Inspire Me

Inspire

Me

Morgan Rayne

Copyright 2015 by Morgan Rayne

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events described in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Dedication

To my therapist Erin. Thank you for keeping me sane, for being that voice of reason I often need, and for taking time out of your busy days to read my stories and help me with new ideas. And last but not least, thank you for making me laugh so hard my sides hurts, while trying to find me ‘the One’. Without you, my life wouldn’t be nearly as bright.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Willow spun through the revolving door of Harem House Publishing, the bleak gray sky and frigid winter air swallowing her sorrowful sigh, as she walked to the curb and lifted a hand. She watched the heavy midday traffic zip by in a blur, heard brakes squeal from sudden stops, horns blare impatiently, and stepped back as one of the many wildly driven cabs swung into the empty lane before her.

"Maximum Security on South Wacker Drive," she relayed to the driver when he asked for her destination, settling in for the short ride with her head against the back of the seat; her eyes closed. Trying, rather unsuccessfully, to stop the residual nerves leftover from her meeting with her publisher from twisting and turning her stomach into knots.

Mold this lump of crap you’ve just given me into a bestseller by next month’s deadline or, come April, you’ll find yourself without a renewed contract. It’s shit. You know it, as well as I do, so get it done.

Willow was used to her publisher’s abrasive nature, had dealt with Gerald for the last seven years since her first romance novel, Wasted Love––a story about a divorced couple that find their way back to one another––was picked up by the publishing house. Where, much to everyone’s amazement, it sky rocketed to number four on the New York Times Bestseller’s List the second week of its release.

The whole experience had been incredible. Exhilarating. Willow didn’t sleep for days; calling her friends, her family, telling all of them the wonderful news about how her hard work and determination had paid off, earning her a contract for at least four more books over the following two years.

Willow never would have admitted it at the time, but she’d been terrified. Duplicating success like that seemed such a daunting task, but she’d done it. Cranking out one bestseller after another, doing book tours, signings with fans. It was all such a dream come true.

Now, with twelve bestsellers under her belt, Willow’s initial fears had somehow come to fruition. In the last year, her writing had slowed to a crawl––with a lot of typing and even more erasing––until a couple of months ago, when, for whatever reason, the muse that fueled her creativity all these years, up and disappeared completely.

A bolt of panic and fear hit her when she thought of what losing her contract with Harem could mean for her career. Sure, there were other publishing houses out there, other games in town. And surely her fans wouldn’t be so quick to jump ship the way her publisher seemed to be. But without new work to show prospective companies––something fresh and innovative––Willow would become just another former great, with dwindling royalty checks trickling in, until her shining star faded completely, leaving her books to end up in bargain bins the world over.

Then what would she do?

Writing was always the life––the dream–– she’d envisioned for herself, even since before graduating high school. And it was a dream that had carried her through college, and right into a full-blown career a few years later. Her skills outside of her craft were somewhat limited, and in a sea of young, eager faces, Willow and her free spirit would more than likely struggle to find their new place in the world.

Her eyes popped open when the cab jerked to a stop, and Willow instinctively threw her hands out in front of her to avoid taking a header into the partition.

She shook out her mass of curly brown hair––the bane of her existence––and paid the driver. But as she got out, she wondered if she should get back in and head home. Max would understand. He was her best friend, after all, and a former workaholic himself before he met his fiancée, Amy. Then Willow felt a stab of guilt from just thinking about not attending his wedding, and continued on through the doors of the sleek, modern building in front of her; riding the elevator up to the tenth floor.

Morning, Willow. Leslie, Mason’s perky secretary, smiled warmly as she approached. Mason is almost ready. He just has to go over a few last minute details with Harrison, for the third time. Go figure.

Mason, huh? Willow asked, mockingly astonished, as she made herself at home on the corner of Leslie’s desk, legs swinging. You mean Mr. By-the-Book let’s you call him by his first name? Not Sir or Master? What, did he finally have the stick removed from his ass and I forgot to send get well soon flowers?

She grinned playfully, and Leslie laughed, shaking her head as she went back to stuffing letters into envelopes, wisely choosing not to comment on anything to do with her boss’s uptight derrière.

Actually, I prefer cash to flowers, Mason said dryly, dropping another pile of papers on Leslie’s desk. "But it wouldn’t have been necessary; the procedure was relatively