"Your point is?"
"Our point is," Justine intervenes, "you have plenty of growing up to do. We expected you to mature a little bit after the break-up"—Rowan's jaw is clenched so tightly he's seconds away from hearing the bones crack—"but all you've done is spend money on things you don't need, like that new Jeep of yours, and the Twin Peaks merchandise. Seriously, honey, why do you care so much about a show that aired before you were born?"
"Season three aired last year." Rowan stands up, putting his t-shirt back on, and places his hands on his hips. The dry air outside has done wonders in such a short amount of time and he knows he shouldn't be happy about it, as it's almost October and there's not a single rain cloud in sight. Both his parents look up at him. "Besides, who cares where I spend my money? I earned it fair and square."
"Just send your damn application, Rowan," Timothy dryly orders and Rowan huffs, making his way back inside the house with his chin held high, like a child who was denied some candy. He makes sure to stomp his feet, though it doesn't quite have the dramatic effect he thought it would, as he's wearing flip-flops, and it only manages to piss off his parents even more. "And quit acting like a spoiled brat!"
"I have pretty darn good reasons to be spoiled," Rowan yells, taking the first step on the staircase and disappearing upstairs. He even slams the door leading to his room because he clearly hadn't messed things up enough by storming out of the back garden.
His laptop lies open over his bed to taunt him, as he had stupidly been checking adverts of people requesting a ghostwriter's services. He feels pathetic when he does it, remembering how people insist he should try to write his own stuff instead of doing it for other people and only publishing seemingly mediocre articles for seemingly mediocre local newspapers every now and then, but it's not that simple. It never is.
They forget about how hard it is to get a contract nowadays. If you're a celebrity, writing a book is so much easier because they're expecting you to do it at some point, but it's considerably more difficult to do when you're a regular person from New Hampshire who's not critically acclaimed. There's plenty of competition and Rowan knows he has what it takes to make it into the publishing world if anyone ever gives him a proper chance—and if he decided to show off his best writing samples to publishers looking for young blood instead of putting all his energy into ghostwriting, but that's a story for another time—but, realistically, the odds of that ever happening are low.
Rowan wouldn't even consider himself to be particularly realistic, let's be honest, but there comes a time in your life when someone knocks you off your pedestal and reminds you you might not be as good as you thought you were. Jasper was the one who did it to him, thinking it would be helpful—in her own twisted way of being helpful, that is, but Jasper has never been much of a team player; then again, neither has Rowan—but he knows it was simply her way of eliminating the competition.
That might explain why she got the damn contract two years ago and published a best-seller under her own name, while he's stuck begging people to let him write for them while keeping all the credit for themselves.
"You can't tell me it doesn't look fancy to have Jasper St. Claire plastered on the cover," she told him, stroking a hardcover copy of her debut novel as if it was a lap dog. "I'm looking forward to seeing you do the same someday."
It's ridiculous.
"I think this is a great opportunity for you," Rowan mocks, in a mutter, even though he's alone in the bedroom. He then double-clicks on the space bar to make the screen light up.
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Counterfactual
Mystery / ThrillerRowan was just here to be a ghostwriter. Investigating a small town's folklore and its connection to a real life murder wasn't part of his contract. ***** Rowan Underwood prom...
01 | ghostwriter
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