Who did I have to kill to get some peace and quiet?

The never-ending sound of the traffic below my high-rise apartment was going to drive me insane. How was I supposed to write the next best-selling heart-throbbing romance novel when all I could hear was a damn jackhammer and at least five taxis blaring their horns during the five o'clock traffic jam. My mind craved a break from all the noise and distractions the city of Chicago had to offer.

You would think being this far up in the air I wouldn't hear the traffic below but with the surrounding buildings, I swear the noise funneled and amplified right into my office window.

My best advice to any new authors is to find some remote place away from technology and modern-day society. You would be surprised by the amount of writing you get done without a phone signal.

Thinking back on my last unplugged trip to the Fox river I sigh, oh how much I wish I could go back.

I would pack my bag and drive there in a heartbeat except for the fact that I had two important meetings with future partners for the company. My mind needed a refresh, and I needed some time to finish this book to meet my deadline. Sometimes I think it would be so much easier to quit my job as CEO of a major security company. After taking over the family business I had my work cut out for me. My father wasn't the best at making good financial decisions and while the company was currently afloat, I was working tirelessly to get a good representation out for the company again.

The days were long, and the nights were even longer when I come home every night from a stressful day of trying to fix the company and fill my grandfather's shoes, I sat down at my desk trying to pump out as many words on my draft. There were only so many hours in the day.

I got lucky today and was able to leave work an hour early after being at the office all weekend long. it gave me a chance to finish the current chapter I was working on before I would have to go to bed and get up and do it all over again, acting like I hadn't stayed up all night staring at a blank word document with a flashing cursor mocking me.

Writer's block was kicking my ass.

Blaming the noise below only could get me so far. I hadn't written a damn word the past week. What words I did type quickly got deleted.

Exhaustion filled my eyes, and they began closing slowly the room growing darker despite it not being even sunset yet. I jerked awake and slapped the side of my face.

"Wake up you idiot!" I yelled at myself.

I couldn't afford to fall asleep when I had another book set to be published next spring. Really, I should have the book finished by now and sent off to my editor.

Damn you flashing cursor.

I closed the word document and opened my web browser. Typing in Twitter and opening my account.

Twitter was a toxic shit show but after Finding Love in the Outfield was published a few weeks ago I wanted to check in and make sure I did a little advertising.

It never hurt to remind readers that you had another book out.

Once my account was logged in a flash of notification came surging in. Wow after not being on Twitter for a couple of weeks the book must have really taken off. I knew that it was on the best-seller list. A smile filled my face as I clicked on the bell.

I loved being an author.

Bring on the praise.

I couldn't have been more wrong. What I saw was far from praise. Thousands of people had tagged me or mentioned me in a retweet.

How does this guy still have a writing career?

You know she's right we've never seen what this guy looks like how can we trust him?

Why do people keep buying this garbage? Love in the Outfield is the worst book I've ever written. When will men learn they can't write well female characters and just stop?

That last one had over sixty replies. Scrolling through the replies I couldn't believe my eyes. My stomach dropped and I felt like I was going to throw up.

This had to be some kind of sick joke. Some late April Fools' joke. I had been at the end of a few bad reviews in my career as an author, but never had it exploded like this on social media.

A few of the tags to my account were mentioned in with a link to what looked like a book blog. I clicked on the link and found a review of Finding Love in the Outfield.

My eyes scanned the review or what I thought was a review. It read more like a personal vendetta against me than a book review.

Rage filled my body as I read the blog post till the end. Who the hell does this person think they are? My books have been loved by many and sat on the New York Times Best Seller List every time I put another one out. Books don't just get put on there for the fun of it. Finding Love in the Outfield had more preorders than any of my previous works.

Women love a good sports romance. Just last week a journalist said that Finding Love in the Outfield was filling the void in sports romance with a fantastic baseball romance. The publishing world had been pushing out hundreds of football and hockey romance books but was lacking in baseball ones.

My writing was good. It wasn't some vampire fanfiction picked up by a publisher turned into an "original" story by just changing the characters' names. I wrote original romance books that packed a punch of what people were calling it online, spice. My hard work didn't deserve to be shit on and posted to the whole world.

Men could write female characters. Everyone loved my female characters. The Smutty Booknerd didn't know what the hell she was talking about.

Obsessing over all the comments, retweets, and mentions my fist clinched tight. Then one comment caught my eye.

Knox Darcy can't get any game so he has to write these trashy romance books to get anywhere close to experiencing sex.

I could handle them talking shit about my writing and my characters because I had faith in my ability to write. I've been told my whole life just how good of a writer I was. What I couldn't handle was all these people thinking I couldn't get any and that's why I write so many spice scenes and how I wrote my women characters.

I had game when it came to the bedroom, granted it had been a while since I had gotten any because how my work schedule and my deadline coming. But if I was to walk into a bar or club tonight there was no way I would be walking out of it alone.

This was nonsense.

I clicked on The Smutty Booknerd's profile and typed.

I get plenty of pussy, but thanks for your concern. I'll make sure to do more research on boob sizes when I go out to the club.

Without thinking I hit tweet.

Within minutes I was getting comments and likes to my post. My computer kept chiming with notification after notification. I grabbed my whiskey glass and refilled it. Taking a long slow sip, I stared at the computer screen as it burned down my throat.

This would all be over soon.