Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) by A.C. Dillon Page B
Authors: A.C. Dillon
Ads: Link
clicked to open it.
Well, it was about Veronica. The sender, however, was Keenan Hall.
Dude, what the hell is going on with Veronica? Have you heard about this shit?
The shit in question: an "anonymous source connected to the production" claimed to have information about a police investigation concerning the starlet. Leaning forward, blinking hard to clear his vision, Evan read on, his heart beginning to race. Veronica had been receiving a series of unusual letters at the theatre from a mystery admirer, so the story went. They were calling him a stalker.
A stalker...
Apparently, police were called when an unwanted gift arrived backstage, without any witness to its delivery. The more Evan read, the more he understood that it was fate that kept him awake tonight. This was his cue to act.
Opening a new tab, he booked a last minute ticket on a plane to New York. His parents would be pissed, but he'd sort that out when he returned. Besides, what good were his university savings when he couldn't be bothered to attend?
Money could be earned again. Veronica needed him, whether she cared to admit it or not.
Quickly, he tapped out a reply to Keenan. I'm going to find out .
A suitcase was packed, clothes shoved in haphazardly, his computer tucked into his messenger bag. Sleep. Evan was overcome with a sense of peace, one he hadn't known for some time. Veronica . One way or another, he had to see her, confront her. If it was truly over, he would accept it, but only if she could look him in the eye and explain it.
Her safety was his priority. No one else would be allowed near her. He'd see to it.
Setting an alarm for six, Evan sprawled out on his bed and closed his bleary eyes. I'm coming, Veronica. For you. For the truth.
SEVEN
One of the things Autumn loved most about her editor was the decor of her office: film memorabilia, from the classics ( Vertigo ) to modern indies (American Mary ). Originally from a screenwriting background, Courtney Nelson had switched into the world of editing at age 32, quickly cultivating a reputation for finding books that translated well for film and television adaptations. The latest blockbuster thriller in the theatres? Her find, culled from studying the top downloads on Kindle Unlimited. The author was contacted, a traditional publishing deal signed, and now, Maxwell Adams was living nicely on his royalties and film residuals.
Today, Courtney was commanding the Forked Creek Press offices in a stunning red blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair pulled back in a loose, deliberately messy ponytail. Her delicate features (Courtney's heritage was Chinese-Welsh) were dashed with the faintest hint of make-up—just enough to " make the men take me seriously ", as she'd whispered conspiratorially at their first meeting.
"Autumn Brody!" she exclaimed, reaching out her hand as she entered. "So very sorry to keep you waiting, although you'll forgive me soon enough."
"Always good to see you, Courtney," Autumn gushed, accepting a quick handshake. "Discover any future bestsellers this week?"
Courtney chuckled, settling into her chair and tapping furiously at her keyboard. "Perhaps, although today is about your future bestseller. We sent out the first ARCs three weeks ago."
ARCs—Advance Reading Copy in plain English—were employed to generate reviews and buzz for a future release. Forked Creek Press was a firm believer in the power of book bloggers to make or break a new author, choosing to nurture positive relationships with well-known bloggers over pandering to mainstream media. While the mainstream outlets eventually got their copies, bloggers came first. Their social media networks were vital to Forked Creek, a subsidiary that tended to focus on suspense and thrillers over classic literary fiction or romantic narratives.
"Did everyone on the list get one, as I asked?"
Courtney nodded. "As far as I heard. Your grandmother, Andrew, your friends Veronica and Evan, George of course,
Well, it was about Veronica. The sender, however, was Keenan Hall.
Dude, what the hell is going on with Veronica? Have you heard about this shit?
The shit in question: an "anonymous source connected to the production" claimed to have information about a police investigation concerning the starlet. Leaning forward, blinking hard to clear his vision, Evan read on, his heart beginning to race. Veronica had been receiving a series of unusual letters at the theatre from a mystery admirer, so the story went. They were calling him a stalker.
A stalker...
Apparently, police were called when an unwanted gift arrived backstage, without any witness to its delivery. The more Evan read, the more he understood that it was fate that kept him awake tonight. This was his cue to act.
Opening a new tab, he booked a last minute ticket on a plane to New York. His parents would be pissed, but he'd sort that out when he returned. Besides, what good were his university savings when he couldn't be bothered to attend?
Money could be earned again. Veronica needed him, whether she cared to admit it or not.
Quickly, he tapped out a reply to Keenan. I'm going to find out .
A suitcase was packed, clothes shoved in haphazardly, his computer tucked into his messenger bag. Sleep. Evan was overcome with a sense of peace, one he hadn't known for some time. Veronica . One way or another, he had to see her, confront her. If it was truly over, he would accept it, but only if she could look him in the eye and explain it.
Her safety was his priority. No one else would be allowed near her. He'd see to it.
Setting an alarm for six, Evan sprawled out on his bed and closed his bleary eyes. I'm coming, Veronica. For you. For the truth.
SEVEN
One of the things Autumn loved most about her editor was the decor of her office: film memorabilia, from the classics ( Vertigo ) to modern indies (American Mary ). Originally from a screenwriting background, Courtney Nelson had switched into the world of editing at age 32, quickly cultivating a reputation for finding books that translated well for film and television adaptations. The latest blockbuster thriller in the theatres? Her find, culled from studying the top downloads on Kindle Unlimited. The author was contacted, a traditional publishing deal signed, and now, Maxwell Adams was living nicely on his royalties and film residuals.
Today, Courtney was commanding the Forked Creek Press offices in a stunning red blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair pulled back in a loose, deliberately messy ponytail. Her delicate features (Courtney's heritage was Chinese-Welsh) were dashed with the faintest hint of make-up—just enough to " make the men take me seriously ", as she'd whispered conspiratorially at their first meeting.
"Autumn Brody!" she exclaimed, reaching out her hand as she entered. "So very sorry to keep you waiting, although you'll forgive me soon enough."
"Always good to see you, Courtney," Autumn gushed, accepting a quick handshake. "Discover any future bestsellers this week?"
Courtney chuckled, settling into her chair and tapping furiously at her keyboard. "Perhaps, although today is about your future bestseller. We sent out the first ARCs three weeks ago."
ARCs—Advance Reading Copy in plain English—were employed to generate reviews and buzz for a future release. Forked Creek Press was a firm believer in the power of book bloggers to make or break a new author, choosing to nurture positive relationships with well-known bloggers over pandering to mainstream media. While the mainstream outlets eventually got their copies, bloggers came first. Their social media networks were vital to Forked Creek, a subsidiary that tended to focus on suspense and thrillers over classic literary fiction or romantic narratives.
"Did everyone on the list get one, as I asked?"
Courtney nodded. "As far as I heard. Your grandmother, Andrew, your friends Veronica and Evan, George of course,
Similar Books
