AN: Hi Reader! I updated chapter one last night, so take a look at the author's notes from that chapter if you want to know more. Also, I responded to comments in the last chapter Author Notes at the end. Otherwise, enjoy the story.

Recap: Lizzie, a struggling writer, and Winston, her American Bulldog, ran into a handsome but rude stranger his Boarder Collie Luna, on their way to the dog park to visit Charlotte. Lizzie just discovered that the man is no other than Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Bark and Bite: A Tale of Two Authors

Chapter Two - EPOV

"Wait, seriously? That's Fitzwilliam Darcy? You're kidding me."

"Nope, he looks exactly like his author's webpage photos."

I couldn't believe it. I had a crush on him back in college after reading his first book. And now, I found myself standing just a few feet away from him, surrounded by barking dogs and noisy street traffic.

"I can't believe you never looked him up," my friend said. "You said you had a crush on him, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was before I knew he had a sour personality."

As much as I despised his arrogance and haughty demeanor, I couldn't deny that I was impressed by his success as an author. At that moment, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I had been struggling with my writing for months, feeling stuck in a rut and constantly questioning my worth as a writer. Yet there he was a successful, distinguished, and celebrated author, standing so nonchalantly as if nothing mattered.

"You used to go on and on about how his words moved you," she said. "How you would like to marry him back in the day," Charlotte added with a smirk.

"Hush, keep your voice down. He could hear you."

"I wonder why he moved to our neighborhood."

"Why would I care? He's prideful and barely even pleasant. Anyway, I've got to get back to work on my manuscript."

"How's that going?"

"It's going, but I should go collect Winston." He was still playing with Luna. I'd have to drag him out of the dog park. Hopefully, I could avoid talking with Fitzwilliam Darcy again.

—

As the weekend wrapped up, I got ready for the yearly writers' conference that was held downtown. I had Jane watch Winston when I was out; I didn't trust my other sisters to watch him. The gloomy overcast sky swept through the city the night before, making me worry about the turnout. On my way to the conference, I accidentally scratched the side of my car, adding to my stress. And when I arrived at the hotel, there was a mix-up with my check-in, causing further delay.

Slowly, I opened the large glass conference doors. I was greeted by one of the many attendants.

"Good Morning, check-in is further down the lobby," the male attendant said on cue, wearing a crisp uniform shirt and a nametag that read Cameron. His charming smile did help to brighten the mood of writers, editors, agents, and publishers that flowed into the modern glam lobby.

I followed the signs for writer check-in and grabbed my badge and complimentary tote bag. It contained the itinerary, food vouchers, and my panel information. My marketing team got me on a panel to help promote my book. I hadn't wanted to do so, but they were paying for my VIP ticket, and all I wanted was to get some inspiration from fellow writers.

There was a constant murmur throughout the sleek modern hall. The sound of elevator music mixed with the steady chatter of small talk filled the grand space. But the distressed sound of an unhappy attendant caught my attention.

"What do you mean? Do you know who I am?"

"Ma'am, I am sorry, but we do not have a record of you having VIP tickets. Are you sure you have the correct confirmation number?"

"Yes, I've already provided it to your colleague," she said, quickly turning her head to her companion. "Georgianna dear, can you call your brother? The folks at the lobby are being ridiculous." The young lady, who must be Georgianna, went flush; her cheeks turned crimson, and looked at anything but the rude woman. Her eyes landed on me, like a deer caught in, headlights.

I couldn't stand bullies, but I hesitated to intervene. I had a habit of avoiding confrontation and typically found it too uncomfortable to directly intervene. So, I'd just pass on by and feel guilt for the rest of the day for not doing anything. But her eyes reminded me of a younger me. The little child that wanted someone to help, and was unable to voice it.

Noticing no one else helping, I slowly made my way over to the duo.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear, is there something I can do to help?" I asked the frightened attendants, who were on the verge of tears. There must have been more name-calling and derogatory remarks thrown at them. "Is there a manager that I could speak to on your behalf?"

Their eyes slowly glanced at the rude woman. "Thank you for offering, but we already sent someone for the manager."

Ignoring the bully, she looked familiar; her strawberry blonde hair and luxury clothes gave her an air of gaudiness.

"Who are you to interrupt a private conversation?" she questioned, glaring at me while sizing me up. I ignored her taunt not wanting to make more of a scene; instead focusing on her companion.

"Miss, if you'd like, you can wait with me in the auditorium while your friend gets her situation cleared," I said to the young companion, giving her a reassuring smile. "The name's Lizzie."

"Thank you Lizzie, but I promised my brother to wait with my friend," she hesitated not making eye contact and fidgeting with her tote bag.

"Okay, well I hope to run into you later. Enjoy your time." Seeing as I could do nothing else to help, I left the pair to wait for the manager; and then, moved into the main auditorium. The auditorium was a large space with rows of chairs laid out with a few aisles breaking up the endless rows and a platform stage with lounge chairs on the long side of the space. As I sat down in one of the seats, waiting for the first event to start, I tried to figure out why the bully looked familiar. Then it hit me, I'm pretty sure she was the same woman from the dog park. I mean she had the same angular face, strawberry blonde hair, and dressed excessively in brands.

I should've directly confronted her, but I couldn't.

The lights dimmed, the murmurs and rustling of papers gradually died down, and all eyes turned to the stage as the host announced the main key speaker. The audience leaned forward in their seats, eager to see who was about to come out. Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped confidently onto the stage, his presence commanding the attention of the room. As I watched him, I wondered what it would be like to have his confidence, but then again, I wouldn't want to be so haughty. I'd rather be unsure than ever be so pompous.

During his speech, despite his arrogance and haughty demeanor, Darcy's success as an author was undeniable. It was as if he never once doubted himself as a writer, whereas I had been struggling for months and constantly questioning my worth.

During his talk, he shared with the audience some of his sources of inspiration, such as his love for classic literature and his travels around the world. He opened up about the challenges and dislikes he faced as an author, such as the pressure to meet deadlines and the struggle to balance creativity with commercial success. Overall, he provided a candid and insightful look into the inner workings of the authorship business, leaving the audience with much to ponder and reflect upon, just in time for a Q&A session.

"Hi Mr. Darcy, I'm a huge fan and loved your works. I was wondering if you can share more about your next book?" the questionnaire, that was standing in front of me, said.

"Unfortunately, I don't have much to share right now, but thank you for your anticipation for my next work." I peeked behind the shoulder of the current questioner, and Mr. Darcy readjusted his position once again. "Thank you for your question."

I was up next. My heart raced as I took hold of the microphone.

"Hi, Mr. Darcy. Could you expand upon when you said, 'that the struggle to balance creativity and commercial success was your biggest challenge as an author?"

"On one hand, as a writer, I want to stay true to my artistic vision, but I understand that there are other key parties that have their expectations and demands. Mainly the public reader."

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the audience's gaze on me as I responded. "But isn't compromising on your artistic vision ultimately lead to a lack of authenticity in your work?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

He paused, raising his eyebrow, looking like he was considering his response. "I see, but I don't believe staying true to your artistic vision necessarily means compromising on commercial success."

"But what about pressures from publishers and agents to conform to certain trends or styles?" I pressed, sensing the tension growing, "You're a highly successful author, but what about the less successful authors?"

"I think their success depends on their ability to balance everything as I said earlier. A skilled writer will take all external pressures and use them as a springboard for their own unique ideas. If they can't, they'll fail."

"Isn't that a bit harsh on novice writers?" I heard the murmurs of the audience as I dared to question one of the most successful authors. I couldn't stand his almighty pride; his comment hit a nerve in me, making me feel like it was a direct attack. The room was silent as we locked our gaze.

"I'm not here to give flowery advice. Writing isn't for the weak." He finished, relaxing back in his seat, ending our debate. I thanked him for his time, and moved out of the way for the next questioner, looking annoyed that I spent time hogging the microphone.

This writing conference wasn't going well, but there was still time to achieve my goals before the end of the week.

—

That evening was the first of two happy hour mixes, the second one was to be held on the last day of the conference. It was held in the hotel's ballroom, a space not as large as the conference center ballroom. But had a similar sleek modern architecture with modern hanging glass chandeliers. The loud music filled the space, and many of the attendants were on the dance floor, and some just mingling around cocktail tables. The lines for the bartenders were long but an opportunity to mingle in the waiting lines.

I was in one of the winding lines that wrapped around itself. I didn't mean to stay long, but I thought why not come down since I hadn't had to pay extra for this? As a VIP ticket holder, this was one of the few perks. Even if I was tired, I shouldn't waste such a good opportunity to mingle with other publishers and editors.

"I couldn't help but notice how well you held your own in the debate earlier."

"Excuse me, what?" I said, quickly turning around.

Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in front of me. The man that I had dared to question, the heat in my cheeks rising at the memory of our debate.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy it's you," I stumbled out. "Yes, it was. You could've sugarcoated that you need a thick skin to be a writer."

"Please call me William." He added a charming smile, showing off his dimples. "Is it worthwhile to give writers sugarcoated advice when eventually they'll have to face the harsh reality of being an author?"

"I guess at some point they would have to learn to toughen up," I said. Though doubting if I had learned that lesson yet.

A quiet lull in the conversation appeared for a few brief moments. I kept my gaze moving between his face and the surroundings. The intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps up my arms.

"I came over to see if we could set up a play date for Luna and Winston," he said, out of nowhere. I stared blankly at him, he had remembered that we met at the dog park. "They played so well, I thought, it would be nice to foster their friendship," he said, breaking eye contact.

He handed me a note with his number on it. I kept my confused expression on the note, not daring to look back into his warm caramel eyes.

"I've got to get back to mingling with everyone else. But I hope to hear from you about when might work. From one dog parent to another." He had the smallest of smiles on his face and walked off. Fading into the chaotic crowd.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The debate is one of my favorite dialogues between Darcy and Elizabeth. I was inspired by when Darcy and Elizabeth had their first dance at Netherfield Ball. Instead of talking about dancing, we're talking about writing. Also, the last scene in this chapter is also inspired by the Netherfield Ball as well. Anyway, I keep enjoying this story! Please let me know what you liked or didn't like, and any constructive criticism that you have.

Happy Reading Folks~KMarinelli2023