The Way the Story Goes (Magnolia Sound #7) by Samantha Chase

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“It had to be you, Brett. Do you think I’m an idiot?! All this time you’ve made me sit and watch your sick and twisted charade! Well, no more! I’m onto you,” Sasha hissed. “You’re done. No one else is going to die at your hands.”

“You’re wrong, Sasha,” he said, his lip curled with disgust. “Don’t push me on this because you won’t like the outcome.”

“Oh, really? You can’t kill me,” she spat defiantly. “I’ve already alerted the police. They know I’m confronting you. There’s nothing you can do to me anymore.”

Mia Kingsley read over her words a dozen times and as much as she could vaguely see the scene in her head, she couldn’t seem to get her fingers to cooperate and get the words down on the page.

Again.

Those three paragraphs were written two months ago and she hadn’t been able to write anything since.

Writer’s block sucked.

Tossing her glasses onto the keyboard, she pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. Why wouldn’t the words come? Pushing away from the desk, she stood with a snort of disgust and walked across the room to the kitchen. She’d done everything to try to find her muse and nothing was working. Her normal regimen didn’t help and it was the first time in years that she’d had to take drastic action to finish a book.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the massive top-of-the-line refrigerator, she slammed the door shut. At first, she blamed her lack of words on the fact that her house was under renovation. The noise and the mess were expected, but it bothered her way more than she thought it would. A change of scenery seemed like the perfect solution. When her best friend and virtual assistant Sydney had suggested renting a house in Magnolia Sound, it just made sense. Not only would she have the support of a friend close by, but the beach had always been her happy place and she hadn’t visited one in far too long.

Because it was early spring, finding a rental house on the beach was easy. And the house she found was bigger than what she needed, but it was magnificent. Her career was thriving; she was making more money than she ever dreamed of and, while normally she was very conservative with her finances, this was one time she ignored her parents' disapproval and told herself it was okay to splurge.

Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, oceanfront with panoramic views, newly renovated, and lots and lots of top-of-the-line appliances, furnishings, and bling…yeah, writing here wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d felt at peace the moment she stepped through the doorway and when she walked straight through the main floor and out to the deck, she felt like she had definitely made the right decision and her happy place wasn’t going to let her down.

But…it did.

Big time.

Now, after almost a week here, she was seriously considering throwing in the towel.

Doing her best to push those negative thoughts aside, she stepped out onto the massive back deck that overlooked the ocean. As expected, it immediately calmed her and she took a moment to enjoy the sound of the waves and the smell of the ocean. The morning air was crisp—bordering on arctic—but she was dressed in a heavy cable-knit sweater, leggings, and thick, slouchy socks. She lived in Boston, for crying out loud. Cold weather was the norm for a large portion of the year. Certainly, she could deal with the cold water coming off the ocean. At most it was fifty degrees. Back home, that would be almost balmy. By lunchtime, it would be in the high sixties, but there was something about being outside in the morning that she loved.

She breathed deeply—in and out, in and out—and just when some of the tension started to leave her body, the sound of power tools broke the peace.

Again.

Seriously, this guy was going to be the death of her.

The first day, she was able to brush it off.

The second day, it was mildly annoying.

By the third day, she called the rental agent and pretty much lost her mind on her.

The agent offered to move her to another home, but none of them had the prime location or the amenities this one did. Mia had asked if someone could please go over and talk to the owner and ask if maybe he could limit the hours he was using the power tools or maybe get a completion date.

So far, no luck on any response.

Mia was tempted to storm over and talk to the guy herself, but…she wasn’t confrontational. In her mind she was, but the reality? Not so much.

Now it was her fifth day here, she hadn’t written anything like she needed to, and her publisher and editor were breathing down her neck because the book was already a month overdue. It was the final book in her series and it didn’t matter how much she knew where the story needed to go, Mia just couldn’t make the words flow.