Page 54 of Beachfront Pages

Chapter 18

The phone rang while Fiona was still in her robe, sipping coffee. Across the room, the cursor blinked on a page she hadn't touched.

Rachel. The name sat on the screen, patient and impossible to ignore.

She picked up.

"Well, look at that," Rachel said. "She answers. This is getting to be a habit with you. Actually taking my calls."

"Don't get used to it."

"Oh, I'm framing this day. Marking the calendar." Papers shuffled somewhere in a city far to the north. "How's the hideout?"

"It's not a hideout. It's a writing retreat."

"Honey, you've been on a writing retreat since February. At some point it's just where you live."

Fiona looked out at the dune grass, at the Gulf going about its business beyond it. She didn't have an answer for that.

"Anyway," Rachel said, and her voice shifted. "That's not really why I called. Well, it's sort of why I called. I wanted to make sure you knew. Because knowing you, you're out there with your head literally in the sand and no clue what's happening in the real world."

"Knew what?"

"The news broke. About the deal."

Fiona set down her mug. "What do you mean, broke?"

"I mean it's out. It got picked up at the start of the week. When you didn't text me, I figured you either hadn't seen it or you'd gone full hermit." A breath. "It's everywhere, Fee. I mean it. The whole industry's buzzing."

The whole industry. Her stomach dropped.

"How is it everywhere? I just signed the other day."

"These things leak. Somebody talks to somebody, an assistant talks to a reporter, and then it's a headline and everyone pretends they had it first." Rachel said it the way a person describes weather. "It's a good story. Reclusive bestseller, never shown a face, fifteen books, and now this monster of a new deal. People love that. The advance numbers got out, which I'm not thrilled about, but I won't lie. It didn't hurt the noise."

"The numbers got out."

"Ballpark. Close enough to the real ballpark that it made people sit up."

"People I've never met are reading a number with my name on it."

"People you've never met have been reading your books for twenty years," Rachel said. "This is the same thing with a dollar sign. Try to remember, it's good news."

Fiona stood and walked to the writing nook where her laptop waited. She pulled the screen toward her and typed her own name into the search bar. Her hand wasn't quite steady.

"Fiona? You there?"

"I'm here. Hang on."

The results loaded. And there it was. Her name. Her other name, the made-up one, the one she'd built to hide behind, sitting in headline after headline. Major Deal. Mystery's Most Private Author. Record Advance Rumored. A trade site. A bigger trade site. One of those publishing blogs that lived for exactly this.

"Oh," she said softly.

"Yeah. Oh."

"This is a lot of articles."

"It's a big deal. That's what a big deal looks like." Rachel's voice softened. "I know this isn't how you like things. But it's good. It's the good kind of loud. Nobody's saying anything ugly. They're saying you're worth a fortune, which, for the record, you are."