Bernard walked into the office building, rubbing his bald head as he noticed it in his reflection. Taking the elevator, he went up to the 36th floor and navigated his way to the familiar office. The door opened for him before he could even reach for the door handle.
“Ah, Bernard! Just the man I wanted to see.” A man in a crisp blue suit presented him with a forced smile and guided him into the office. He resumed his seat behind his desk. “I’ve skimmed over the new manuscript and I have to say — four hundred pages is quite a responsibility you’ve taken on.”
Bernard nodded awkwardly, taking a seat. He was well aware of the sacrifices he would have to make for this book, but he was certain it was his best piece so far and he was willing to do anything to see its success.
“I assume you’re here because you’re looking to discuss a new plan?” The man suggested, eyebrows raised. Bernard clenched his jaw. There was no need for him to keep pointing out his baldness. Still, he nodded.
The man turned on his computer and typed something, presumably a password. With an almost predatory smile, he leant back in his chair, putting his hands behind his full head of hair.
“Luckily for you we’ve recently expanded our services. As you know, we have our most common and budget friendly option — the Hand Sewn Package — with the production of five thousand books for six thousand dollars.”
Bernard sat in silence, mildly irritated that he would even mention this option.
“Since you’re no longer eligible for this, our next option is the Red Ink Package, which—”
“What else do you have?”
The man pursed his lips, but he forced a smile and continued. “Our newest option is rather costly. It’s the Leather Bound Package, which produces five thousand books for fifty thousand dollars.”
Bernard’s eyes widened, and he almost choked on his own breath. “Fifty thousand?”
Watching him squirm in shock seemed to fill the man with glee. “Well, it is a very delicate procedure. We don’t usually recommend this unless the author is well aware that they are publishing their final book. Oftentimes the books are published posthumously.”
Bernard’s stomach churned. Suddenly it all made sense. He could imagine old wrinkly authors penning their final words in hospital beds, passing away only to be skinned. Well, he hoped they were dead before the skinning began.
Why did he have to go bald so early on in life? Without his hair, how was he supposed to publish this book?
Swallowing his nervousness, he spoke again. “Tell me about the Red Ink.”
“Of course,” the man grinned. “Red Ink allows us to produce five thousand books for ten thousand dollars. It provides your finished product with a beautiful, personal touch. These books are often very popular with our readers — certainly more than Hand Sewn books — because readers know that you’ve put your blood, sweat and tears into your work.”
With a heavy sigh, Bernard relaxed his shoulders. “And you don’t have any other options?”
The man’s smile disappeared. “Not at the moment. Although, I’m sure you know that we are the only publisher in this city that can readily accommodate options other than the use of hair.”
Bernard swallowed, trying to muster up the courage to be assertive. “I see. Correct me if I’m wrong but I’ve heard CSF Publishing has been developing some new methods—”
“Using spinal fluid.”
That singular statement felt like a punch to Bernard’s gut. It appeared he was truly out of options.
“I—I think I’ll need to take a few days to consider my options,” he stuttered. A sly smile slid across the other man’s face.
“Of course, take all the time you need.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ll tell you what, if you sign on with me for Red Ink today, I’ll give you a thirty percent discount, so you’ll only be paying seven thousand.”
Bernard sat rigid in his seat, contemplating his choices. Lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear what the man said.
“I must say, I think your title is quite fitting. Bound by Blood. The readers are going to love this.”
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