Swan Song

By Erin Lee and Olivia Marie

New York Times bestselling author Von Bentley's backlist was nothing to smirk at even before he knew something was wrong. He'd devoted his life's work to bringing characters alive in passionate contemporary romance novels that made women swoon. Well into the first chapters of his latest draft, the plot twist came when Von received a terminal diagnosis. For the first time in his adult life, he was forced to put down the pen and step away from the characters.

A year later and determined to make his swan song novel his best work, his only option is to hire an assistant to help him put words to the page. But Meri Ruhl is hardly the ordinary single mom looking to pick up a side hustle. In fact, it's soon clear that not only does his new assistant have some talent of her own, but she's more familiar with his work than she'd first let on.

Unsure of whether to allow Meri deeper into his world or to save his perfect, surprise ending for himself, Von finds himself wondering not only what his characters might do but referring to his own work for answers. Is it ever too late for love? What happens when a happy ending just isn't possible?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Oct 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201384999

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

Chapter One

Von

There were just too goddammed many of them. Part of me wanted to change my email address, pretend I’d never placed the ad, and find a way to get the stupid dictation software to better understand my speech patterns. I could not fathom a way that I’d ever manage to weed through them without missing a shady intention. I’d been in the game far too long to think a single one of them wouldn’t have their motive once they realized who I was.

I could just imagine them stealing my manuscript, putting their own pen name to it, and running off into the sunset with a bestseller while I lay on my death bed helpless and mute. While there was a part of me that probably wouldn’t care—I hadn’t written to chase fame and hardly had the ego I pretended to have—this was too important. This was my swan song.

Determined not to give up, I promised myself that I’d at least get through another handful of applications before my afternoon nap. Later, I could dictate the words into my phone and save them for whoever got the redundant job of typing up my ramblings. While I wasn’t sure exactly who I was looking for, I knew it couldn’t be some ridiculous fan girl. Social media was a bitch.

There were too many love and hate groups about me and my work on Facebook and Reddit. I was used to both the praise and criticism. I’d even taken advantage of it—of the belief that there was no such thing as bad marketing. At the same time, I couldn’t imagine my work being viewed with the same critical lens if my fans knew I was dying.

I didn’t want pity reviews. I wanted nothing of the gifts, the stupid quilts, or any of the other shit my superfans would send when they caught wind of it. Hell, my plan was to sneak off through Vermont’s death with dignity plan and have my press agent call it an untimely death; an overdose—anything. The fuck I would ever let my work be stained with the idea of a frail, helpless man riddled with ass cancer gone to his liver. Fuck that shit. It would taint exactly everything I’d worked so hard for.

Thinking about this, I realized the only real requirements were the ability to type, take direction, but most importantly be discreet. While I had no intention of meeting him or her in person after my condition became obvious, I wasn’t so naive to think that it wouldn’t come out eventually. Of course, they’d sign the non-disclosure agreements, be advised of the legal ramifications of plagiarism and defamation. I had a perfectly competent legal team behind me. Sadly, though, a legal team couldn’t do anything about human nature. I was fully aware that my condition was a bigger story than anything I could dream up in my imagination, no matter how swoon worthy I made my latest character.

Twenty years in the writing industry and with a list of major movie credits to my name, my heart had always been in novels. While script-writing anonymously had paid the bills for the bulk of my career, it was only in the last six years that I’d had the luxury of spending my days and hours into the night working on my favorite contemporary romance series: Pleasure & Pain. Now into the first few chapters of what would have to be its conclusion, I needed Duke Cloke’s story to come full circle in a way that would leave them wanting more permanently. It was pathetic, really, that Duke Cloke would be my legacy, but it was what it was. And to be honest, the guy was everything I’d ever wished I was minus the occasional STD.

Sipping off my third coffee, I checked the time and opened another application. Wishing I’d thought to be more discreet myself and left out all the hints about which author they’d be helping, I skimmed the cover letter for any indication that they knew who I was. What I really needed was a chick who was in no way familiar with my work. The trouble was that anyone interested in the genre was well aware of the author known as Von Bentley, even if it wasn’t my legal name.

I chuckled when a message from a woman called Emily Barlow literally mentioned being a fan of Von’s work and how she had her own aspirations of writing. The fuck I wanted to play tango with an author-to-be. Sighing, I threw her application in my spam folder and moved to the next. There had to be a better way than this. My agent, Curt, had suggested I go through the lit agency or work with a ghost writing service. While the guy was great for a laugh and getting my work placed, he didn’t understand the bullshit games writers big and small could and would play. I’d hire a secretary any day before working with someone with their own publishing aspirations.

Convinced Indeed was the best way to find a run-of-the-mill transcriptionist, I continued through a pile of applications until I was left with three. For now, the top candidates were Sarah, Meri, and Heather. Of the three, I was leaning toward Sarah simply because she didn’t seem capable of stringing three sentences together with the proper use of the Oxford comma. Citing her first love as science fiction but admitting that she wasn’t a big reader, I enjoyed her brutal honesty and lack of ass kissing. Meri and Heather, on the other hand, were more formal and would probably do a better job. Both came off as a little bland—sending what appeared to be only slightly altered form letters. In that way, they reeked of desperation, willing to take any work they could get.

Moving back to Heather’s message, I clicked open the attachment with her resume. Unlike Sarah, who’d worked a variety of retail jobs, Heather had had what appeared to be a relatively successful career as a paralegal. From what I could see, she’d left the field only because of the pandemic and her boss retiring. Her cover letter stated that she hoped to work remotely and that she had great attention to detail. Based on the way she’d put her favorite reads in italics, I had to agree.

Moving to Meri’s application, I pulled up her resume and noticed the seven year gap in employment instantly. While she’d started in early childhood education, gone on to become a fifth grade para, and even moved into rec department administration, there was a long period of only volunteer work at the community center in Burlington. Now, she appeared to be juggling jobs and not all of them in the same field. From Door Dash to janitorial work, her resume seemed a little scattered. I found it interesting.

Curious about how close by she was and what she’d done to eat and pay the bills during her employment gap and with the chaotic job history since, I pulled up Google maps to determine her proximity to me. While I also preferred a remote worker, we’d still need weekly meetings in person until I was confident she’d be able to follow and transcribe my dictations accurately. Google showed me that she was about ninety minutes from my cabin if she took I90. Interesting.

Looking back up at the clock, I decided to give it three more days before writing back to any of them. One to trust my gut, I was confident the right person would come to me one way or another. I never made decisions without sleep, and sleep wasn’t something I’d had much of. CVS had taken their sweet time with my meds delivery, and I’d spent the last four nights tossing and turning in pain. Now, with the morphine, I had a chance of sleep. I had four days before my next appointment at Dartmouth-Hitchcock oncology and, if I played it right, I could get through another few chapters by the time I saw Dr. Kreibel and convinced him to sign off on my right to die paperwork. Time was both limited and enough. I needed to make it count.

Shutting my laptop, I used the lukewarm decaf coffee to down two pills and curled up on the couch. With the blinds drawn tight as usual, my world went dark and quiet quickly. Sleep would fix everything temporarily and might even give me my answer.

Chapter Two

Meri

O h my God, Hailey. Will you just get your shoes on so we can go? You’re going to make us late for school again, Cindy cried.

We’ll be fine, honey. Calm down.

But, Mom, she is going soooo slow. The way she rolled her head reminded me of a cartoon character from one of the shows she liked to watch. I had to force myself not to laugh at her.

It’s okay, I whispered so Hailey wouldn’t hear me. I set the clocks ahead ten minutes, so we still have time.

Giving my oldest a wink, I went to help my seven year old finish getting ready. It was another day of fighting with them to get them to do what we had to. It was in those moments I almost missed their father.

Aaron hadn’t been the worst man I’d been with and, if I was honest with myself, I probably loved him more than I’d ever loved a man. He was my high school crush and the one I thought I would never be lucky enough to end up with. Being the quarterback in school, I knew he would never look at the book nerd. Running into him ten years later at our high school reunion, I was shocked when he remembered who I was and confessed to me he’d had a crush on me all through school.

Fast forward five years later and I had a three- year old and a newborn with him. Talk of marriage was something he only brought up when he knew I was getting tired of waiting. I wasn’t insecure about us, and I knew the only difference would be a piece of paper saying we were legal, but it was the thought of having him there forever that had me hooked on the idea.

Like a fairytale come true, he was, at one time, my Prince Charming. At least that was what I thought. When Hailey was only six months old, I learned the truth about the man I shared my life with.

I could handle the drinking and gambling, but when he brought another woman into our house and had her shut my kids in the other bedroom so he could play house with her in ours, that was the last straw. I kicked him out that night and never looked back.

Moving back to the small town I grew up in so I could have a little help with my girls, it also meant leaving my career and taking on odd jobs that I could do while they were in school or with my parents. It left little to no time for a social life, but I didn’t mind so much. I had my books for that.

If I was honest, it might have been the books that made the relationship that much worse. I was hoping Aaron would’ve been the amazing man I had built him up to be in my mind for all those years. I wanted the perfect guy who knew what I needed without having to say it. I wanted him to be there with us fully when he was home. I wanted that man I could open up to about anything and not feel judged for it.

I wanted him to be like my best friend, Evan, but he was more of a woman than I was, and he didn’t like girls. He got me and, if it wasn’t for the whole sleeping with a gay guy thing, he was the perfect partner for me.

Aaron had the body of the men on the covers of the romance novels, but that was where it ended. He not only broke my heart, but he broke our daughters’ too. That would stay with them for the rest of their lives and that part I hated the most.

Checking my email one last time to see if Von Bentley had emailed me back, I let out a sigh when I saw my inbox still sitting at zero new messages. I was sure I’d put all the right things, but after two days of waiting, I was starting to have my doubts.

Alright, you two, are you ready to roll?

Ready, Cindy said.

Rolling, Hailey answered and did her very rough version of a somersault in the very narrow entryway of our two-bedroom apartment.

You almost had it that time, Hail, Cindy squealed.

For as annoyed as she got with her baby sister sometimes, she was the first to cheer her on when she was trying something new. It was in those moments, looking at my two perfect little girls, that I was happy for the headache Aaron gave me. He had his freedom, but I had the best parts of him standing right in front of me.

Taking each of their hands in one of mine, we walked out the door. I would drop them off at school and then head to the horrible job I was working