Don't Move Your Desk: Chapter Eighteen
In which the correct procedure must be followed in full
A summary for you on what to expect in this edition in case you want to scroll down to the interesting bits: ending a personal era; Chapter Eighteen of Don’t Move Your Desk; and the progress report with an update on my week-on-week sales and writing progress.
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This week, I had to shut down a business I’ve been running since 2017.
God, was it hard. The damn thing has never once been profitable, but it’s been a passion project - not just for me, but for the wider team; at our height, there were 18 of us. This little fashion magazine that I grew from nothing to something, but never quite The Thing.
One of the reasons it felt so hard was that it has always seemed to be right on the verge of breaking out. I could see it very easily. We just needed X thing or Y amount of income and we could make it. Wide distribution. Huge advertisers. Respect from all the big brands.
We made a lot of inroads with smaller PR agencies, designers, and show producers, but in the end, it’s never been enough. On the other side of things, at home, my finances have been ever-squeezed: first by having a baby, then by moving to a much bigger house than our 2-bed apartment to accommodate said baby, then through the cost of living, through my husband leaving his job to be a stay-at-home Dad and leaving the burden of earnings on my shoulders, and finally through a business restructure/rebrand that is still finding its feet. I’m working 7 days a week, and it’s not enough; there’s no way to put more hours into the week, so sadly, this venture that doesn’t earn me a profit had to go.
It feels like giving up on a dream. Perhaps predictably, it’s made me feel frantic about my other dream, the one I’ve had since being old enough to know what dreams were: writing. It might seem odd to say it, since I do it every day, but I still yearn for it. There’s always more. Writing a book was great, but it wasn’t published. Then it was self-published, but that wasn’t as good as traditional publishing. Then I did get traditionally published, but it wasn’t as good as a big contract with the big 5* and an advance and everything, and besides, the experience was rubbish. There was getting paid to write for other people, sure, but not getting paid enough. Never enough.
What I’m feeling at the moment is an intensified version of what I feel whenever I see someone getting an advance of seven figures, or having their novel turned into a film or TV show, or sharing their royalties figures that are so much higher than mine.
It’s a desperation: am I ever going to be good enough?
Why isn’t it ever me?
So, my mind this week has been frantically throwing out novel ideas, running through the possibilities for the ideas I already have but don’t have time to create, wondering if I should do this or submit that there or write this next instead of what I had planned or throw myself in front of a big 5 editor’s car so I can at least just once have an opportunity to goddamn talk to one of them because surely then I could get their attention.
It’s a lot. With the OCD I already have and the PTSD I picked up a few years ago, I have to be careful about spiraling into anxiety. Pile up on top of that the natural grief connected with an era coming to an end, and it’s been a tough week.
Virtual hugs are very much welcome if you have them. Next week, I hope to pick myself up again and take another run at this stuff. In the meantime, at least I have some midnight scribblings of new ideas that could turn into tangible books further down the line.
As a quick reminder: this chapter will go behind the paywall 60 days after publication. Don’t miss the chance to read the next chapter for free by subscribing for email updates!
Okay, that’s it! On with the chapter!
Olly
The weekend had been brutal.
There wasn’t much of a concept of a ‘day off’ or a weekend when you were in sports. Sports happened at weekends. There was no chance of me taking time off in the week when all the sponsors and CEOs were at their desks.
There were not many days I could cross off my calendar. The weekend was a chance to fit more work in and meet with as many people as possible from my list. It was a chance to show my face at games and make sure the world knew we weren’t worried about Ridley. A chance to head out and scout at college games and keep an eye on the competition.
But Keaton wasn’t scheduled for work on weekends.
He had said he would work with me whenever I needed him. He had promised to stay late and come in early. But the contract he had signed said five days a week and I couldn’t overstep that mark. Not when it was the cause of at least half of my previous secretaries folding.
I still remembered the look on my first secretary’s face when he quit.
Andy had been with me from the start. We had grown the company from a tiny thing into something bigger. We had been fresh out of college back then. Young men with no other commitments.
But then he met a woman. Got married. The final straw came when he had a child.
“I just can’t do it anymore, Olly,” he’d said to me. The last secretary I allowed to call me by my first name. “I don’t see my wife awake. I missed my daughter’s first steps. I’ve changed about five diapers, total.”
I had frowned at him. “You want to change more diapers?”
He’d sighed and said he knew I wouldn’t get it. That he was leaving and there was nothing I could do to stop him. The workload was just too much for one human being. He said there was no way anyone could keep it up for an extended time.
He had been wrong. A decade later and I was still going strong.
But his words hung in my head whenever I looked at Keaton. I knew it was true. Every one of my secretaries who had not been fired for incompetence had quit. Almost all of them said the job was too much.
I didn’t want Keaton to think the job was too much.
I’d work every weekend without him just to keep him a little longer.
This had been a weekend fraught with tension and heavy with apologies. It felt like I was under attack on all sides. Every client and every sponsor wanted to know if we were losing our grip. If our star player was about to go fully off the rails. If we were going to have enough time to spare for them.
Reassuring each and every one of them personally was a mammoth undertaking. But it was the only way they were going to believe that they weren’t about to take a backseat.
I was a tired man. Almost a broken man. But I wasn’t going to give in. I wouldn’t let our saboteur get the better of us. I was going to find out who it was one way or another.
I was a determined man.
That was the man who waited for Keaton when he arrived on Monday morning. When he appeared like a balm for my soul. The one thing I had wanted all weekend but had not been able to grasp.
“Sir,” he said. There was something odd about his manner from the second he stepped into the room. He didn’t go to his desk. He stood in front of mine. He didn’t take his messenger bag off over his head. He didn’t take off his coat.
He just stood in front of me.
His hair was slightly wet from the rain outside. I wanted to reach out and push it back from his forehead. Stop the water from running into his eyes.
“Keaton,” I replied. I narrowed my eyes. I had been so busy all weekend that I had done a successful job of not thinking about it. Seeing him in front of me again made my mind go right back to that moment.
The feel of his body in my arms. The overwhelming urge to pull him closer. To use his fall as an excuse to kiss him. The sheer disappointment of knowing the right thing was simply to set him back on his feet.
“I… have something…” he said. He seemed to not know quite what to say. Then he reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out a white envelope.
A small rectangular white envelope. The kind that you would buy to enclose a sheet of A4 paper folded in three across the longest side. The kind that you would use to hand over a resignation letter.
He held out the envelope and I took it. I glanced at the front. My name was printed across the front in neat block capitals.
Well, not my full name.
Just Mr. Harvey.
It was a resignation letter.
I handed it right back to Keaton without opening it. I looked back at my computer screen as if nothing had happened.
“Um, sir,” he said. There was a hint of frustration in his voice. “Sir, this is a letter for you.”
“Fine,” I said. I held out my hand again. He placed the letter into it carefully.
I turned and deposited it into the feeder for my shredder. Keaton yelped in indignation but I had already turned it on. It disappeared into shreds in a matter of seconds.
“Sir!” he exclaimed. “That was an important letter!”
“You’ve only worked here for a couple of weeks,” I said calmly. “Is that all you’re going to give me?”
“I…” Keaton hesitated. He opened and closed his mouth. “I didn’t have a probation period, so I had to decide for myself when the right time to leave would be.”
“Can you not cut it at this level?” I asked. I knew I was allowing him to get to me too much. Rising to a level I shouldn’t. Antagonizing him on purpose. But if it paid off…
“It’s… it’s nothing to do with the level of the work,” Keaton said. “I just – I’m not really – I don’t want to –”
“If you cannot give me a good reason to leave,” I said. “Then you should reconsider your decision.”
“I have a good reason to leave!” Keaton exploded. “I wrote it down! It’s in the letter!” He gestured at my shredder with such sudden ferocity that I almost laughed. Why was he so much cuter when he was angry?
Why did I feel like I had just discovered a very dangerous piece of new information?
“I haven’t seen your resignation letter,” I told him dismissively. “You can’t resign without a formal letter.”
“I-!” Keaton stared at me furiously. “I wrote you a letter!”
I spread my arms wide and looked around my desk as if confused. “I don’t see it.”
“That’s fine,” Keaton snapped decisively. He lifted his chin. “I’m going to write and print you another one.”
I leaned over casually and grabbed the cable for the printer. I pulled. It came out of the wall.
“The printer’s broken,” I explained to his incensed look.
“This is ridiculous,” Keaton said. He pressed a hand against his forehead. “Look, if you’re worried about being left in the lurch, you don’t have to be. I spoke to Helen – your last secretary. She said she would be happy to come back at any time. I know you fired her, but at least you can have someone to fill in the gap before you find a new candidate. You’ll be fine.”
I looked at him and knew that I would very much not be fine if Keaton Dunbar quit and I never saw him again.
“I cannot accept your resignation without a formal letter,” I repeated stubbornly. “You have to give notice in writing.”
“No, I don’t,” Keaton huffed. “I don’t have to do anything. I could just walk out of here right now. What are going to do about it? Fire me?”
I looked at him evenly. “You wouldn’t break protocol like that.”
Keaton obviously knew I was right. He made a frustrated sound and yanked his bag up over his head. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t want to work here anymore!”
Those words were like a dagger to my heart. I didn’t let it show on my face. I had earned my reputation as a negotiator for a reason. You didn’t let the other side see how weak you were. How close you were to folding.
“You’ll have to resign tomorrow,” I said. I hesitated. How much did I dare allow to creep into my voice? “Give me until tonight.”
“Tonight?” Keaton folded his arms across his chest. He was… hot when he was like this. Demanding and fierce. “You mean six o’clock, my actual shift end time.”
“We’re working late tonight,” I said automatically. “There’s a meeting.”
“There’s nothing in your calendar,” Keaton countered.
“There is,” I said. “You put it in there.”
He thought for a moment. “Crowhill Crows?”
I nodded.
“But I thought that was a personal appointment,” he said. “You said it was…”
“It’s a business dinner,” I told him. I looked him in his furious face. “Have dinner with me.”
His neck and ears went pink.
“What?” Keaton muttered. He suddenly seemed very uninterested in meeting my eyes.
“Tonight,” I said. I turned back to my laptop. “It’s settled. You should start the day’s work.”
I did not smile when he turned back towards his own desk. I did not raise my hands in a victory salute when he took off his coat. I did not dance with glee when he sat down and started typing.
But I remained keenly aware of his presence for every second of the rest of the day.
He was mine. Keaton Dunbar. He didn’t know it yet.
But I had decided.
He was mine. Maybe he was just my secretary. Maybe he was something more. But he was mine in either case.
There was no chance I was letting him go without a fight.
In exchange for what – Helen? There wasn’t a chance in hell.
Keaton Dunbar was mine.
And tonight he was going to know it as well.
Here ends this week’s chapter! What did you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts below. I really appreciate your comments - what you like, what you don’t like, and what you’d like to see next.
If you don’t have the energy to leave a comment today, please hit the heart button below and show me that you like what you’re reading. And if you want to really, seriously help out, hitting the reshare button is an incredible boost that will get this story in front of more eyeballs, for which you will have my undying gratitude.
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Progress Report
Note: Changes are in bold.
TOTAL SALES:
Don’t Move Out: ebook - 738, paperback - 7, KU pages read - 330,638 (238 pages = 1,389 equivalent full-book reads), free downloads - 2,324
Don’t Go Outside: ebook - 92, paperback - 6, KU pages read - 125,764 (222 pages = 566 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Fly Home: ebook - 53, paperback - 4, KU pages read - 79,251 (224 pages = 353 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Leave Town: ebook - 59, paperback - 4, KU pages read - 55,539 (299 pages = 185 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Check Out: ebook - 50, paperback - 2, KU pages read - 31,108 (192 pages = 162 equivalent full-book reads)
CC 1-5 Boxset: KU pages read - 12,145 (1,068 pages = 11 equivalent full-set reads)
Serial Investigations full series (Pre-Substack releases: books 1-12, 2 bonus novellas, 2 boxsets): ebook - 483, paperback/hardback - 68, KU pages read - 365,546, free downloads - 546
It’s been a very slow week. I need to start thinking about the next big step I can take to promote everything and get the numbers back up. I’m considering putting out the preorder for the next series early to boost sales.
WRITING:
Don’t Move Your Desk - written and edited fully, serialisation underway, all chapters queued up ready (7 ‘spare’ chapters with no set date)
Kiss The Cook cover revealed, ebook ready
Cook Up A Storm: full plot done, 12k words written
(Books 8+): 8 covers, themes, and titles done, Crowhill Kitchen release schedule and titles announced, all Kitchen characters created and romances/interpersonal relationships between books set up
Subscribers: free - 55, paid - 2 plus 1 temp comp
Followers: 208
By the way, please like this post if you enjoyed it and would like to see more! This helps me decide what to do for future content.
XO Rhiannon
* I guess we’re still saying big 5 but it’s not really 5 anymore
Okay, Mr. Harvey!!!! Wow! Great chapter!!! And a huge virtual hug to get you through this moment of change. It's never easy to move on from something that you put so much of your heart and soul into, but it is healthy! A kind of freedom surfaces, when all that other stuff subsides. I hope you get to the freedom part soon, because I'm sure your wonderful ideas and writing will arise and amaze us all!
Hoooo this is so intense! I have been in stressful periods before and I know how much it can wear you down. I’m not an adult with responsibilities and a family, but I did have quite the trouble of my own. With chronic fatigue, autism, undiagnosed bipolar disorder and a change in school career in my last year of college, I really had a LOT of stress. You probably already know this, but what helps the most in this stress is, well a second opinion. Someone who can tell you which projects to pursue and which to drop, and can comfort you both on a mental level and with functional help. I had my partner and my mother helping me with this. In stressful times, one of the best things one could do is depend on others and confide in others.