A loner.

The weirdo.

Forever alone.

Too much for anyone to handle.

Surround me a thousand adoring fans, and all it does is remind me how alone I actually am. I’m a walking and talking cliché, I know. And I hate myself for it.

I made it.

Did the impossible.

And for that, yeah, I feel like the bad-fucking-ass my fanbase thinks I am. The nerd, the underdog, the girl everyone made fun of made it not only in the scary world of publishing but now is flourishing in Hollywood. I’ve dated actors. Gone out with producers. Partied with reality TV stars. Signed books all over the world and had my novels translated into more languages than I knew existed. I went from writing fan fiction to my own original stories, and those novels hit it big time with the paranormal and sci-fi loving crowd. My characters became a voice in the much overdue feminist movement, giving hope to those who’d otherwise been hopeless, as well as just providing an entertaining-as-fuck series for pretty much everyone to enjoy.

“Tell me more about Kellie,” Helen says, and the audience eagerly agrees. “How did you come up with such an interesting character?”

My lips pull into a smile, genuine this time, because I can talk about my characters all day long. They’re all me in some sense, just a little less neurotic, even the ones who fight demons on the regular. I’ve put myself into each and every one of my characters in some way or the other, and I stand behind creating realistic and relatable characters one hundred percent, which I know caused waves at last year’s Comic Con.

I have a degree in sociology. I grew up wanting to be a social worker and didn’t study English for years like some of my peers, who look down on me for said lack of degree. But I’ll look out at the audience and tell them with confidence that you either have what it takes to write or you don’t, and wasting years studying “the craft” won’t make up for your lack of talent.

I’ve pissed off my fair share of wealthy parents by saying just that, but I stand by it. Anyone can get a fancy degree if you can wrangle up the money. Creativity can’t be taught. You can learn how to unlock what you already have, but if you don’t have it then you don’t have it.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I refocus my energy on the live interview, telling myself I’ll get a burger—a real one, not that vegan patty shit—if I can pull this off. Deep down, I know I can. I’ve done tons of interviews just like this one, and I love talking about my characters. A rush goes through me, and I reach for the glass of water on the coffee table in front of me. I take a careful drink, always afraid I’m going to dribble water down my chin or drink it the wrong way and spend the next three minutes coughing.

Never in my life did I think taking a drink of water could be this stressful, but welcome to show business. I’m able to drink without choking, drooling, or spilling water on the table when I set the glass back down, ready and excited to launch into a full conversation about Kellie, the leading lady in my paranormal series.

We take a few questions from the audience, and we’re getting close to a scheduled commercial break, signaling that I’m nearing the end of my interview, thank goodness. It’s always been a little difficult for me to keep my eyes on the host or the audience and not get distracted with what’s going on backstage, with the things I can see, but you have no clue about when you’re watching a show.

“Before we go,” Helen says, seamlessly lifting her own glass of water to her lips and taking a drink like a pro. “I think we all are dying to hear about this.” She smiles, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth. “The romance,” she says, and the crowd cheers again. My stomach tightens and I smile, suppressing the fact that she got me. “Who inspired Marcus?”

I can talk about feminism, kick-ass-take-no-shit female leads all day. But ask me about love? Hah. This is where I’m exposed, where it’s obvious I’m a big fat fucking fraud. I’ve been in relationships before, all ending the same way: epic failure. I know nothing when it comes to matters of the heart.

And the truth could put a damper on my career as a romance novelist. I write about true love. Soul mates. First kisses and transcendental lovemaking. Of being brave enough to follow your heart. To fight tooth and nail for that person you know you’re meant to be with.

But the truth of the matter is I’m still hopelessly clinging to a ghost of my past. It’s pathetic, I know. But the heart wants what the heart wants, no matter how stupid it is.

Chapter Three

Chloe

“I’m not going to lie,” Karina starts, sitting back in her leather chair. Her jet-black hair falls in perfect waves around her pretty face. “That was rough.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” I counter, internally wincing. We just got done watching my interview from this morning. I might have cringed more than once while watching. I looked aloof, and you could tell my heart just wasn’t in it. Because it wasn’t.

“I’ve seen worse,” my publicist agrees, brushing dog fur from her ivory-colored suit jacket. “Never from you, though. What’s going on?” Her brown eyes pierce mine, waiting for a response—an honest response. She’ll keep her gaze trained on me until I crack, and I love and hate her for it. She’s petite and girly but is ruthless when it comes to her clients. We started working together when Nightfall got optioned for film and has gotten me an impressive amount of sponsorships and exposure since then.

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I feel…off.”

“Does this have to do with the shitstorm that happened on Twitter a few weeks ago? We resolved that. Do not bring it back up.”

“No, I hadn’t really thought about that until now, so thanks.” Said shitshow was the result of too many mimosas that led me to respond to some asshole on Twitter saying how disappointed she was in me for including LGBTQ characters in my books. She was trying to get her conservative “mom friends” to share a petition to get my show taken off the air because it was a “bad influence” for kids. Not to mention I’m going straight to hell for writing about vampires and witches.

My show just got renewed for a new season, and I know the season after that is in the bag already too. I wasn’t worried about that but was just fed up with assholes like her. As if it’s not hard enough for the LGBTQ community already… My fans rallied with me, and the comments went from trying to nicely educate this woman to threats and digging up personal information about her and her family, which got publicly posted. While my own comments were a little over the edge, I didn’t cross any line, yet I was seen as the ringleader for the rapid responses that followed.

I’ve always had a good reputation in both publishing and producing, and the fact that I’m not a drama-llama has worked in my favor. It didn’t help that only two days after said Twitter shitstorm, I went on a date with the son of a movie producer who got a little handsy, repeatedly tried to slide his fingers under my dress while at the table of a crowded restaurant, and then called me a prude when I told him to knock it off. I threw my drink in his face and walked out, and yes—that part got caught on camera by the paparazzi, but not him touching me without consent. It was a big his-word-against-mine mess, and with the threat to get lawyers involved, he issued a public apology but then days later Tweeted a list of all my ex-boyfriends, saying I was obviously the issue and there must be “something wrong with me.” It’s so fun to have all your failed relationships scrutinized publicly on social media, and as much as I hated it, as much as I tried not to let it get to me…it did.