Over the years, Natalie Ratcliff and Victoria Ford had developed a routine. Victoria wrote the first draft of each manuscript and sent it off to Natalie, who reworked the story, picking out the flaws and inconsistencies. This many years later they both knew Peg Perugo equally well. But they each knew her differently. The advantage Victoria held from having originally created the affable character more than twenty-five years earlier was matched by Natalie’s understanding of how to mold Peg Perugo’s character for maximum commercial appeal. Together, they had developed a smooth back and forth that, while never fully escaping disagreement, always avoided argument. Until this year. Until the sixteenth Peg Perugo novel. This time there were deep disparities on how they each thought the plot should be structured. E-mailing their opinions and attempting to work through the problems from thousands of miles away had only added fuel to the fire, so Natalie arranged a trip to Santorini to sort out the details.

Victoria and Natalie sat in the splendid Ratcliff-owned villa on the tiny island of Santorini. They had spent the week reading and rereading the manuscript, tweaking and reworking the story in an attempt to find common ground on which they could both agree. Natalie had fought hard to convince Victoria that they should stick with the formula that had produced fifteen best sellers and had sold a hundred million copies. Victoria, on the other hand, wanted to go in a different direction. A darker, edgier direction that had been absent from all the previous Peg Perugo stories.

Natalie had noticed this change to Victoria’s writing since summer. An edge to Victoria’s writing that didn’t match the voice from the previous decade and a half of work. They wrote hard-boiled mysteries, not dark thrillers. And they had been spectacularly successful at it. Their readers expected a certain genre, and using their beloved protagonist in such a dark way would not be well received. But no matter how many times Natalie pointed this out, Victoria refused to listen. She simply came back with darker ideas still.

Natalie was sitting on the veranda of the villa and reading the latest version of the manuscript Victoria had produced. Victoria walked out and popped the cork to a bottle of Dom Pérignon. The Aegean Sea was in front of them, and the air was chilly. It seemed to Natalie to fill Victoria with vigor. More than that, actually. Natalie sensed defiance in the way Victoria carried the bottle of champagne and filled their glasses.

“Well?” Victoria asked. “What do you think? Is it our best yet?”

Natalie felt a strange shiver climb up her spine. There was something in the way Victoria asked the question that made Natalie hesitant to voice her true opinion. Still, she tried one last time.

“Vic, this is not what our readers want from us. It’s not what they want from Peg Perugo.”