Without a ban

Alexa

“Why doesn’t it fit? I write in the most popular genre. The modern genre, the erotic thriller.”

“Alexa, I don’t want to disappoint you, but don’t get me wrong. You describe everything too fantastically, it can’t happen in real life. And the more realistic the novel, the more demand for it. It’s just the law of the market, nothing more.”

“Are you saying that I’m talentless and don’t understand what the reader might be interested in and all the other authors you’ve published have more realistic descriptions of events in their novels? Do they have more realistic story lines and love stories? Just take Monica Aris and her book “The Adventures of Eve” as an example. Do you really think that she was describing her story, that she was experiencing her character’s fate firsthand? It’s just fiction, and a very mediocre one at that.”

“Alexa, you’re taking this too literally. You don’t understand me.”

“No, I understand you perfectly. Well, you know what? I’m not gonna bring you my stuff anymore. I’m gonna look for other publishers. If it’s all a joke to you!”

“Alexa, just redo it a little and come back. Then we’ll discuss our possible cooperation. In the meantime, alas”.

“No, I won’t change anything in it. I’ll publish it, you’ll see. If not with you, then with others. You’re not the only publisher in New York.”

“Do you think a talentless writer like you is going to succeed? You’re too presumptuous, my dear.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

“I offered you another option, but you turned it down. You always do everything that prevents you from becoming famous in this business. You’re a popular and famous journalist, but that’s not what you want, is it? Don’t you? And I could give it to you if you agreed to my terms.”

“Did you think I would? Yes, I dream of something else, but believe me, it will come true. Later, but it will come true.”

“These conditions would make you famous, and instantly.”

“Sleeping with a 50-year-old billionaire to publish a book, no, sorry.”

“If he’s not good enough for you, I can offer myself, I’m fabulously rich too and in exchange for spending the occasional nice time with me, I’d sign a contract with you for free to publish your novel. Come on, Alexa, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, isn’t it? What difference does it make to which owner to spread your legs if you have to do it anyway?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re only five years younger than him, Mr. Jackson. And yes, have you forgotten that you have a loving wife and an adult daughter? And they certainly wouldn’t like what you’re offering me here now.”

” No, I haven’t forgotten, Alexa. But you think about it, though,” he answered and moved closer to me. I was starting to feel queasy just from the smell of his perfume mixed with sweat.

“I like you a lot. What’s there to like, I’ve wanted you for a long time. You’re a beautiful, young girl, with a very sexy figure, and your eyes are like the ocean, when you look into them, you want to drown. Your lips, I want to kiss you harder and harder every time, deepening with my tongue into your saucy mouth, and how I want to feel you on my cock, you can’t even imagine,” he whispered into my lips, pinching my cheeks with his fingers, making me lift my chin upwards.”

“No, Mr. Jackson, not this time, not with me,- I spat in his face and got up sharply from the table.”

“Alexa, you’re ridiculous. You think that without this, you can really have a career as a famous writer? You’re a beautiful, sexy, attractive woman. Everyone’s gonna be out to get you. If you refuse me, there’ll be another. If you refuse another, there’ll be a third. That’s your lot as a woman, especially a stunning bitch like you,” he added, and then he grabbed my hand sharply, squeezing my wrist.

“Let me go,” I started to pull away, but he wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t want to let me go, and he squeezed my hand even tighter.

“I won’t,” he gritted through his teeth as he pulled me against him.

” I’ve had enough of you, you old bastard!! I was furious, and pushed him away from me sharply as I rose from my chair.

He staggered back a little and moved away. He probably thought it was better not to mess with me, and I had long noticed the way he looked at me, but I did not think it would come to this absurdity.

“Okay, Alexa, I hear you. I won’t suggest Mr. Price and myself again, but take my words to heart.”

“I hear you, now, give me the flash drive and I hope we never see you again.”

“I’m sorry for your reaction to my offer. I’m very sorry. We could have worked together,” he added before he handed me the flash drive, and I took it and headed for the door, but decided to have the last word:

” I’m sure I made the right decision, and you’re just a rich man who thinks he can buy anyone.” walked out, slamming the door and her chance to get her book published by New York’s finest publisher.

This is the third old goat that has turned me down. I’m tired of beating on closed doors. They’re all just asking for one thing, all of them. And Mr. Jackson, he’s right. Damn right.

My novel is a shocking story of love and passion between a German criminal and a criminal psychologist. While examining the behaviour and motives behind Hartman’s crimes, a felon on death row, Christine is confronted with some very scary facts about his life. He was himself a victim of bullying by his parents from his childhood–an oppressive father and mother. He was the one who was betrayed and more than once and considered an outcast. Christine doesn’t notice how she falls in love with him and thinks he’s completely unraveled for her. But unfortunately, only she thinks so. After all, Hartman, has just found leverage over Christine. For what? For her to help him get away with it or to commit another crime?Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

And how is this story not real? I don’t get it. It’s very common in our lives, and it’s not another story of a poor poor poor girl who will run after a mega-rich and handsome billionaire, and he will give her a ring in the end and they will live happily ever after. I mean, it’s a long-standing theme.

Although, I just think that’s the kind of thing the modern reader likes. That’s it, stop thinking about it. The more I immerse myself in it, the more it will overwhelm me. And I don’t want to think that I’m mediocre. I’ve always been the best. In college, in college, in university. My parents dreamed of my writing career, and I myself really wanted to be a journalist, which I did. But it’s not exactly what I wanted. And yet not everyone got the chance that I did. I work in the best magazine of the city “Sensation”. The whole life of the oligarchs, stars and politicians, as in the palm of my hand. I love to catch them at their most poignant moments. Digging through other people’s dirty laundry is always easier than dealing with my own life. And that’s what I should be dealing with. I’m twenty-six years old, married and divorced. It’s been love since childhood, since kindergarten. But apparently with age we just realized that childhood infatuation, can not go into a deeper feeling, and most importantly – in a stormy passion. And so it turned out. Marcus and I didn’t marry out of great love, but because our parents wanted us to. They thought we were perfect for each other. But we hadn’t loved each other for a long time, and we didn’t want to at that point. I was too strong and he was weak. That in spirit, and in sex, too. Nothing new, one or two positions. I started cheating on him. I did it almost every time I had the chance. He guessed, of course. After all, my work involved frequent trips to different cities and states. And also interviews with various celebrities. I certainly could not miss a chance to sleep with a popular soccer player, a rich young businessman, or a popular singer. And that’s not my entire list of preferences. But, they were all young and attractive. But sleeping with old men, no, that was not my priority. So why are the owners of writers’ offices and publishers only old men, why are there no young men in this industry? I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.

I’m tired of changing my partners for quick sex. But I am not the kind of girl who believes in the bright feeling called love. A man will always be driven by his instincts. Namely, the need to satisfy one’s desires. Have I ever been in love or been in love at least once in my life? That’s a very difficult question. Maybe it’s because I’m very selfish and narcissistic? After all, I love myself more than I love other people.