Chapter 2

TARA

Ugh. Not again.

When my boss called my name twice, I knew I had gone overboard with my commentary.

 My head was still not in the game. I hated Monday, but I hate this day even more. I still had a hangover, not from alcohol, but from a kiss with a stranger. 

I knew it was nothing, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe this was the effect of having a dry spell longer than any woman could bear.

 “Yes, Mr. Brown?” I said in an American accent as I ran towards his office door. As I got closer, I could see his nose flaring, his brown eyes narrowing at me behind his eyeglasses.

 “Are you kidding me?” He shoved the paper before my eyes. “You can’t write something like this and not get backlash online. If you still want this job and your co-workers will have a job tomorrow, just do what I ask you to.” 

“But, that’s exactly—” I stopped mid-sentence when he glared further. 

“What did I just say? Express Media will not see the light of day if you post something against the giant corporate media or the entity they’re supporting.” He pushed the paper into my chest. 

“Mr.—” I caught the paper of my one-hundred-word analysis on the latest issue of foreign policies. 

“Rewrite that. I need it before the end of the day.” Before shutting the door right in my face, he turned to me. “Just write what makes the subscribers and readers happy.” 

Drawing a deep breath, I walked back to my desk. So my promotion was not going to happen sooner. I just threw it outside the window because, apparently, I was very opinionated. But that was the job, the last time I checked.

“Look who got an admirer,” Talia sang, her brown fox eyes dancing with humor.  

My eyebrows furrowed. What was she talking about? I ignored what she said, just like how she complained to me every day about her abusive husband, but never left him, as if he were the last man on earth. 

But what was more concerning than my analysis was the bouquet with a single Juliet rose in the center. It didn’t have to check the card. I knew what it meant. Someone was sending me a message.

Oh, no. Did something happen back home?

My heart started to beat faster as I grabbed my bag and told Talia, “I’ll be right back before lunch.”

Confused, she asked, “Where are you going? It’s not even lunch break yet.”

“I know, but I have to go.” I stuffed the paper into my bag and walked out.

I arrived at the park and sat on the bench. I checked the watch, it was only thirty minutes, and I started to grow restless. I rubbed my palm against my pants as I looked around at the possible familiar faces.

Since I left home, I barely checked the news about my family. I learned to forgive myself for what I did, but never a day passed by that I didn’t miss them, despite the severe punishment they put on me. 

Before I could stand up, someone sat next to me. The sweet aromatic note of fresh, fruity, spicy, and vanilla with a hint of sexiness, warm, and the elegance of jasmine and musk filled the air. 

I turned my head to look at the woman. An audible gasp escaped my lips as the familiar face of iStyle Magazine’s editor-in-chief took off her sunglasses. Sometimes, people called her the real-life Miranda Priestly because of her brilliance and intimidating nature.

“Ms. Hearst?” I shut my mouth close and shallowed. This was not a coincidence. But how did she find out about the secret messaging?

“Tara Montimer.” Right. It was even more concerning that she knew my name.

“I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else.” I rose to my feet.

“I sent you the flowers,” she said nonchalantly and looked at her three-hundred-thousand-dollar limited edition watch. “Sit down.”

 “Why? What do you want?” I sat down not because I respected her as the illegitimate sister of the King of Triberis Capria, but I was dying to know why she was wasting her time on me. 

“The fans of Midnight are dying to read the sequel. T.S. Prince left quite a cliff-hanging ending. Sixteen million copies sold and eighteen weeks on top of the NYT Bestselling spot. A Breakthrough Young Adult Author of the Year. That’s impressive.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I met her gaze. Her brown eyes seemed warm, but I could see the determination of a blunt and insensitive woman to get what she came here for.

“I’d love to publish the identity of the author behind the bestselling book Midnight on Page Six. I heard T.S. Prince is a woman. What do you say, Tara? The fans will be delighted.”

 My blood boiled in my veins. “And you think that it’s me?” I snorted, pointing at myself. “I can’t even get my 100-word commentary done, let alone write a bestselling book. You’re delusional.” Did I just call Alessia Hearst delusional?

 I think I just did. And it felt good, knowing what her country did to mine. 

“Drop the accent, Tara. I know who you are. What do you think your fans will say if they found out who you are and the identity behind T.S. Prince? And I will do it, trust me. I also know you have the family property with you. Tomorrow, you will be the headline; your anonymity as an author is over. Unless you do as I say.”

“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m done with people intimidating and bullying me. If you can ruin me, I can ruin you, too?”

“With what, my dear?” Her perfect eyebrow arched. “Nothing that can damage my reputation. The world knows who I am.” She was right. People had accepted her as she was. Unlike me.

“What do you want?”

“Aren’t you tired of hiding behind the shadow? Don’t you want to show your family that you’re back on your feet, conquering the world, and that you’re not that loser anymore?” She snorted, scrolling her gaze at me. “Why not show them what you are capable of?”

 I shook my head in confusion. “What are you trying to say, Alessia?”

 When she gave me the white card with silver metallic print, I stared at it for a moment, rereading the company name in my head.

 When I looked at her, I didn’t know what to say.

 “I wrote my number on the back. You have twenty-four hours to agree, or your identity and your little secret as T.S. Prince are over.”

 Still pissed off with my encounter with Alessia, I drove back to work, only to almost bump into my best friend, who was my former roommate at the lobby. 

“Olive, what are you doing here?” I asked, even though I knew why she was here. 

“Hey. Glad I caught you. You didn’t return my call.” She accidentally read my manuscript over a year ago. That was how she became my literary agent. 

I breathed deeply. “Give me two months. That’s all I need.”

“Honey, you know I love you. I can give you the time you need, but the publisher won’t wait any longer. It’s been more than a year since your last book, and the fans are getting enraged and anxious. And you got the advance payment already.”

“I just—” 

“I’m sorry.” She gave my hands a soft squeeze and said, “I know it’s my fault and idea for a cliff-hanger, but the book is so good. Maybe you need to get out of your apartment just this weekend. I can arrange a cabin somewhere in the mountains. Maybe the ideas will flow in a nice, quiet place.”

I rolled my eyes as I smiled. “Yes, it definitely will. Will freeze my ass to death. No, thank you.” I hadn’t told her I attended the ball. Even though she helped me pick the dress, she knew I would not attend. All of a sudden, I changed my mind at the last minute.

“Okay. Bad idea.”

“I’ll give you the outline in a week. Is that okay?”

“I want it on Monday. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I just need something to present to Lori.”

“Fine. Monday it is.”