Don't Move Your Desk: Chapter Thirty

In which there's no spoiler-free way to tease this chapter

Oct 26, 2024

A summary for you on what to expect in this edition in case you want to scroll down to the interesting bits: preorder update; beta reader helpfulness; Chapter Thirty 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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So, I was supposed to have some preorder links for you today. In the end, I’ve had a double whammy of being sick and also immersed in a last-minute project that has me up against a serious deadline. It’s about a month’s worth of work and I only had 11 days to do it - but the good news is, I now only have two days left before the deadline, so book work begins again next week.

Today, I also wanted to share a few changes I’ve made in creating this series with the help of beta readers. I wanted to highlight just how helpful beta readers are, and how invaluable it is to have someone read the work with a critical eye before it’s released:

One reader pointed out an impossible physical position in which the characters had found themselves during, um, fun times, which happened because I wrote knees instead of ankles for some ungodly reason and then never caught it again when I was editing
I had a logical mistake in the way the characters were trying to solve a situation, where a reader pointed out they didn’t need to do XYZ and go all around the houses - they could just do W and be done
Multiple readers helped me correct misunderstandings I had about professions that I’ve never worked in
A few British sayings were replaced by American ones when the American beta readers didn’t understand them
A particular issue with anatomy that I do not have was rendered more realistically with the help of a beta reader who does
Beta reader reactions to certain characters helped me understand where I could lean into them being assholes, and where they needed to be urgently redeemed before losing the reader’s support for good
Just generally speaking, beta readers help me feel like I am not an inexcusable hack whose work will never be enjoyed by anyone ever, by telling me how good it is (but also gently, what isn’t good about it)

If you’d like to be a beta reader for any of my upcoming books - two are done, but the rest are not - please do comment below.

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

It was difficult to continue to pretend that Keaton was just my secretary. It was only the fact that we could lock the doors whenever we wanted that kept me together.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked him.

Keaton gave me an excited grin and nodded. I wasn’t sure I believed his enthusiasm. He had never done anything like this before and I had a feeling he never wanted to.

But this was the job.

I reached forward and opened the doors to our box. It was a private space reserved only for employees of The Harvey Agency and our guests. That usually meant sponsors and their families. There were slim pickings today. Not so many people wanted to have themselves publicly aligned with Ridley Angus anymore.

The press had seen the proof that he was drugged and so had the public. It hadn’t made enough of a difference. Everyone was still wary. I could hardly blame them. I would feel the same way myself if Ridley wasn’t my oldest and best client – and utterly innocent.

‘Oldest’ was part of the problem. The real scandal had died down. The imagined one – about how a player of his age could continue to perform to a high standard – had been inflated by the press until it was real.

The support in his corner today had to come from us and his family. No one else had taken the free tickets we offered for the game. That was fine. He would have the people who loved him most cheering him on.

And one stressed-out agent and his secretary.

It was strangely quiet inside the box. We all knew what no one was saying: that Ridley had to prove himself down there tonight.

If he didn’t pull off a good game then there were going to be more people than ever calling on him to retire. There had already been think-pieces about the viability of a player who brought more bad attention to the sport than good. No one seemed to care that Ridley hadn’t actually done anything wrong. It seemed that many outlets were willing to tar and feather him simply for being in a bar – the same one all of his teammates attended. If his performance today proved the comments about his age correct…

It was as good as over.

Keaton reached for a tiny triangular sandwich from the delicately prepared board of refreshments. He offered it to me and I shook my head. I couldn’t eat right now. I could barely think.

I remember the tension of being down there. Playing in front of a crowd like this. The other side’s supporters were all waiting for you to fail and sometimes that was enough even to drown out the support you had. It was hard to keep yourself together in front of the world’s eyes.

I remembered the crunch of my knee that final game and hung my head between my shoulders. I needed to swallow hard to keep down the bile and get myself straight again.

“It’s going to be fine,” Keaton said. He laid a hand on my arm and smiled. At the sound of a set of feet coming our way, he quickly withdrew.

“Well, boss?” Ace said. He seated himself next to me and slung his arms over the back of the chairs on either side of him as if he had not a single care in the world. He must have decided to take up his ticket instead of schmoozing down there with whoever he could find. I took that as a sign of confidence. I couldn’t contemplate the alternative. “We gonna win today?”

“Every day,” I told him without looking around. This was an old game between us.

“It’s going to be fine,” Keaton said again. This time was mostly to himself. I had the feeling he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

The game played out before us quicker than usual. That was how it seemed: the clock had ticked on impossibly far every time I looked up. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ridley for a moment. I was willing him to succeed with everything I had.

This wasn’t just about Brody Driver trying to ruin his reputation by spoiling a contract or Helen Alcori spiking his drink. This was about all the papers that called him too old to play. It was about all the hungry young players who were trying to take his place. It was about every injury that had ever called his future into question. It was about every doubter and every hater who had ever written or said a bad word about him.

It was about securing his legacy.

My hands clenched into white-knuckled fists all the way until the half-time show. It was only then that I took a breath and stood to grab a drink and something to eat.

I needed to calm my nerves. Ridley was playing well. His team was ahead. They were going to do this.

“Oh, shit,” I heard Ace mutter behind me. “Coleman’s out there.”

I looked up at the door that led into our box. He was right: Caleb was standing outside in the hall. He was looking directly through the window and into my eyes.

Whatever he wanted to communicate to me had to be important. He wouldn’t have risked coming here and being seen near me if it wasn’t.

I opened the door.

“Harvey.” He greeted me like a stranger. His eyes slid over to Ace. “Park.”

“Coleman,” I replied just as coldly. I wasn’t sure what he was doing. The only thing I knew was from his tone: this was performative. He wanted someone to overhear this and tell the press.

“I thought you should know.” He inspected one of his black leather gloves as if looking for imperfections. “Brody Driver is no longer employed by the Coleman Group.”

I nodded once. “Best of luck with filling the position.”

He smirked wryly and turned to go.

That was enough. I glanced at the security guards posted to our door. They were really glorified ticket checkers. One of them was pressing his earpiece and shifting from foot to foot. Good. The guilty look of a man who knew he was about to sell a story to a paper.

I stepped back inside the box and closed the door. Ace nodded at me with a smug smile. I knew he was glad to see the back of Brody Driver. The man wouldn’t be bothering us any longer.

I felt lighter in my chest as I walked back to the big glass windows that gave us a clear view of the field. A singer down below was leading everyone through a rendition of a popular country song. There was a matching video playing behind her on the big screens to add atmosphere.

I grabbed a handful of assorted nuts from a bowl and started throwing them back into my mouth. My spirits were definitely on the up. I glanced at Keaton. “You don’t have to stay for the full game,” I said. I knew he would probably rather be at home with his sister. I had the feeling I had been monopolizing him in the couple of weeks since our budding relationship began.

“No, it’s okay,” Keaton said. He gave me the kind of smile I lived to see on his face. “I’m actually enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would. I like the atmosphere. And the entertainment’s good. I’m even enjoying the –” He gestured towards the field and then cut himself off. His face went pale.

I didn’t turn around. For a long moment, I watched him and tried to puzzle out what was happening.

Then I heard it.

The music had stopped. The song was over. The singer should have been launching into her next track.

But there was something else playing over the speakers.

Something I recognized in the core of my stomach before my brain processed what it was.

A groan. A voice saying my name.

My head whipped round and down. I stared at the big screens scattered around the stadium. Every single one of them was showing the same picture.

A shot of my office. My desk.

The video had been taken from above. Instinctively I knew there must have been a camera hidden in one of the light fittings above where I sat. It was the only place to hide something like that.

Keaton’s face was at the bottom of the screen. It was contorted with ecstasy. His eyes were closed and his chin tipped up towards the ceiling as he moaned joyfully. His glasses were askew and his hair unruly.

The shot was clear down the curve of his naked back. Down to the place where our hips joined. The angle was sufficient that you could just make out my face at the top of the screen. It wasn’t explicit enough that you could make out any of the more private parts of our anatomy: the way Keaton leaned up against the desk took care of that. But it was still painfully obvious what we were doing.

I felt bile rise up in my throat again. This time it was driven by rage.

“Get them to turn it off,” I growled at no one in particular. I heard a scurry of running footsteps and knew without turning that Ace had run out of the box. I took a step forward as if I could reach the control room through the glass and get them to hear me. “Turn it off!”

I heard a small gasp of panic behind me. Keaton’s life was being broadcast up there as well as mine. He had a sister. I had to guess he had parents. He was just a secretary. He wasn’t in a role that was supposed to bring him any fame. He didn’t want fame. He had been clear about that.

The screens went dark many moments too late and there was a roar of reaction from the fans around the field. I struggled to make it out through the haze that was threatening to take over my head. Was it booing? Jeering? Were they calling for our blood?

I heard a second panicked sob and whirled around once more. Keaton’s face was bloodless and his eyes were still fixed on the screen. His whole face was flushed – not the good pink; the bad kind of flush. The bright red that indicated he was mortified.

He was panicking.

In a flash, I remembered and understood that this was about more than me.

There was no doubt in my mind that this little stunt had been designed to wreck me. To put my reputation in the dirt with one more nail in the coffin: Oliver Harvey and his band of liars. And me the biggest liar of all.

But Keaton was only collateral damage.

Whoever had done this had hurt the person I loved and it wasn’t even anything more than collateral damage.

The panicked anger I had felt subsided into cold rage.

I had to get him out of here.

I tugged at his arm. “We’re leaving,” I said. “Right now.”

He came without needing to be told twice. I wished Ace hadn’t run off. I could have done with another hand. I marched Keaton through the corridors fast – but not fast enough.

They were upon us before we reached the doors to exit and take the private VIP passage to the parking lot.

A hoard of journalists and press photographers announced themselves by shouting my name first. I looked round to find them fast approaching from the other side. A growl started low in my throat at the thought that they would prey on Keaton at a time like this. I whipped my coat off my shoulders and wrapped it over his head and back to shield him from view. Let them take as many pictures of me as they liked. I had to protect Keaton.

The roar of their voices was like a tidal wave behind us as I strode for the door. I marched Keaton through it and turned to shut it firmly. Through the glass window, I saw another face running up behind us: Ace. He glanced at me and met my eyes with a determined nod before turning around. I studied the back of his head for a mere second before turning to stride for the car. He was guarding the door. Buying us time. We had to make the most of it and escape.

We were almost at the car when I saw him.

Brody Driver. Walking towards us in that stupid leather jacket with a smirk on his face like he wasn’t the most despicable human being in the world.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked mockingly. “Your star boy not quite up to the game?”

I looked at Keaton. He wasn’t shielded by my coat anymore. It had fallen around his shoulders where he was holding it in place. He was wearing my coat and I should have been able to take at least a second to enjoy that.

Instead, there was this asshole. Just asking me to punch him out.

“Don’t you dare fucking talk to us,” I snarled at him. “After what you did today – I will be pressing charges.”

Something faltered in Brody’s expression. The usual cockiness faded for a moment. “Today?” he said. “But I haven’t even done it yet.”

I scoffed in his face. “Whoever you’re working with must have jumped the gun. Sorry you missed the show.”

I moved around him and unlocked the car. I gently pushed Keaton in the direction of the passenger seat. I wanted him to get in where it was safe so I could face Brody on my own. Keaton hesitated instead as if he wasn’t going to get in until I did. I couldn’t have this silent argument with him – not with Brody watching. I knew by instinct that he was trying to protect me from charges of assault just as much as I was trying to protect him.

“I…” There was something odd in Brody’s voice that made me turn back to him. “What show? Wait, did something actually happen to Ridley on the field? I was just gonna…” He trailed off. His eyes flicked from my face to Keaton’s.

Realization settled over me. He had no idea what I was talking about.

It wasn’t him.

Then who…?

“Mr. Harvey,” a crisp and familiar voice called from behind me somewhere. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling for a private car. I asked for blacked-out windows and an unmarked vehicle specifically, so you should be able to get out of here easily without being followed.”

I turned again with an increasing feeling of whiplash.

What the hell was she doing here?

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.

Progress Report

Note: Changes are in bold, comments in italics.

TOTAL SALES:

Don’t Move Out: ebook - 744, paperback - 8, KU pages read - 368,715 (238 pages = 1,549 equivalent full-book reads), free downloads - 6,304 - I have just noticed that Don’t Move Out (1 book) is rapidly approaching the total page reads of Serial Investigations (14 books and 2 boxsets). So… that’s wild! Looking out to see if next week will bring the switch in position.
Don’t Go Outside: ebook - 118, paperback - 6, KU pages read - 146,368 (222 pages = 662 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Fly Home: ebook - 65, paperback - 4, KU pages read - 89,467 (224 pages = 399 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Leave Town: ebook - 66, paperback - 4, KU pages read - 64,755 (299 pages = 216 equivalent full-book reads)
Don’t Check Out: ebook - 56, paperback - 2, KU pages read - 36,081 (192 pages = 187 equivalent full-book reads)
CC 1-5 Boxset: KU pages read - 15,951 (1,068 pages = 14 equivalent full-set reads)
Don’t Move Your Desk: ebook - 21, paperback - 1
Serial Investigations full series (Pre-Substack releases: books 1-12, 2 bonus novellas, 2 boxsets): ebook - 483, paperback/hardback - 68, KU pages read - 375,171, free downloads - 546

WRITING:

Don’t Move Your Desk: written and edited fully, serialisation underway, all chapters queued up ready, ebook and paperback on sale
Kiss The Cook: ebook preorder up, typeset done for paperback
Cook Up A Storm: beta draft underway
Too Many Cooks: loose plot done, full plot underway
(Books 9-16): all covers, themes, and titles done, Crowhill Kitchen release schedule and titles announced, all Club and Kitchen characters created and romances/interpersonal relationships between books set up

SUBSTACK:

Subscribers: free - 63, paid - 3
Followers: 269

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

Crowhill Cove

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