So, I had planned to not write for my fanfiction at all during November to focus on my original story. And mostly, I did do that, but yesterday I wanted a break so I finished and edited chapter 17! I'm going back to my original until the end of the month but I have some other exciting stuffs packed for you guys in the months to come!

It's not really long, and it's quite different from the rest of the story, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless :) Thank you for liking and commenting, it means the world!

The next Sunday, they left his house together to go to the airport. Once there, Rhys got her small suitcase out of the trunk while she paid the cab driver, and they went inside. They were in line for her check-in when he looked at her and saw that her jaw was clenched and that she was twisting her fingers. He grabbed her hand.

"Feyre, it's gonna be great."

"I can't stop it. Rhys. I keep thinking of all the ways it could go wrong, of everything awful that could happen, and I'm freaking out. Plus I barely slept last night and I'm exhausted."

She had spent half the night getting up to check her belongings and talk to him about her trip and everything she was afraid of. The other half, she'd drifted off into an uneasy sleep, twisting around and clenching her jaw in her dreams. She did look exhausted, with strained lips and shades of violet under her eyes. He wondered if she'd slept any better the nights before she came at his place, or if she'd been that anxious all week.

"It'll be fine, tonight you can just get to your hotel and rest. You'll feel better tomorrow. I mean, assuming a stray dog doesn't enter your hotel room to destroy your tablet." She laughed nervously and reddened, also remembering one of the ridiculous possibilities of something going wrong she'd evoked the night before.

"If this ends up happening, you are going to feel so bad that you laughed at me."

"Oh if this ends up happening, I will feel bad. And I'll find a way to make it up to you," he whispered, breathing into her ear and then nipping at her earlobe. She took in a deep breath and smiled at him, undoubtedly remembering another part of their night, when they'd finally been able to make out on his coach for more than a few minutes without being interrupted.

The man at the check-in counter called them before he could start whispering more in her ear, and they advanced to the counter, left her suitcase, and headed for the security gates. They stood before the entrance for a while, chatting about anything but her trip, and finally she needed to go through security or risk missing her flight.

"I'll see you Wednesday?" He voice was quiet and tense, but she was smiling at him.

"Yes, I'll come get you when you land."

"You don't have to, I can take a cab home, I don't want you to miss work for me."

"No it's okay, I'll be here."

"Thank you. That way if I'm a total mess, you'll be in charge of comforting me."

"It'll be an honor," he laughed.

She looked away, and he knew she wasn't kidding when she feared coming back as a complete mess, so he said: "It will be great Feyre, don't worry. Your work is good, you're strong, and I'm sure you'll do amazing."

"It's a good thing you have so much faith in me, it keeps me from going completely crazy with fear. I have to go."

He nodded but didn't immediately let go of her hand.

"I'll… I'll miss you." He stumbled on his words and felt heat creep up his neck and face. He was going to miss her. Since that first night at her place, they'd seen each other as often as possible and he'd grown accustomed to her presence in his world. Four days without her were nothing, but it suddenly felt like a lifetime.

"I'll miss you too. A lot," she squeezed his fingers and they let go, exchanging one last kiss before she went through the gate.

Feyre arrived in New York five hours later and it was night when she reached her hotel. She ate out of a take-out box, bent over her drawing tablet, revising the designs she had prepared. She was to meet John and his publisher the next morning and present them with more elaborate drawings of her ideas. If they indeed liked it, they would spend the rest of the day discussing the terms of the contract. But she didn't let herself think about the contract, about what it would mean for her life if she indeed got involved in such a big project. Rhys had somehow convinced her to come to New York, he'd kept her fears at bay for a few days, but now that she was actually here, getting her work ready, she had to force her mind to focus on her drawings and nothing else.

"Did he tell you that?" Rhys had asked her when she'd broken down in front of him, and of course he'd guessed right. Tamlin was the one to blame for her insecurities, although she wasn't yet ready to admit it completely. When they'd started going out, he'd loved to watch her paint and draw, had bought her fancy supplies and beamed when she used them to paint him, his garden, their life together. But when she'd moved in with him, he'd started saying something else, too. How her art was beautiful, and she had the cutest hobby ever. How she could spend her days painting if only she didn't have to go to work every day of the week. How it was strange to work with her hobby, instead of having a real job. She'd thought he was joking, at first, brushing off his remarks with a sarcastic comment, or just ignoring him. But he'd grown more insistant, and… meaner. He'd been bringing up the subject of her quitting at least twice a week. He hadn't seemed to realize when she'd first stopped painting, because she was still drawing for work. And then when he'd seen her supplies stocked away in a drawer of their bedroom, covered in dust, he'd said to her:

"See, that's what happens when you let your hobby become your work. You don't paint anymore because your work is wasting away all of your creativity."

She hadn't told him that day that she'd stopped painting because she didn't have the energy, and that working was becoming harder and harder. She hadn't told him that she kept going to work to have one space where he wasn't there, one space that was hers alone, and that she would keep going to work because it felt like the only way to escape a bit of the numbness she felt at home, with him. And she hadn't told him that it broke her heart a little bit every time he called her job a "hobby."

She'd spent the last months with him working on her current projects but not picking up anything new because she didn't feel like she would be able to live up to the challenge.

This new opportunity could be amazing… if she managed to not make a fool of herself the next day, she thought, revising her ideas one last time before getting into bed, hoping she'd manage to sleep for at least a few hours.

"Feyre, hello!"

"John, how are you?" She greeted him at the entrance of the building they were meeting in.

"Good, good. How was your flight? How's your hotel?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Great. I'm glad you're here, Feyre, and I can't wait for you to meet Mary," he added as they went into an elevator. "She really liked the ideas I showed her, but was hoping to see more. Anyway, here we are." They got out of the elevator and he led her into an office where a red-headed woman was waiting for them. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before the meeting actually began, and Feyre had to lay in front of them all the prints of her ideas. They were both looking at her with focused interest, and she started talking.

The three of them had spent more than two hours going over her illustrations and talking about the books. Now Feyre was waiting on the break room, and untouched tea in front of her. They had dismissed her fifteen minutes before, to discuss their decision. The meeting had gone pretty well, and Feyre was fairly certain that their answer would be positive, but she wasn't sure what she would do if they presented her with a contract. Sure, she'd felt good talking about the different ideas she had, and she'd been excited at some of the possibilities they had discussed, doodling them on blank pages as they talked. But she had no idea what kind of deal they would offer her, and still no idea if she would take it.

"Feyre, can you come back?" Mary called her from the end of the hall. She went to the office and sat down at the table. Both of them were smiling, and John started talking:

"Feyre, we talked a lot about the possibility of working with you on this project. As you know, I was already thrilled at the idea, and now, Mary seems to be, too."

"Yes, I think we could really do great work together," Mary continued, "You seem motivated and you are definitely talented, with the style we were looking for."

"Thank you," she felt heat creep up her cheeks.

"Now the question is, would you be interested in working with us?"

And the answer came out of her immediately, an answer she hadn't prepared for: "I would."

"Great. What do you say I send a first draft of the contract to your hotel, and we talk more about potentially working together tomorrow? That way, you'll have time to study it and we can talk about more precise terms."

"Yes, sure."

"Perfect. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

They all got up and Mary went back to her office, while John and her took the elevator down.

125 pages per book. Approximately. They wanted her to work on the entire series, and if all went well,they were to publish approximately one book every thirteen or fourteen months. If she said yes to this, she would have a steady income for at least eight years, and probably an international recognition of her work, seeing as John's books were famous all around the globe. The pay was reasonable, good enough considering the length of the work and that she was still relatively new to the industry. The conditions were fair and flexible enough to accomodate for any kind of delays she might need, and even though she'd have to discuss some details with them in the morning, overall, it was a very good deal.

But it would be a commitment for at least eight years if she signed it. She would have to keep delivering good, interesting work, for eight years. And she knew, could feel it deep down in her gut, that she would never live up to this challenge. She was not good enough, no matter what the people around her said. She was young and undisciplined, she had no training, and drawing had always been more of a hobby…

She stopped her thoughts at that word, dragging her hands across her face and into her hair. This wasn't her speaking. She knew it. She had never thought that way about her job before Tamlin and his constant remarks about it.

Are you sure you'll manage to finish in time? You haven't been very productive these days.

You know, I have a much bigger salary, you don't have to work as you do, you could enjoy your hobby on your free time.

You're not going to keep working when we have kids, are you?

He'd pushed these thoughts down her throat time and time again, until she was persuaded that he was right, and that she was worthless. But she wasn't. She had managed to keep her family afloat for years when she was a teenager, she'd seized the opportunity of working with what she loved most in her life when she'd seen it, and every single one of her works had been praised. She could do it, she could work on this project and do a great job of it, because there was no reason in the world that she wouldn't be able to. And Tamlin had persuaded her of the contrary, so now she needed to prove him wrong, to prove herself wrong, and to accept this new amazing opportunity that had been presented to her.

And she would do it.