. Though, if you wanted…
Daphne: No, I do not.
Daphne: Wait. You Photoshopped yourself in front of my lake. At my house. With my dog.
Chris: He’s a real cutie.
Daphne: SHE’S a real cutie.
Chris: I think Z would have a male dog. He looks like a black wolf with blue eyes. Very Z. I’m thinking I’ll call him Ernie. Ernie Hemingway. Get it?
Daphne: SHE already has a name. HER name is Tika. And she is MY dog.
Chris: What if I put a cat in the photo instead?
Daphne: House cats don’t wander the wilderness up here. They’d get eaten.
Chris: What if it was a large one? My friend has this big Maine Coon. We could pretend it’s a lynx.
Daphne: Cut the dog. No cat. Cell service is flickering. Gotta run.
CHRIS
Chris laughed as he pulled up the badly Photoshopped photo of him with Tika in front of Daphne’s lake. He’d had no intention of sending it to the publisher. The goal had been to amuse Daphne—and maybe poke at her a little. Give her something to distract her from the fact she had a book coming out in a few weeks, and the pressure to do well grew with each passing day.
Chris remembered his first major client—a business that had fired its accountant a week before taxes were due. Multiply that tenfold, and he had an inkling of what Daphne was going through.
She didn’t have any reason to worry. The book was amazing. It’d be easier if he could admit that he’d read it, but he had to stay in character, at least until he’d proven his ability to play a role.
In the meantime, he could sneak a little bit of himself into the portrayal. Like the goofier side that had made this photo. Just a little gentle poking to distract and—he hoped—amuse her.
To that end…
He pulled up the number of his wildlife-rehab client and hit Call.
APRIL 29, FOURTEEN DAYS TO PUBLICATION
Chris: Remember how we talked about Z having a cat?
Daphne: I’m trying to forget.
Chris: LOL Okay, so I started thinking. I have this friend of a friend who owes me a favor and, well, one word. Cougar.
Daphne: What you do with your private time is your own business.
Chris: What? Oh. Cougar. Ha!
Chris: No, it isn’t that kind of cougar. Not that I have any problem with that—older just means more experience, right?
Daphne: Cell service flickering.
Chris: So this friend-of-a-friend runs a wildlife-rehab center on Van Isle, and they just got in a cougar cub, so I got some pics.
Daphne: Of the cub? Okay. I’m a sucker for baby wildlife. Send.
