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Persuading Austen
Brigid Coady
‘I loved it! Wicked humour with a big heart’ - Liz FenwickIt is a truth universally acknowledged that working with an ex is a terrible idea…Annie Elliot never expected her life to turn out this way: living with her dad, working as an accountant – surely the least glamorous job in Hollywood?! – and dodging her family’s constant bickering.Landing a job as a producer on a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice seems like the piece of luck she’s been waiting for. Until the cast is announced, and Annie discovers that the actor playing Mr Darcy is Austen Wentworth: the man she’s spent nearly a decade trying to forget.Not only is Austen her ex – but while Annie’s life has stalled, Austen is Hollywood’s hottest property…and has just been voted World’s Sexiest Man.With nowhere to hide, there’s just one question. Now the one who got away has come back, should Annie stand by her pride? Or give into Austen’s powers of persuasion?A laugh-out-loud retelling of a Jane Austen romance, perfect for fans of Lindsey Kelk and Fiona CollinsBrigid Coady was the winner of the 2015 Joan Hessayon New Writers’ Scheme AwardPraise for Brigid Coady‘Awesome, awesome, awesome! … Fans of Paige Toon, Sophie Kinsella and Lindsey Kelk, this will most definitely be your thing!’ – Sophie Bailey, ibloggbooks.com‘As the story moved from setting the scene and firmly entrenching the reader in a Persuasion rerun to the actual filming it stepped away from a faithful retelling of the story and came into its own right. If you loved films like Ten Things I Hate About You …you will really like this.’ – Alison Robinson, Netgalley
It is a truth universally acknowledged that working with an ex is a terrible idea…
Annie Elliot never expected her life to turn out this way: living with her dad, working as an accountant – surely the least glamorous job in Hollywood?! – and dodging her family’s constant bickering.
Landing a job as a producer on a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice seems like the piece of luck she’s been waiting for. Until the cast is announced, and Annie discovers that the actor playing Mr Darcy is Austen Wentworth: the man she’s spent nearly a decade trying to forget.
Not only is Austen her ex – but while Annie’s life has stalled, Austen is Hollywood’s hottest property…and has just been voted World’s Sexiest Man.
With nowhere to hide, there’s just one question. Now the one who got away has come back, should Annie stand by her pride? Or give into Austen’s powers of persuasion?
Persuading Austen
Brigid Coady
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Contents
Cover (#uaca28152-f47a-5546-a793-af0dfff15520)
Blurb (#u835bd7c6-e2cc-5a7b-ab78-ee0a1b5b007a)
Title Page (#u897447eb-ba7e-52f1-af59-9585c239c6d4)
Author Bio (#ucaa16d4f-3213-5161-830e-b28e20f0a6d8)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_f4e6e387-baa1-5ce2-8d6e-a9c5558ca6b4)
Dedication (#ulink_de4b733b-173e-51f6-9f3c-00feb329cf81)
Chapter One (#ulink_33209a60-0ce8-53be-a4a7-1207bba0502f)
Chapter Two (#ulink_bb770c12-a14c-5819-8aa2-e69188bfeaa4)
Chapter Three (#ulink_e9f487af-be05-556d-94e3-4938febaba8a)
Chapter Four (#ulink_2d94a554-fbde-5000-899e-61d3d3c212a8)
Chapter Five (#ulink_e91a31f6-729b-5383-ba19-9afa6bec6dd4)
Chapter Six (#ulink_9ac80e04-e30e-5709-ab73-401621ab597d)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
BRIGID COADY
Brigid Coady was born in the UK but raised round the world with most of her childhood spent reading. Brigid works for a communications and digital marketing agency as a producer and storyteller. Much of her writing is done at weekends in various Starbucks around the world. In the past, she has been the official Writer in Residence on the 06:37 train from London Victoria to Canterbury West. Brigid is also a voice-over artist, loves country music and has had her own radio show. Brigid’s obsession with One Direction and Kenny Chesney is perfectly healthy, no matter what anyone else says. She lives in London. Persuading Austen is her second novel.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_9052ea1d-99ad-5930-bdf1-7e9d6ae98af2)
People say that writing a book is a very solitary activity. Obviously, I’m doing it wrong. This book would not exist if I didn’t have a huge amount of support for which I am eternally grateful.
Thank you to my family; Mum, Dad, and Annalise. You are my biggest cheerleaders and the best handsellers of my work.
There would be no Persuading Austen without my lovely agent, Felicity Trew, from The Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency. Thank you for taking me on, and who would have thought that two years after that initial brainstorm that produced Annie’s story and introduced us to Austen Wentworth that they would be out in the wild.
Thanks to my editors at HQ Digital. Victoria Oundjian for taking a chance on the book and to Clio Cornish for taking over at short notice.
I’m incapable of writing without the support of Liz Fenwick, we have decided we are really one person with two writing careers. She is the voice of reason when I’m panicking. My cheerleader, friend, family, and literary other half. We must never have the same deadline again. And thanks to the whole Fenwick clan; Chris, Dom, Andrew, and Sasha for letting me be a part of the family and also lending me Liz.
Julie Cohen and Anna Louise Lucia have been my writing sisters for years. We don’t see each other enough but I can feel you behind me every time I put fingers to keyboards.
Thanks to the RNA for having my back and for being the best writing organisation in the world. Also thank you to Dr David Hessayon for his sponsorship of the Joan Hessayon Award for New Writers. I was lucky enough to win this award for my first novel, No One Wants To Be Miss Havisham the boost it has given me is incalculable.
This book would have been written faster if Keris Stainton hadn’t pushed me down the rabbit hole that is the One Direction fandom. Thanks for that and much more. The Tumblr fandom is a weird and wonderful place, populated with many talented people writing fan fiction and distracting me from my writing. I have left little nods to the fandom in the book; all included with love and respect. So thanks Keris and Katey Lovell for the group chats, writing support, concert ticket panic, and the fan fiction recommendations. I promise I will finish The Breakfast Club AU one day.
Everyone needs a support network of non-writing friends. Matt Turner – white van man extraordinaire, Bookshop Crawl Stig, book recommender, and partner in crime. Thank you for being you, and also for being the only one who bothered to come and see me in Basel.
To Tricia Gibney and Mr Pie, thank you for letting me stay and looking after me so well. No writer could ask for more; gluten-free food on tap, cat cuddles, and great conversation.
The wonderful Jill Mansell bid on and won my offer – to have a character named after her – for the Authors for Nepal auction. The Jillian Mansell depicted in this book in no way resembles Jill.
This book has its own playlist that was the soundtrack to my writing - http://spoti.fi/2sE8Gye And yes, there are rather a lot of One Direction songs on it. That is the way I roll.
All the many mistakes in this book about producing a TV show are all mine. And in the words of Dick Wolf and Law & Order:
The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual person or event.
Dedication (#ulink_e8c77494-7490-58dd-8aa9-7f462218d99f)
For my sister, Annalise.
Thank you.
Chapter One (#ulink_f028f7f5-a32d-555c-ab3b-5141ed380d16)
Wikipedia – William Elliot, Actor
William Charles Elliot – born March 1, 1950. Renowned actor. Son of Sir Walter William Elliot – actor, theatre manager, director – and Elizabeth Siddons, actress. Married July 15, 1974, to Molly Stevenson, actress (died 2002). They had four children: three girls and a stillborn son. Imogen Elliot, actress (1982), Anne (1983?), a son (1984), and Marie, actress and TV presenter (1986) married to Charles Musgrove, investment banker.
Annie heard the thump as she walked down the stairs. She stared down at the handmade leather brogue that had sailed from the living room and bounced on the black and white tiled hallway. She halted briefly, her foot hovering as she wondered whether she should take the next step or turn round and hide in her room. No, she needed to get out of the house …
Could she make it down to the kitchen without anyone seeing her?
She put her foot down carefully, hoping that it wouldn’t make any sound.
‘Annie.’
Crap.
Her name echoed up out of the living room, round the hall, and up the stairs. Her father’s voice could reach to the back of a large theatre; it had no problems with their house.
‘Annie. What was the point in having you as a Wikipedia editor if you don’t keep my page up to date?’ The words bounced and caused the chandelier to tinkle. At least his shoe hadn’t taken any more crystals off it.
She walked down the rest of the stairs, a solid lump forming in her gut. She would like one day without drama. She rubbed her temple and wondered what it would have been like if she had grown up in a family where dramatics weren’t the family business.
‘But, Dad …’ she said as she scooped up the shoe and cradled it in her hands. She quickly checked it wasn’t scuffed. William Elliot didn’t wear scratched shoes and the family finances couldn’t stretch to another pair of handmade shoes.
‘Don’t “but Dad” me. You know I wanted that link to the Guardian review added to it; it came out yesterday. It should be there.’
Annie stood in the doorway of the living room, watching as her father pulled at his bottom lip and frowned at the laptop screen in front of him.
If only someone hadn’t introduced him to Wikipedia. She would like to give that stage manager who showed him Alan Rickman’s page a piece of her mind.
‘I’ll do it when I get to the office,’ she said quietly. There was no point in raising her voice or saying no. It was a waste of time and energy because they all knew she’d do it anyway.
‘Well you’d better. It isn’t as though you were doing anything last night.’ He flicked his fingers at her in dismissal. Annie realized he hadn’t looked up from the screen once during the whole exchange.
And whose fault was that? she thought. The tickets she had to see Rag ’n’ Bone Man unused because Dad had wanted her to pick him up from the theatre. She’d waited in all night for his call, before he came home in an expensive cab.
She should’ve said something. If it had been work, she’d have ripped someone a new one. Annie sighed.
Annie stroked the burnished brown leather upper; it was warm from his body heat. It was the closest she’d been to him in awhile. Carefully she put the shoe down close to his chair so he’d see it but wouldn’t trip over it.
She turned and walked across the hall towards the stairs down to the kitchen, the lump in her stomach dissolving slightly. It could’ve been worse. Her finger brushed the small hole in the plaster in the wall; that had been his phone. And after that she knew no matter how broke the family were she always had to make sure he flew first class. She was thirty-two, lived at home, and was a complete pushover.
But as Annie entered the kitchen she took a deep breath and felt herself expand and unfurl. This was her place, every battered and old-fashioned part of it. The crazy Seventies-style cupboards with mustard-coloured doors that hung slightly off their hinges and the scratched and burnt wooden worktops. Her dad and oldest sister Immy never came down here if they could help it.
There had been a brief period when Immy had invaded, thinking her smoothies would gain an extra something if she prepared them herself. Immy took up more space than her spare frame should; her presence had squashed Annie into the corners of the room. Annie had felt like an interloper in her safe space. Luckily Immy had realized she could get the smoothies delivered from the same organic supplier that the Duchess of Cambridge swore by, and Annie had breathed a sigh of relief, moving the blender to the back of a cupboard.
An expensive gadget to be gathering dust but it was worth it for the freedom.
Annie closed the door to the kitchen, sealing herself inside, and turned on the small TV she had in the corner of the counter.
‘I don’t know why women make such a fuss about not having time to take care of themselves. For your marriage to survive you need to keep up certain standards. I mean … here I am with a career, two kids, and a very happy husband.’ Annie grimaced as she turned down the blast of her baby sister’s voice coming out over the speakers.
‘And a nanny, and a housekeeper and me,’ Annie muttered as she opened the fridge. If she had the show, Easy Ladies, on in the background she wouldn’t be completely lying when Marie called to ask, or rather demand, whether she’d watched it. Technically it was Annie’s day off but the prospect of spending more time at home had her, by mid-morning, desperate to escape to the office. And it also meant she didn’t have to give Marie blow-by-blow feedback on her performance.
Ah, there was the hummus.
She grabbed the tub. Her fingers grazed the pack of carrot batons. She could use them. She should use them. She looked up and caught Marie’s bleached white smile in the screen.
No.
She shut the fridge door with her hip and reached for the bag of salt and vinegar crisps from the cupboard beside it.
Annie felt in need of reinforcement, and there was something solid and safe about the tart tang of salt and vinegar crisps coated in the smooth creamy hummus. Ripping off the lid from the tub and breaking open the bag, she took a crisp and dipped it in.
