The Writer's Princess Muse - Cover

The Writer's Princess Muse

Copyright© 2023 by George H. McVey

Chapter 6

Aurora’s mouth dropped when she saw Robin’s house. She knew he made a livable wage from his books, because one look at his royalties had shut her dad up. But this went way beyond livable into, well, almost obscene. This house was big enough for two of her families to live comfortably, and Rob lived here all alone. When he pulled around back, there was a second building behind the house that looked like a garage with five bays. It was as tall as the house, three stories high. He parked his Jeep in front of a door and got out. He honked the horn through the window, and the bay door opened and a man walked out and got in the Jeep, pulling it into the garage.

Rob looked at Aurora and waved her over. She pulled up beside him and got out of her car. Just then, the man from the garage came back out. “Paul, this is Aurora. She’s considering taking the job that Julie left. If she signs the contract, I’ll need you to have her put on the insurance for the cars, okay?”

“Sure Boss, not a problem. Just get me a copy of her driver’s license when the time comes.”

Rob nodded. “Great. Now we have that event in Denver tomorrow and we’re later tonight. Is the car prepared?”

Yes, sir. Today, I detailed it, serviced it, and set it up for the trip. Am I staying over both nights as well, or do you want me to drop you and drive back?”

“Well, the event and hotel aren’t the same, so I booked you a room.”

“Alright, I’ll pack my necessaries then. We leaving at four still, sir?”

“That is the plan, yes. Lynn wants me to have dinner with her and her family, as usual. I think she want’s to discuss some ideas for Phantom Horse Bridge as well.”

“Alright, sir. I’ll have the car out front at three-fifty, then.”

“Great, thanks Paul.”

“Just doing my job, Boss.”

“You and I both know better than that, and I appreciate it.”

Rob turned to her and took her arm to lead her into the house. They’d only gone a few steps when Paul called out to them. “Excuse me, Boss. Um Miss, is this sticker on your windshield correct?”

Aurora turned to him. “What sticker?”

The man pointed to a sticker in the upper driver’s side corner. “This sticker right here that says your last tune up and oil change was a year ago?”

She thought for a minute, then nodded. “That’s probably about right.”

Paul walked towards them. “May I have your keys, please?”

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Your car keys, Miss, may I have them?”

“Whatever for?”

The man sputtered. “Whatever for, whatever for, she asks. Lookie here, that’s a good little car you have there. Just because it never gives you any trouble is no reason to treat her bad. She takes good care of you, don’t she? Gets you where you want to go? She doesn’t break down or cost you an arm and a leg in gas and repairs?”

“Yes. It’s a very dependable car.”

“Then why would you mistreat her like this? Give me the keys so I can set her to rights, like she deserves.”

Aurora looked from the crazy man in front of her to Rob, who was trying hard to control the smile that was threatening to overwhelm his face. “What’s he going on about?”

“Just give him your keys. He is going to do a tune-up and oil change. You’re supposed to have the tune-up every six-months, oil changes every three. Apparently, you have mistreated your faithful car.” He winked at her and took the keys from her hand and tossed them to Paul. “She needs to go home when we’re done, Paul, to pack for our trip tonight. Lynn’s assistant is already expecting her.”

“Won’t take me any longer than it will take you to show her what your assistant does.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Yes sir, if I run into a problem, I’ll just loan her one of the other cars.”

Aurora looked at Rob, her eyes wide and demanding. “One of the other cars?”

He looked down shyly, for the first time since she’d met him. “I have over thirty in the garage there.”


He shrugged. “I like cars and I have the money. You can’t say anything, but a producer has picked my first western series up. It’s about to become an HBO television show. That’s part of why I need an assistant. I need someone to organize everything that I’m now having to do again on my own. I need to be writing, and I think the stress is giving me writers block on top of it. So, you’d be doing me as much a favor as I’d be doing you, if you come to work for me.”

As they had been talking, he entered the kitchen of the house. There was a middle-aged Latina woman working in the kitchen. “This is Rosa. She’s my cook. Hey Rosa, is there plenty for my guest?”

“Sí Rob, I make tacos. There are always enough tacos.”

“There are never enough tacos, Rosa. How many times must I tell you this? I eat the leftovers at night while I’m writing. But since I will not be home for the next two nights, that is fine. You can give Aurora my tacos. We will be in the office area, okay?”

The woman nodded. “Sí. I will send them up in the dumbwaiter when they are ready.”

Rob smiled. “Sounds good, Rosa, thank you.”

“De nada, Señor Rob.”

They went up to his office floor. He dedicated his whole second floor to his writing and marketing. There was the office he wrote in, and a second office, which had three computer monitors mounted against the wall and a fourth on the desk. Rob indicated that room would be her office. It was set up to make keeping track of his social media platform easy. Then, in a room the size of four normal rooms, was one gigantic library filled with books. Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets with that view. “Rob, where did you get all this?”

He looked sheepish. “Well, everything on that side of the room came from a library that closed, and I bought the entire catalog at auction. This side is a second library, and the private collection of an old western writer, who left me his research library when he died.”

She walked over to the books he mentioned and looked at some of the books, pulling one out and opening it, and seeing the nameplate of the owner inside, she turned back to him in surprise. “How did you know him?”

Rob seemed embarrassed. “I may have dated his niece when I was first getting started. We went to the same college together. When he found out I wanted to write westerns, he invited me to use his research library anytime. When he died two years ago, he’d left the collection to me. I offered to pay his family, and they told me absolutely not; he had wanted me to have it or he wouldn’t have left it to me.”

Finally, he took her through the library and showed her what she could only describe as a writer’s pantry. In it were several boxes of all his books, and shelves and shelves of bookmarks, postcards and what authors called swag, little trinkets they give away for free at book signings and conventions, and reader meet and greets. All with his website and Amazon author page links printed on them. He pulled out two rolling trunks and showed her the stuff they’d be taking tonight. He put equal amounts of everything in both trunks, saying one was for each venue. She looked at him and nodded. “What if you had more than two venues scheduled?”

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