"Please teach me to become a better writer!" "Oh?" Joaquin got his glass sipped his whiskey as he looked at me in a condescending manner. "I need something in return," he teased as he put his glass down on the table, making me nod excitingly. "Yes, yes! I would do anything you ask for!" Hearing her feedback, he stood up from his chair then walked towards me, chuckling. "Erm..." I stepped away from him, now bumping my back on the wall behind me. Surprised, I gasped as he did a breathtakingly hot "kabe-don". He then spoke near my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "What if I ask... for a collaboration?" --- Haven Thorne, a young woman who is eager to become a great writer, secretly attended a party that was hosted by a popular and rich top author, Joaquin Greyson. Wanting to learn from the great writer, Haven gathered her courage and visited his home for consecutive days even after the constant rejections. Irritated, Joaquin entertained the persistent woman to stop her. Seeing her determination however, piqued his interest and had agreed to her request—even asking for a collaboration! Will the top author really be willing to teach the newbie, or will he lose his patience? Will she able to meet the demands of her experienced mentor, or will she disappoint him? With that in mind, what will their pen and passion teach them? Love, hate… or something more?
Lihat lebih banyak"Please teach me to become a better writer!"
"Oh?"
Joaquin got his glass and sipped his whiskey as he looked at me in a condescending manner.
"I need something in return," he teased as he put his glass down on the table, making me nod excitingly.
"Yes, yes! I would do anything you ask for!"
Hearing her feedback, he stood up from his chair then walked towards me, chuckling.
"Erm..."
I stepped away from him, now bumping my back on the wall behind me. Surprised, I gasped as he did a breathtakingly hot “kabe-don”. He then spoke near my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
"What if I ask... for a collaboration?"
***
~One hour ago, Joaquin’s party in his mansion~
I adjusted the hem of my borrowed dress, my heart pounding as I slipped through the grand entrance of the opulent mansion. The evening air was cool, carrying the distant hum of the city. Inside the mansion, however, it buzzed with the vibrant energy of the literary elite.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the expansive room, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and the countless glasses of champagne being circulated by the attentive waitstaff.
I took a deep breath, scanning the room. “Joaquin… Joaquin…” I mumbled his name, remembering that this is only my chance—a rare opportunity to meet the legendary Joaquin Greyson, the man whose books had inspired me to become a writer.
Well… actually, I loved writing since I was a child. However, Joaquin Greyson… you rarely come across a handsome man who is a famous writer, in the same city where you grew up. I really want to learn from him!
She walked through the hallway, looking left and right for Joaquin Greyson. The borrowed invitation I had obtained through a friend felt like a golden ticket, and I am not determined to squander it!
As I continued to walk through, clusters of elegantly dressed guests engaged in animated conversations, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of classical music played by a live quartet.
Authors, publishers, and critics moved effortlessly through the crowd, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of intellect and wit.
“Oh, geez…”
I gave myself a sigh as I felt a pang of self-doubt. Compared to me and my modest achievements of just working in a small publishing company, being friends with another known author who was kind enough to stay. and is also a friend of Joaquin…
I am nothing.
“Come on, Haven Thorne…”
I gave myself a sigh, pushing aside my thoughts that are doubting my capabilities. I am here for a reason!
Soon after, my eyes finally landed on Joaquin. He stood near the grand piano, his tall frame commanding attention even amidst the throng. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his tailored suit spoke of understated elegance. He held a glass of wine, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp.
It’s as if he was observing the room with a hint of detachment.
Is he not enjoying his own party? This is indeed a party he threw since his recent book is a major hit. He’s a really good author when it comes to sci-fi, historical-romance, and fantasy-romance. The interaction of his characters in his recent one made me swoon!
Is he in a relationship to be able to pull their lines off?
I shook my head to snap myself out of my reverie. I bit my bottom lip, my eyes already set on talking to him.
‘Is he going to be mad once he knows that I’m here secretly because of Jessie?’ I cocked my head to the side as I continued to think, furrowing my brows together. ‘She’s a known, but humble author of a small publishing company. I’m friends with her and she’s sick, so I’m using her invitation as a way in…’
My eyes darkened as I remembered how Joaquin constantly rejected me because I’m a nobody. I’m just an ordinary girl, working in a small publishing company as a copy editor. I mean… I write my own stories since I was young, but I just do it for myself.
Right now, I want to share what I’m writing to the world!
I actually attempted to share what I wrote to Jessie and she told me I could take a shot… but I felt like it’s still out of my reach—like I still lack something.
And I want a known author’s perspective, Joaquin—who is also a fellow fantasy-romance author. I want a male point-of-view!
Summoning all my courage, I began to weave my way through the crowd. I nodded politely to those who passed, careful not to draw too much attention to myself as I know some of them might wonder who I am…
As I drew closer to Joaquin, snippets of conversations reached my ears—discussions about upcoming book deals, literary trends, and the latest publishing scandals.
I actually want to stay to listen to the “spilled teas”… but he’s already here! I have better priorities in mind.
Finally, I stood just a few feet away from him, close enough to catch a whiff of his cologne—something woody and sophisticated. I hesitated, my mind racing to find the perfect opening line.
‘Damn it! Why am I acting stupid now? I’m not dumb! Say something, Haven!’
But before I could even speak, his piercing brown eyes locked onto mine. It made me freeze on my spot as he raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“Lost, are we?” he asked, his voice smooth and rich.
I swallowed hard, feeling my cheeks rush as I didn’t expect him to speak first!
“N-not exactly.” Darn it, Haven… you sound stupid! “Ahem…” I cleared my throat, hoping to steady my voice despite the butterflies—no… dragons, flying in my stomach. “I came here to speak with you.”
Joaquin took a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving my face. “Is that so? And what, pray tell, does a copy editor like yourself want from me?”
It started out like a memory. A flicker of a moment that had already happened.Joaquin’s hand slid along my waist, his fingers cool and confident, just like that night in the dressing room. I could still feel the way he pressed against me, the heat of his breath as he whispered my name.His lips trailed along my collarbone, and I tilted my head, granting him access as if it were natural—like I wanted it. Like I needed it. His mouth was on mine again, insistent and hot, stealing the breath right from my lungs.My hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his lips left a trail down the curve of my neck. I gasped when he murmured something—something that felt like a promise and a threat wrapped in silk.His grip tightened just a bit, grounding me in that moment, and for a second, I swore I could hear his heartbeat.Then I blinked.It was too vivid. Too real. The way his mouth moved, the way my body responded—it wasn’t just a dream. But I know it was… Joaquin was never with me even bef
The house was quiet when we returned. Ethan had gone home for the night, and Mark had disappeared somewhere to rest. Joaquin and I said nothing to each other as we entered the bachelor’s pad, just the subtle sound of our footsteps filling the silence.I headed to my room, removed the dress, and changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an old hoodie. Comfort over couture.But sleep didn’t come.Instead, I grabbed my laptop, the one I used for editing manuscripts, and quietly made my way to the study. The space was dimly lit, peaceful, and for once, entirely mine. I curled up on the chair with a mug of tea, opened Joaquin's latest manuscript draft, and began scrolling through it."Too wordy," I muttered under my breath, highlighting a few paragraphs. "Run-on sentence. Better transition needed here."It was easier to focus on work than to dwell on... everything else. On how he held my hand. On how he said I was the only one he wanted. On how I wasn’t sure if any of it was real.After an h
As dinner ended and the final glass of wine was poured, I could feel the weight of the evening settling into my shoulders. The tension. The performance. The careful words. I was exhausted—but I kept my head held high, even as we stood in the grand foyer saying our goodbyes.Mr. Joseph Bryan Greyson stood by the door, flanked by his secretary and butler, the very image of power and pride. His eyes flicked toward me one last time, and just when I thought he might actually say something decent, he proved me wrong.“You’ll forgive me, Joaquin,” he said with a sigh, “but I still believe Clarisse is the only woman truly worthy of your name. All this”—he gestured between us—“I’ll consider it a phase. When you’re ready for something real, I’ll begin the introductions.”My fingers twitched at my side.Joaquin stiffened beside me, the polite mask slipping from his face. “No,” he said sharply, without hesitation. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”His words cut through the air like a clean blad
The dinner table looked like it had been pulled straight out of a palace catalog.Lobster thermidor drizzled with thick, creamy sauce sat in golden dishes, followed by an arrangement of foie gras, caviar-topped hors d'oeuvres, and delicately carved duck breast in plum reduction.Wine glasses shimmered in the glow of the massive chandelier overhead. Everything screamed extravagance, from the imported china to the absurdly shiny silverware I was slightly scared to touch.It was my first time seeing food like this in person, much less being expected to eat it. I took a bite of the duck first, and I swear I saw stars. It was too good. Unfairly good. But even with food like this in front of me, I couldn’t relax.Because across the table, Joseph Bryan Greyson—the infamous patriarch himself—was watching me.No, studying me.He hadn’t said much during the first few minutes, but his silence was more unsettling than anything. Joaquin sat to my left, politely eating, cool as ever. Meanwhile, I co
Ethan drove in silence.The city lights flickered past the windows, muted behind the tinted glass. The air inside the car felt heavier than usual—dense with everything that hadn’t been said since that night.I sat by the window in the backseat, my legs crossed, the silky slit of my burgundy dress riding high on my thigh. I knew exactly what I was doing. And I could feel Joaquin noticing.He sat beside me, hands clasped in his lap… until I caught him stealing a glance.He cleared his throat—sharp and sudden, as if trying to shake off a thought.I turned to him slowly. “You okay?”“Yeah,” he said, eyes lingering for a second too long before he looked out the opposite window. “Fine.”I didn’t believe him for a second.He shifted in his seat and then reached out for my hand.I blinked as his fingers wrapped around mine, lacing them together tightly, deliberately.A show. A couple in love. That’s what we were here to do, right?I stared at our hands blankly. I said nothing.He turned his he
Two days had passed since that night—the night he kissed me, touched me, and then walked away like I was a mistake.Since then, Joaquin and I had slipped into a silent routine, the kind that only cracked open when convenience demanded it.We both worked from home, communicating only when absolutely necessary—when discussing the status of manuscripts or coordinating meetings.Nothing personal. Nothing close.The warmth from before had all but vanished, like a curtain drawn over the sun.It was late in the afternoon when we were seated across each other in his study. Papers scattered between us, a laptop open to a shared document as we read through a final chapter submission from one of our authors. We gave notes. We revised. We edited.Just like normal.“I just flagged a pacing issue in chapter fifteen,” Joaquin said, voice neutral.I nodded, eyes still glued to the screen. “Got it. I’ll adjust the timeline slightly to make the transition smoother.”“Thanks,” he said. “And—right, before
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