Work For It (Naiad Novels Book 1)

“The next time I see him in person, I’m going to physically fight him.”

On the laptop screen in front of me, Marianne throws her head back and cackles at my comment. Despite her laughter, she knows I’m not joking. She’s well aware of just how much I hate Daniel Santiago and every problem he’s caused me. She should be. I’ve only threatened to kill him about a thousand times over the last two years.

Our delightful coworker is the reason I’ve been screwed out of money, why I’m continuously kept in the dark about projects, and why I consider taking blood pressure medication every morning. Because when I see his face in that little box on Zoom during our daily team meeting and I’m forced to listen to his condescending voice, I’m convinced I’ll have a rage-induced stroke.

He’s also part of the reason I have my job in the first place, but that’s not as important.

“He fucked me over again,” I huff, still fuming from the Zoom meeting with the acquisitions team that just finished.

“What did he do this time?” Marianne asks.

I take a breath, gearing up for another Daniel-inspired rant. “He told me the continuation of Kimmy Petes’ Burned by the Billionaire that I’ve been working on for months would be released on the app last week. So, of course, I got her all hyped up about the release of the new chapters we wrote for her. And I told her she could start posting all the marketing material and dive into all the fun author stuff on social media to promote it. Sounds good, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, it’s not good.” I scowl. “Because the release date comes and goes, and then Kimmy emails me demanding to know why the new chapters aren’t posted, telling me she’s promised her readers something that wasn’t delivered. And she’s pissed.”

“Oh shit.”

“Uh, yeah. And guess who’s taking the brunt of that anger since she’s the production lead for the new chapters and has become Kimmy’s punching bag at Naiad Novels?” I point to myself. “This stupid bitch.”

Recounting the story only makes me angrier. As a fellow author and one who has had her own books continued by Naiad Novels, I get it more than most. I’d be livid if my publisher didn’t release the super-hyped, much-anticipated continuation of my best-selling book when they promised. And as an employee of Naiad Novels—the hottest serialized fiction platform on the market, currently revolutionizing the publishing game—I know a fuck-up like this is colossally unprofessional.

It doesn’t matter that Daniel and his team are in charge of posting chapters on the platform. I’m running point on her project, so I’m the one Kimmy is furious with.

Normally, I’d chalk something like this up to miscommunication inside the company and move on, but this isn’t the first time Daniel has made my professional life hell. I swear he’s determined to ruin all the projects I’m assigned to. And I hate him for it.

This feels like a personal attack. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into ghostwriting these new chapters of Burned by the Billionaire on Kimmy’s behalf, working tirelessly on a project she would be happy to put her name to. Kimmy may have written the original story—the first thirty chapters—but after that, the work is all mine. I’m talking hundreds of chapters. At Naiad Novels, our slogan is What if your favorite story never had to end? And these things really do not fucking end.

Until they stop bringing in money, that is.

We buy, or acquire, as Daniel would remind me to say, romance novels from top-selling self-published authors and continue them. We post a new chapter each day on our app, creating never-ending tales. Like soap operas or telenovelas in written form, with a lot more steam.

So yeah, I spend most of my day writing smut. And it takes a hell of a lot of skill.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Selene,” Marianne gently scolds. “It’s not like this is your fault.”

She’s right. Daniel changed the release date without telling me. And, in the meeting we wrapped up ten minutes ago, he implied it was my fault for not checking our internal calendar for changes. I could have accepted the blame if that had been true, but I’d checked the calendar almost obsessively, only to see the release date change an hour before the first ten chapters of the continuation were scheduled to go live on the app. By then, it was too late. I could do nothing but brace myself to pacify a livid author.

And while I had to rein it in when I spoke to Kimmy, I was just as angry. Because even though her name is the only one that will appear on the story, I came up with the plot and the character arcs for the continuation. And I edited the hell out of her original manuscript to make it more appealing to serialized readers. It’s the most work I’ve put into any project besides my own, and I’m proud of it, even if I can’t publicly claim credit, thanks to my employment contract and too many NDAs to count.

So letting its release day come and go, angering thousands of readers who had been anticipating the promised new content from their favorite author, is a slap in my face as well as Kimmy’s.

Thus, I’m more than ready to fistfight Daniel Santiago.

“Has Kimmy calmed down at all?” Marianne asks, a concerned frown marring her face.

I shoot the laptop camera a dry look. “Not in the slightest. In her latest email, of which there have been at least twenty since this fiasco started, she asked me how I could work for such an unscrupulous company, and how I, as an author, ever trusted them to continue my work.”

“Well… You didn’t trust us to continue it to your standards,” Marianne points out. “That was why Daniel suggested bringing you on as a full-time employee. So you could do it yourself. And make us a ton of money in the process.”

I scowl at the reminder of how I found myself at Naiad Novels, not wanting to give him credit for the one good thing he did.

“Money he cheated me out of as an author,” I grumble. “I could have made so much more in royalties if he hadn’t screwed me over in the acquisition deal for the books Naiad bought.”

“True, he lowballed you,” she concedes. She’s well aware that the percentage of royalties I earn is far lower than that of our other top-performing authors. “But that’s how the industry works.”

That may be true, but I can and will be bitter. “Yeah, and I’ll still punch him in the face for it.”

Marianne cackles again. When she’s caught her breath, she stares into the camera, wide-eyed. “Ooh, you’ll be in the office next week, won’t you?” Her face lights up over the video feed. “Will the showdown happen then? If so, could you film it? I won’t be in New York until the week after, and I do not want to miss this.”

Thanks to the pandemic, I haven’t been to our New York City office in nearly eighteen months. My position at Naiad has always been remote, and in the Before Times, I traveled from my home in Baltimore to the city about once a month to attend important meetings. After shutting down the physical office for a while, the higher-ups finally reopened it two months ago, and the company has gone with more of a hybrid approach, giving employees the choice to come in or work from home.

It’s taken some time, but I’ve finally scrounged up enough bravery to get on a train and work face to face with people next week—Daniel included. I can only hope he chooses to stay home those days.

I snort out a laugh. “Buy your tickets now for the fight of the century.”

“I’d watch this on pay-per-view in a heartbeat. Price doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe I’ll wait to go after him until you’re there. Save myself the effort. And the filming fees.”

“Gives you more time to train too. I want you in the best fighting shape to take him on. Daniel better watch himself.”

She’s right. Because when I see that maddening man in person, I swear, it’s on sight.