Hell Is Other People by Danielle Bellwood (books under 200 pages .txt) 📕

Phil. He had a good head in height on the little accountant.

“I think we should renegotiate the terms,” Arlo said.

Gillian nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

Phil cocked his head. Glancing back and forth from Arlo to Gillian, he said, “I’m listening.”

“As you may be aware,” Arlo said, “I’m a Social Media Influencer. I have a considerable following online.”

“Considerable?” Phil said. “Is that the word you’re using?”

“Yes. And if you really want to get your book out there, I could help you with that. You want readers? You need promotion. You need influence.”

“Hmmmm,” Phil mumbled. His eyes squinted slightly in consideration. “Surprisingly, I think you may have an actual point.”

“Right?” Arlo said, happily. “And I’ve been thinking-”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Gillian said. Arlo thinking was never a good idea.

“I was thinking,” Arlo continued. “You might be able to reach a broader range of readers if you wrote in a different genre. Say… contemporary romance? Or even paranormal romance? Those seem to be the most popular.”

Phil’s chest puffed out and his skin began to steam slightly. “If I wanted opinions from the peanut gallery, I would have asked!”

“It’s just an observation,” Arlo said. “From someone with the power to help sell your books.”

“I will not sell out my art for anyone or anything.”

Gillian snorted. “Art. Sure.”

“You know what your problem is, Miss Frost?” Phil asked. “You’re a snob. My literature makes people happy. Therefor, who are you to criticize it? After all, I don’t see you doing anything momentous with your death.”

“You mean with my life?”

Phil shrugged. “Potatoe, potato. What I really want to know is what makes amoebae such as yourselves think that I could possibly need or desire your help in anything?”

Arlo shrugged. “I mean, we’re already helping you, aren’t we? So clearly, you do need our help.”

Gillian smiled and nodded in agreement with this assessment.

“Hmmmm,” Phil said. He looked interested in spite of himself.

“You said you can’t just let us leave the firm,” Arlo said. “But what if you were to just… show us the door…”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Phil said, “How do you know there’s a door?”

Arlo and Gillian’s eyes widened.

“Just a hunch,” Arlo said softly.

Phil harumphed. He shifted his feet. He looked down at the thick pad of notes in his hands and clutched the edges of the lined paper possessively.

“I can’t make any promises… but,” Phil said, “If you help me finish the book AND promote it to my satisfaction, then maybe… just maybe, mind you. I might consider it.”

“That’s fair,” Arlo said. He gave Gillian a sharp look, and the rude words she was about to utter froze on her tongue. She frowned slightly in annoyance, but kept her lips shut.

“Very well,” Phil said. “I suggest you put on a pot of coffee, Miss Frost. We might be here awhile.”

***

Gillian stretched. Her back cracked pleasantly, and she sighed slightly at the pleasurable feeling of relaxing her joints after holding the uncomfortable poses for the last six hours. Surprisingly, she hadn’t felt nearly as disgusted by Arlo’s close physical presence as she expected too. Huh.

She glanced over at Arlo, tapping away with both thumbs on his smartphone. His tongue stuck out every once in awhile when he had to concentrate hard on what to write. It was kind of adorable.

“Well?” Phil said.

Gillian turned to look at the Accountant. He was glaring at her.

“Huh?”

“I said,” Phil said, “How long should we expect to wait until the sales roll in?”

“How would I know?” Gillian said. “I don’t know shit about promotion.”

“Not long,” Arlo said as he continued to type so fast on his phone that his thumbs became a blur. “I created a media package and set a timer for it to blast all of my art industry contacts. I also set up a cover reveal and pre-sale ready to go live immediately on all of my socials. That’s over fifty-thousand followers. All you have to do is hit Submit. See?”

He held his phone up. A book cover featuring a silvery blue skinned foxlike woman and an oozing green tentacle monster wrapped up in a gravity-defying embrace astride a massive horse with three heads was accompanied by big bubble letters that spelled out:

‘This book is so hot it will literally burn your fingers as you turn the pages!’

Gillian felt sick to her stomach at the improper use of the word ‘literally’ but she decided not to say anything. No point dragging this out any longer than necessary.

“It’s beautiful,” Phil said softly.

Gillian glanced at his face and she may have imagined it, but she would have sworn that she saw the glisten of a single tear in the corner of his eye.

“So… about that door…” Gillian said.

Phil made an absent gesture with one hand and a faint popping sound echoed through the apartment. Arlo looked up from his phone screen, wide-eyed, to glance at Gillian before the two of them both bolted for the living room/dining room/kitchen to stare in wordless fascination at the disembodied door hanging in space across the street.

“That’s it?” Arlo said.

“Obviously,” Phil said. “Now, give me the phone, Black.”

Arlo looked down at the gleaming surface of the smartphone in his hands. His fingers tightened on the edges.

“Where does it go?” Gillian said.

“Does it matter?” Phil said.

“Of course, it matters!” Gillian snapped. “What kind of question is that?”

“You asked for a door. There it is,” Phil said. “What happens when you go through it is up to you. I can’t help you anymore.”

“Come on, G,” Arlo said. “Wherever it goes, it has to be better than this, right?”

“But-” Gillian said, but Phil cut her off.

“We had a deal. I kept my end. Now, give me the damn phone!”

Arlo squinted slightly at the angry accountant steaming in front of them. “You just made that door out of thin air. Who are you, really?”

Phil shrugged. “No one important.”

“Bullshit,” Arlo said.

“Cows shit too,” Phil said. “You don’t ever hear anyone bragging about it. None of your questions