Listening to Better When I'm Dancing, Tristan loved the way the words flowed as he wrote. He was even surprised he used the big word his English dictionary had given him. He had made it a goal to use one new word every day to help grow his vocabulary and help improve scenes in his novel. 

     Adding the last period to the end of the chapter, he exhaled and finally looked up from his desk. His clothes laid on the floor exposed from his bed room, a day old pizza sat on the wooden coffee table in the sitting room and his kitchen smelled of something rotten. Maybe it was his body that had sat there for almost two straight days save for the time he went to the bathroom or to order another box of pizza that sat on the table beside his laptop.

     Taking a whiff from his armpit, he made a face at the odor and quickly decided to clean up before even thinking of going out. He threw the definitely spoilt pizzas away then cleared up his kitchen. When he was sure it was spotless, he listened to his answering machine as he walked into his room.

     From the pile of clothes on his bed to the ones on the floor, Tristan had lost all interest to put them in order so instead, he took a bath to feel refreshed.

"...Trinny, when I get you, I'm going to knock some sense into you. Fucking pick my call."

"Another message at 11:54pm from 493-xxx-xxxx; Trinny, I guess you aren't answering me because you must be in your writer's rush 'cause that's the only time you don't pick up twenty of my calls. Anyway, I was only calling to tell you, boss needs you in the office tomorrow. Eight on the dot. ASAP. Got it?..."

"... Fuck, Trinny call me already. I need to get drunk."

     Tristan was surprised to still hear more messages from his friend and Editor, Racheal Peters, even after he was done taking a shower. A couple, maybe one or two where from his friends and colleague but the other one hundred and were from Racheal. To Tristan, she was quote unquote Clingy.

"...Oh my god, Trinny, boss is mad at you. Did you fucking forget about your meeting again? Lord knows I cannot keep covering your ass."

    That froze him up. What meeting? No one told him he had a meeting. Wishing he could hit his head to a wall, he had forgotten again to buy himself a new phone. How was he expecting anyone to contact him when he had mistakenly left his phone in some store in fucking china town?

     Running to look at the clock in the sitting room, his jaw almost broke apart. It was already twelve p.m. He really had missed his meeting.

"Shit shit shit." He couldn't help cursing as he looked for his shoes.

Why did the bloody need to write have to be now? If it had come earlier, all this never would have happened. He had been doing apparently nothing for almost a week and the thought of going to the office to even think of writing was bizarre.

Firstly, it was impossible to write with a bunch of idiots constantly talking. Tristan needed peace and quiet to think. But the main reason why he would rather die in his house was the little new author his boss had brought. He was amazing and dare Tristan say, better than him since he stole his Best Author title the second his book sold more than Tristan.

Oh how he hated him.

His house phone rang again and Tristan jumped, startled by the sound. He hadn't heard any sound in a while and when he was in his rush, he never exactly hear anything except the clock or the music from his laptop if he needed it.

The answering machine quickly picked up. "Hello, Tristan? Please tell me you are on your way because any later and boss is definitely going to kill you."

Tristan moved swiftly to answer the call after he wore his shoes and said, "Racheal, I am on my way."

"Christ your voice. Tri... How many days were you out?"

Clearing his throat to ease the itch, he then said, "Just t-"

"We don't have time for this. Come to work now. And bring your manuscript for me. It better be finished or I'm going to burn you alive."

"I've got one chapter-"

"It should be finished. Oh Tristan McDummy, it better be finished."  Then she hung up.

Tristan nodded. Good to know he was thoroughly dead from both his editor and his boss. Great.

...

     "Where the hell have you been?" The second he walked into his boss' office, the old man exploded. "I told everyone to get you here by eight in the morning on the dot. I called people. Even your neighbors. But you ignored them, ignored me. What is it now? You don't care about your job anymore?"

Tristan didn't know what to say. When he had the inspiration to write, he made sure he wrote unless it could change into something he might not like.

"I am so sorry boss. I was writing and I was on a roll. I didn't even hear the phone ring, not to mention someone knocking on my door."

"That's an excuse for the editor. I pay you so do as I say or our contract is over."

The thought of actually ending the contract had crossed his mind since his damn rival Andrew Stroud came into play and made his extra royalty nonexistent.

"Are you even listening to me Mr. McCree?"

Tristan tried to maintain eye contact, but it fell countless times from the evil glare the old man had on him. He had a feeling if he stared at him, the old man's grey eyes were going to stab him deep within his soul.

"Yes sir. I understand your opinion of working in the office in case of situations like this, but I would rather not sir. I tend to be very distracted around my colleagues and my rush has a long span. It would be very annoying to be almost done but never finish because someone called your name just to ask if there was a temperature change last night."

The man frowned at him. "Then how about an office, eh? Penelope is moving out and going to the next floor so her office is empty." 

"As much as that offer is very pleasing, I have a feeling it doesn't come without a little something from me." Tristan finally smiled, glad he dropped the lateness topic. He slid into the chair in front of the man's desk and waited for his response. "Come on, tell me what I've got to do for you."

"I need you to assist the newbie. His book sold quite well but he came complaining yesterday that he didn't know where to start from for his new book. I don't need that kind of thinking in my office. Can you see where I'm getting at?"

"You're not serious." He sat up on his seat to frown at him. "You know how much I don't like him. Why would you make me-"

"Because you're the best. No one out there can do it except you."

"Then how did he beat me on this best author thing then if you say I am the best?"

"His work is something you call... unique. It catches the eyes of certain group of people who, well, has the same kink as he does."

Tristan furrowed his brows in confusion. "I don't understand. He writes BDSM novels or what?"

The old man shook his head and Tristan knew that was the end of their conversation which meant this same slimy old man wasn't even giving him an option. But Tristan tried anyway. "I'm not doing it."

He shrugged and said, "Like you can tell me no. You are moving in today, go and set up your work space."

    And like that, he was stuck with the man they call Andrew fucking Stroud, sitting in his office seat like he owned the place. The curly haired man looked up from a book he was holding and flashed his white teeth at Tristan. "So, where do we start?"

Tristan was already dreading the day.

__________________
Coming soon!