“I’ll help you,” I finally tell her.
“Help me? But how?”
“Have you ever heard of Mason Carter?”
Chapter 5
Mason
Just another day when you’re one of the gods of the publishing world.
I take a sip of my coffee and sigh. I know what you’re thinking. Great. Not another fucking arrogant tool who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. Doesn’t Alexis Angel ever get fucking tired of writing the same type of guy? The over the top alpha male?
Well, baby, let me tell you something. I taught Alexis Angel everything she knows. When I first met her, she was a small time author and it was my teachings and my lessons that put her where she is today – hitting Top 100 on books you love.
That alone should tell you who I am. But just in case this is your first book or you’ve never seen pictures of me, let me educate you just a bit.
My name is Mason Carter. If you’re going, ‘Wait, is he saying he’s that Mason Carter?’ right now then yes, I am that Mason Carter. The bad boy Romance author who fucks women left and right and the ones that I remember I write about.
I fucking made the indie self-publishing world what it is today.
I used to be a banker on Wall Street. But when I wasn’t partying it up at the nightclubs as women ogled my fucking ripped as hell body with my fucking tats, I was writing.
Because I got a sensitive fucking soul. And I wanted out of Wall Street.
I published my first stories when Rainforest.com first went live and started selling Cradle e-readers. And the ladies fucking loved me. Because I wrote from the fucking heart. I was raw. I put it all out on the page.
Hell, when I first quit my Wall Street job I didn’t have the fucking budget to hire models or editors. So I fucking wrote and read through my own shit. Self edited. Couldn’t find a hot guy to pose for my cover so I fucking took off my own shirt and got behind the camera.
And the books fucking sold like nothing else.
Everyone has come to me for advice when they first start. Abby Angel. Lana Angel. Meredith Moore. Sienna Sinner. Juliana Conners.
All the fucking PAs try to get their authors to be mentioned on my newsletter, or for me to read and review their books on my Facebook page. I mean, I’m not surprised. I have 100,000 subscribers to my daily newsletter and 250,000 likes on my Facebook page.
People beg me to show pictures of me shirtless. Pants-less. They want to see the 8-pack abs. They want to imagine my foot long cock that they know I got. But you want to know something?
I just don’t have enough time to satisfy them. I’m too busy taking care of the girls that are throwing themselves at me on a regular basis.
If that’s not enough, then here’s the number on
e reason how I became a fucking kingmaker in the self-published world.
I created a site. It’s called Bookfinder.com. It allows authors to put their books up for cross-promotional opportunities with other authors. If another author likes your book and they read it and they think it’s a good fit for their audience, then they send it out.
It’s launched careers. And it’s become the single most important tool for authors in the known fucking universe.
And if the authors are shady?
I fucking ban them from the service. I hold the power. With my hot body. People who get banned at first are upset. But then I sit them down and talk to them and by the end of me explaining how shady they are, they can’t get enough of me. They want to change their ways if they’re legit. They also want to run their tongues over my abs.
I’m actually at a café in SoHo right now dictating to my assistant who is typing my words. I’m writing my latest book and I already know it’s going to be a fucking bestseller the day that it drops.
That’s when the door opens.
Now, normally I don’t look at the door to any establishment every time it opens, but this time is different. I was already staring in that direction.
And I’m fucking glad I did.