I’m not a particularly vain person, but I don’t like to make a habit of talking to attractive, hot men without taking a shower first and at least changing out of my pajamas.

Caroline shrugs and tosses her hair before leaving the room. I hear them talking out in the hallway as I sit down at my desk. I stare out of the window at the foggy, fall New York morning outside. Most of the leaves in the city have fallen, leaving the trees barren and naked. This time of year always makes me very sad. The holidays are still pretty far away and none of the lights and other decorations are up yet. In this moment, the city seems to just sit in wait, in anticipation of something bigger.

As large, voluptuous rain drops hit the glass, I turn my attention to my laptop and scroll through my emails. Surprisingly, the proofreader came back with an edited manuscript.

---

Ellie,

I couldn’t put this book down. I was sick with a cold last night, but decided to open it and just take a look. Two hours later, I was done! It’s awesome. Thank you so much for taking me away from my misery for a few short hours.

Kora

---

I don’t quite believe what I’ve just read, so I read it again. And again. Is she for real? Wow, I never knew that my writing could have such an impact. My heart fills with joy. I have to tell someone. I want to reach out to my mom, am about to dial, but then realize that it’s too soon to tell her. No, I don't want this to become some negative experience in case she comes down on me about writing romance novels in the first place.

I pick up the phone and text Aiden. I send him a screenshot of what the proofreader said. He writes back within a few moments.

---

Wow, Ellie! That’s great news. I’m so proud of you!

---

I get up to pace around the room. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I look past the pale skin, the dark circles under my eyes, the messed up hair, and the tattered clothes that are only modestly passing for pajamas. Instead, all I see is the smile that won’t go away.

After taking a shower and writing back to the proofreader, I accept all the changes that she’s made to the manuscript - mainly fixing typos and little inconsistencies - and try to think of what to do next.

Self-publishing isn’t like normal publishing. It’s not just submitting a book to an agent or a publisher and letting them do all the heavy lifting. I’m not an expert, but I have been listening to a ton of podcasts and reading a bunch of blogs that talk about the different ways to approach this. One thing that is for sure, I need to start a mailing list. And the best way to get people to subscribe is to give away the book for free in exchange for an email address.

I format the Pages file of text into a mobi file for Kindle as well as an ePub file and attach the cover. Then I go to Bookfunnel and Instafreebie, open accounts, and upload my book. I then sign up for Mailerlite, where I get the first one thousand subscribers for free and connect the Bookfunnel and Instafreebie accounts to my Mailerlite account. I lie down on the bed and scroll through the Facebook groups that I recently joined with my new Ella Montgomery account. Many of these deal exclusively with Bookfunnel and Instafreebie giveaways of books for hungry and voracious readers. I fill out the forms and sign up for five in the coming month.

A few hours later, I’m even prouder of myself than I was when I received the email from the proofreader. I’m not a particularly techie person. Setting up all of these accounts and connecting them all to each other may not seem like a big deal to other people, but it felt insurmountable to me.

When I’m done, I want to reach out to Aiden again to tell him everything I managed to accomplish despite my horrible hangover, but my stomach growls. No, I need to get something to eat first. I head to the kitchen, hoping that I’ve given Caroline and Taylor enough time to get on with their breakfast plans. I’m pleased to discover that my apartment is completely deserted. I take out some eggs from the fridge and grab a fork. I beat the eggs until they’re all one color. Then I add some coconut milk, my secret ingredient to making my scrambled eggs very fluffy and slightly sweeter than they would be normally.

While I swirl around the spatula to make sure that the eggs get even fluffier when they cook on the skillet, I flip on the television. An aggressive guy is screaming out of the screen and a scroll of stock news and other numbers that mean nothing to me flash on the bottom of the screen. I’m pretty sure that neither Caroline nor I have ever turned on CNBC, the financial news channel, on our own accord. No, this must be Taylor’s handiwork.

I’m about to change the channel when another talking head appears on the screen and the two of them start to discuss the downfall of Owl.

Wait, did I hear that right? The downfall of Owl? Aiden’s company?

I turn up the volume, turn off the flame on the stove, and listen in carefully. My head starts to buzz when I hear that the company already lost more than a billion dollars in valuation and there’s no sign that it won’t continue to lose money as the days proceed. The two talking heads argue over what the company should do and decide that getting rid of the CEO, Aiden Black, is the only way to salvage this mess that he’s made.

I drop the remote control and it falls to the floor with a loud boom. Get rid of Aiden? Can they even do that? Isn’t this his company?

As if they heard my questions in their studio, the two anchors announce that it is, of course, possible to get rid of the CEO. It’s a public company and the CEO answers to a board of directors who make all the decisions. And if the board of directors isn’t happy with something that the CEO is doing, they definitely have the power to kick him out for the greater good.

The greater good? The greater good of who? None of this is Aiden’s fault. Blake pulled his money out of the company and talked a lot of trash about Aiden to other investors, causing an avalanche of people leaving Owl and taking their money with them. But how could they just believe him, just like that? Why didn’t they give Aiden a chance to explain?

No, this can’t be happening, I mutter to myself as my eggs grow colder and colder by the minute. I stare straight ahead unable to move a single bit of my body. My mind comes up with more questions than I can answer, leaving me in a state of immobilization. I can’t manage to move a single muscle, let alone command myself to go to the kitchen and eat my breakfast. I feel completely useless.

My mind goes back and forth between whether or not I should call Aiden. On one hand, I want to tell him that I know what’s going on. I want to tell him that I’m here for him. But on the other hand, I know that’s just a lie. I mean, I am here for him, of course, but I don’t really know what’s going on. I’m only privy to second-hand information from a couple of people on television who are just speculating on what’s going to happen. They know a little bit, but is it enough? He most definitely knows a lot more than the people on the financial news channel, who don’t even seem like legit reporters, since they spent half an hour arguing about their positions.

Without fully deciding one way or another, I pick up the phone and dial. I don't know what I'm going to say when he answers; I’m just going to let the words flow out of me.

The phone rings once, twice, and a third time. Then it goes to his voice mail. He’s not there. Either that or he’s not answering on purpose.

A minute later, I receive a text, I can’t talk now.

I decide to let the matter lie. There’s nothing else I can do about any of this. I mean, if Aiden can’t do anything, and neither can his minions of lawyers, what am I, a budding romance novelist, going to do?