Chapter Text
Your fingers were practically twitching with excitement as they held the red pen, the pen that was marking up less and less of your book each time you read through it.
This was it. You were actually happy with your story, happy with the writing, ready to put it out there in the world. You were ready to put the final edits onto the document and print it for a final time (at least final, for now). You were ready to mail it to the editing and publishing agencies you had listed out in your notebook.
When you left your home office and collapsed on the couch, your roommate Becca turned to you.
“Holy shit, it’s done!?” she practically screamed, able to read the look on your face as clearly as the words of your book.
You bit your lip and looked at her. You nodded. “It’s printing now.”
Becca bounced on her knees before launching herself at you, mauling you with her hug. “I’m so excited!” she squealed, and that’s when you finally broke. Tears of relief and excitement escaped your eyes as you hugged her back, eager for the next phase of your writing career.
On to the publishing companies.
Becca helped you the next day as you packaged the copies of your novel, carefully stamping and addressing them to each of the companies you’d chosen. You were going for medium and small agencies, wanting to get your foot in the door with one of them. Most were ones that specialized in young adult and romance novels, so you hoped they would be interested in your book.
Becca walked with you to the post office and took a couple pictures of you handing the packages over to the clerk (much to your embarrassment), for posterity’s sake, she said. “Someday you’ll be famous and I’ll get paid the big bucks for these pictures!”
The two of you walked back home, by way of the ice cream parlor down the street, gearing up for the waiting game.
A week went by. Then two. You put your novel aside, wanting to hear back from editors before riling yourself up with re-editing it again. You worked at the neighborhood bookstore part time, as you’d been doing for the past three years. Your manager eventually stopped asking if you’d heard back from anyone, seeing how disappointed you were with each passing day and nothing to report.
Three and a half weeks after you’d taken the books to the mail, your cell phone buzzed in your pocket while you were saying goodbye to a regular customer. You pulled your phone out, not recognizing the number that was calling you.
You nearly put it back in your pocket, ready to ignore the call, when something came over you. You slid the arrow to the right to answer the call, a small “Hello?” coming from your mouth as you raised your phone to your ear.
“May I speak to [Your First Initial] Y/L/N?” a man’s voice questioned over the phone. Your eyes widened. You hadn’t put your first name on the novel, wanting no sexist publishers to dismiss your book just because you were a woman.
“This is Y/N Y/L/N,” you replied, breath catching as you waited.
The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “Y/N? Are you the one who sent Demon’s Game to the Family Business Publishing Company a few weeks ago?”
Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Yes, that’s me.”
The man let out a short chuckle, one you were unsure of how to respond to. “I wasn’t expecting you to be a woman, to be quite honest. You really got the brother relationship dynamic down pat, for not being a brother yourself.”
You didn’t say anything, unsure of how to respond to the man’s comment. He coughed, more of a silence filler than clearing his throat this time. “I apologize. My name is Jensen Ackles, and I’d like to have a meeting with you about publishing your book.”
For all the thousands of words you had written in your lifetime, none came to mind in that moment. You were so excited to hear this Ackles fellow talk about publishing your book that you nearly fainted.
“Y/N?” he finally said, probably wondering if you were still on the phone.
“Yes! Sorry. Yes, I’d like to meet with you,” you said quickly, writing down a time and place on the back of receipt paper from the register. Luckily, the FBPC’s offices were only in the next city over, so you and Ackles were able to find a time that worked for both of you in just a couple of days.
“I suppose I’ll see you then, Y/N. Take care,” Ackles finally said, and you hung up. You looked up to see your manager standing in front of you, question in his eyes.
“I’ve got a meeting with an editor!” you squealed at him, earning a shout of joy from him. You couldn’t wait to get home and tell Becca.
You and Becca celebrated that evening before spending three hours choosing the perfect outfit to meet Jensen Ackles in for lunch. The place you’d agreed to meet was a nice, but not too nice, lunch place in the business district, so you pieced together an outfit that would show a professional but normal version of yourself.
The next two days flew by and before you knew it you were standing outside the restaurant, a fresh copy of your book tucked into the large purse on your right shoulder. You squeezed the strap for luck before opening the door, giving your name to the hostess and following her through the restaurant.
There were huge windows all along the street side of the restaurant, giving the place an open and welcoming air. You looked around at the patrons, wondering which of these men was Jensen Ackles. The hostess finally motioned to a chair and you caught sight of the back of Ackles’s head, his short, dirty-blonde hair slicked to one side nicely and his shoulders broad.
He stood, turning as he realized you were approaching. His hand froze as he extended it, his eyes widening as he took you in. “Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked, his voice even deeper in person than it had been over the phone.
You could only nod, all words once again lost to you. But this time it wasn’t excitement or shock keeping the words from your mind, it was the overwhelmingly handsome man whose eyes were locked on you.
How in the world were you supposed to do business with a man this gorgeous?