The Christmas Contract (EBOOK)

Robbie

I checked myself in the mirror a final time. Black jeans, black sweater, black overcoat. Black, black, black. 

Good thing I look good in black. 

Cape Hardgrave hardly seemed the place to be concerned with looks, but I was determined that today would be my day. The day I landed the film rights to the book I wanted. 

The last time I’d been in Cape Hardgrave had been a mere two weeks ago, during Thanksgiving. I’d been chasing Liv Larsson, my producer and the only woman who could help me. 

I wasn’t one to celebrate Thanksgiving simply because it wasn’t something I’d grown up with. I was Vietnamese-Australian. My father hailed originally from southern Vietnam. My mother was a fourth-generation white Australian. I’d moved to Astipia Kingdom in my late teens to pursue acting.

At first, I’d been the token Asian kid, the quirky side character with the funny one-lines. Then I’d managed to land the lead role in a high school comedy. From there, I’d turned into leading man material, Astipia and Hollywood’s rom-com heartthrob. 

It’d been my worst nightmare. 

While other actors got meaty roles in indie films or superhero movies, I’d been stuck playing the romantic lead in movie after movie. 

Don’t get me wrong, the work was nice, and the films performed amazing at the box office, but to quote the little mermaid, ‘I want more’.    

Which led me to Thanksgiving dinner with Liv and her family. She’d quit the production company I’d signed with, Catch-22, and I knew her contract had an option in it– she could take with her any three clients that she’d brought into the business.  

Liv had signed me back when she’d been working in the film division. We’d made a movie, it’d exceeded expectations, and then she’d been scuttled across to the failing reality show arm of the company while I’d been dumped into rom-com hell. 

Now I needed out. Badly. And, to quote Star Wars, Liv was my only hope. 

Over turkey and sides, we’d chatted through the options. It’d been slightly awkward as her partner, Ian, had just proposed, there was a baby involved and something about Astrid’s hair? I didn’t get it, but Liv had been open to helping me escape my contract.

“I want five years,” she’d said around a spoonful of gooseberry pie. “And I want you to choose your projects. I want you to find them, hunt them down, and bring me stuff that gets you excited.”

“Can you fund it?” I’d asked, a little niggle of concern growing. 

Her new fiancé, Ian, had thrown an arm around her shoulder with a laugh, giving her a squeeze. “Aye, she can fund it. She’ll have whatever she needs.”

Over pie and cider, the sound of football in the background, we’d struck our deal.

It’d been the next morning that I’d found my first project. 

In search of coffee and with time to kill before I needed to head to the airport, I’d taken Astrid’s suggestion and stumbled into The Literary Academy, the town’s local bookstore. While avoiding fans wanting selfies, I’d buried myself amongst the books, hiding between the shelves, getting lost in tiny hides-holes and pleasant reading nooks. It’d been a wonderland, an escape of simple pleasure. 

The book had been in the second-hand section. Shoved in a pile of romance novels and the occasional cookbook waiting to be re-shelved, the cover had caught my attention. Plain black, a gun made from blood, Shadow Lies in a semi-transparent font that made it look almost as if it were hiding amongst the black, the author’s name, A. N. Strid, in plain white. 

I knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and this one wasn’t fantastic. But there was something about it that called to me. 

I’d picked it up, finding a small, hidden alcove with an armchair, Matt taking a seat not too far away. Sipping my coffee, I’d cracked the book, immediately becoming engrossed in the story.

I decided to kill Ms. Avery on Tuesday at four o’clock.  

Hours passed before I’d been forced to abandon my reading to travel to the airport and catch my flight home. 

I’d practically rushed to be seated on the plane just so I could dive back in, becoming captivated by the narrative, spellbound by the wicked web of deceit and terror the author had woven. The book had ignited something in me, burrowing it deep. I’d neared the climax as we’d gently landed, the plane bumping along the runway as we taxied towards the gate, me hurriedly devouring every sentence. 

I’d stayed on board, the last person on the plane to leave in order to finish that final page. 

So spellbound by the story, I’d spent that night imagining the screenplay—with me as the antagonist. 

Evil walks among us. Ordinary. Friendly. Affable. It steps into the light with the sole intention of casting a shadow. And that shadow runs deep. It spreads until it blocks all light. 

I live only to leave those dark places in my wake.  

Around 3.00am I’d given up on sleep and spent the rest of the night scrolling the internet to find the mysterious A. N. Strid. Two days passed, then three, then a week. Despite my best efforts, there wasn’t anything to find. The author had self-published. They didn’t have a website or social pages, and their bio contained a scant three lines. 

Fan of true crime podcasts. 

Lover of pie and obscure facts. 

Not a murderer.  

So, I’d done what any sane person did these days– I asked the internet for help. 

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

Hi internet! Need some help tracking down an author. Anyone have a contact for A. N. Strid? Loved Shadow Lies! Honestly hoping for a sequel. Any info appreciated.

I’d included a picture of me holding the book. While my inbox blew up, within hours a real lead slid into my DMs. 

@TheEditbyJane

Hey! OMG! I just wanna start by saying I loved you in The Bro Prince! Anyways, I edited this book. I too thought it was brilliant. Bone-chilling but totally brilliant.

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

Which was your favorite part? 

@TheEditbyJane

Megan at the end. Did you see that coming!? I didn’t! 

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

Holy shit! Right!? So you know the author?

@TheEditbyJane

Know? Dude, we’re like best friends. 

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

You are? Who is it? Can you give me their details? I need to contact them!

@TheEditbyJane

Sure! Her name is Astrid Larsson. We were roommates during college. She asked me to edit it about six months ago. I didn’t realize she’d published it. Kept that one quiet lol! 

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

Wait. As in Astrid Larsson who lives in Cape Hardgrave? 

@TheEditbyJane

That’s the one! Last I heard she’d moved back home. 

@TheOfficialRobbieHuynh

I thought you were best friends?

@TheEditbyJane

We were but we lost touch after I graduated last year.  

@TheOfficialRobbieHyunh

Do you know if she has socials? Or an email? A phone number even?

@TheEditbyJane

Sorry, no luck. Astrid hates all forms of social media. Shuns it. Probably why you can’t find her online. Always said social media was how people found out enough to gain your trust then kill you. I think her cell number has changed but you could try Thor’s Shipbuilding. It’s her family’s business. 

One phone call to Thor’s Shipbuilding later and I’d discovered that Astrid Larsson was harder to track down than even the most diligent of A-list celebrities. 

You could just call Liv. She’d be able to help. 

I ignored that little voice, not wanting to bring my new boss in just yet. I wanted to go to her with a complete project. I wanted to impress her. 

I needed to impress her. 

Which led me to today, to this very moment. 

I’m gonna get these film rights. I have to.  

I checked myself in the mirror once again, studying my appearance with a critical eye. If I were to convince Astrid to sign over her creation then I needed to look the part. 

And look the part I did. With a small smirk, I turned, heading towards the door, Matt falling in beside me. 

A. N. Strid, I’m coming for you.