A highly published and publicized demon/gore author is dropped and entangled in an unbreakable contract that will destroy his career. His estranged wife does not like it and chooses to fight back to save him, if possible. Her fight leads to incomprehensible attacks, and a shocking ending.
Excerpt:
Calvin Westwood had no inkling of the pending devastation when he arrogantly strolled into S-Rand Publishing in Manhattan. He entered the office directly from the elevator on the 20th floor as his usual happy self and feeling like a king on top of the world. He paused at the receptionist’s desk and greeted her. “Hey, Mel. What’s up today? What’s hot, besides me?”
Her cheeks flushed as usual, and she stared at him. “After six years, you can train an idiot to pronounce your name. After six years, you still don’t understand that my name is Melissa. Not Mel. Not Missy. Melissa. That’s who I am. So, I guess you’ve proven that you’re beyond an idiot. Sit down, and I’ll let Barnaby know you’re here.”
“Touchy, aren’t we?” Calvin said and headed for a chair.
“No. I’m not Touchy. I’m Melissa. And you won’t acknowledge that I’m worthwhile. You like to degrade people by slicing up their names, by making them feel insignificant, like you’re so much more important in the world! You’ve got a lot to learn, arrogant prick. Someday you’ll have a lot of time on your hands and maybe that will bring some humility to your life, Mr. Calvin Westwood. Hotshot psychotic gore writer!”
“Slim chance of that. When you’re on the roll I am, I’ll be beyond retirement before I ever lose the inspiration or the readership, Melissa Snyder.”
“Could be a surprise lurking around the corner. The next skirt you drop to the floor could be the one to end your inspiration, sexual conquests, and writing career together.”
She pressed her intercom. “Mr. Barnaby, Calvin Westwood is here to see you. Shall I send him in or call security and have him removed from the premises?”
“Send him in.”
Calvin neared her desk and whispered, “You can be too much of a smart ass sometimes.”
“Right on, but I got you to say my name today, and that’s a victory. Also, I can guarantee it’ll never be my skirt that drops to the floor at your touch, and I’ll still be employed tomorrow. Can you say the same?”
“As I said, when you’re on the roll I am, employment’s a given. See you later.”
With that, he dismissed her and opened Mr. Barnaby’s office door.
Nathan Barnaby sat in his high-back leather chair behind his substantial polished walnut desk. Five other men were seated there in front of the desk.
Calvin paused to view each man’s face. James Millington, Senior Vice President. Dennis Riley, Executive Officer of Distribution. John Wilcox, Executive Officer of Sales and Promotions. Randal Cobbs, Senior Editor, and Jeremy Kalb, Contract Attorney from the legal department.
“Greetings Calvin,” said Barnaby. “You know everyone else here?”
“Yes, I do.” Calvin nodded at each man. He moved forward and sat in the one empty chair in front of the desk that seemed placed for him. “What gives with all this? This is a very unusual array of guests for finalizing a book proposal.”
Barnaby cleared his throat and sighed. “True. However, we have a small problem that we need to discuss and since it could potentially involve all these men in the future, that’s why I invited them.”
“What small problem?” asked Calvin, experiencing a sudden uneasy feeling.
“The small problem is declining sales and distribution of your last three books.”
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“We can,” said Wilcox. “And we’re talking a few million less on each book.”
Calvin felt shocked. “Is that my fault? Maybe you dropped the ball on doing your job, but I didn’t.”
Barnaby retook control. “Calvin, the first four books were brilliant, and I’ll have to say that the one you have on the floor right now is the best of all you’ve ever written. However, the decline in sales and diminished acceptance in foreign markets doesn’t leave us many viable options. The first four will probably be your most remembered works and that will be all. Once the avid reading market stops buying you, you’re finished. Do you recall the times I’ve told you that?”
Calvin recalled the times, and he knew the problem. The first four were inspired, coached, and edited by Birgit, his wife and after that, the three declining novels were from other women. He gulped and thought swiftly, “Damn the luck! I can’t believe this is happening to me!”
“Yes, sir, still, I can’t believe this. I’ve struggled so hard and if this is the best one so far, why can’t the promotion department make it happen anyway? It makes sense to me.”
“Because the Board of Directors don’t have that faith in you any longer. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. Therefore, we must reject this proposal and bid you farewell.”
“What about changing genre?” Calvin asked, desperate to at least have a chance.
