Holding Your Breath 1/?

Author: dettiot

Rating: T for now

Summary: Felicity Smoak's newest book is called Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology. Oliver Queen's first book is The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World's Most Successful Frat Boy's Twitter Account. These two authors should have nothing in common except their publisher . . . but that's not at all accurate. Publishing/writer!AU Olicity.

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: This is my first Arrow fic! Hope y'all enjoy it. I don't have the next chapter written yet, partly because I'm curious about the reaction this fic will get, so I'd love hearing if you like this story. Thanks for reading.

All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath. F. Scott Fitzgerald

XXX

Publisher's Weekly, December 11, 2006
Smoak to Penguin

Penguin's new nonfiction lifestyle imprint is the winner in the Felicity Smoak sweepstakes. The critically-acclaimed author of Closing Doors and Opening Windows: Where Microsoft Went Right (And Wrong) and Revolution in Hand: How Betting on Music Made Apple Relevant Again will now hang her hat under the shingle of Ex Astris Books, in a deal valued at nearly a quarter of a million dollars. The deal will see Smoak reach beyond her computer geek roots to look deeper at the crossroads of technology and society. Smoak is repped by Laurel Lance of LL Literary.

Publisher's Lunch, February 14, 2007
Ex Astris Announces First Book Contract for Twitter Account

The gutsy new imprint from Penguin-if an imprint from one of the Big Six can be called 'gutsy'-has announced a first-of-its-kind deal for a book from Oliver Queen, the hitherto-unknown voice of the Twitter account Frat Boy Fraternity. Queen, working with his collaborator Tommy Merlyn and another unannounced author, will be turning his 140 characters' worth pearls of wisdom into a book touted as The Bro Code meets S#!+ My Dad Says according to publisher press release.

Frat Boy Fraternity, with over a million followers, was aggressively targeted by Ex Astris. Coming on the heels of the formerly anonymous account's author being revealed as Queen, the fast-tracked title will market itself. But it remains to be seen if what works in a tweet works in a book. We watch and wait to find out the answer to this question.

Wired, June 2007
Tech's New Goddess: An Interview with Felicity Smoak (excerpts)

You're working on a new book, is that correct?

Yes! I'm really excited about this one-not that I'm not excited about all of my books, it's just a different kind of excitement now for the books that are all done and on the shelf, because it's like they're dead to me, they don't talk any more [. . .] This new book isn't retrospective, it's not looking back at the industry's history. This time, I'm looking forward, taking our current conditions and trying to guess what might happen next, and whether that should happen and if it shouldn't, how we can stop and move to a different path [. . .] Trying to show that technology is going to keep changing society, changing our lives, and it's up to us to figure out if those changes are good or not. And if they're not, we need to change that, too.

USA Today, July 11, 2007
Playboy Turned Author Oliver Queen Prepares For the Publication of His First Book

"It's just really cool, to get to go beyond Twitter and all," the handsome, charming heir to the Queen billions told us from his luxurious Starling City penthouse. "I'm just too awesome for 100 characters," he says with a wink. When his collaborator, Tommy Merlyn, corrects him that it's 140 characters in a Tweet, Queen laughs. "Still too awesome."

XXX

The ringing of her cell phone pulled Felicity Smoak out of the research black hole she had fallen into. Gratefully, she snatched up her phone and answered it, not bothering to check who it was. And then she wished she had checked first.

"Felicity, hi, it's Laurel."

"Ohhh, hi," Felicity said, wincing. She had been trying to avoid Laurel a little, focusing on final copyedits instead of whatever her agent was calling about right now. If writing books that she loved-books that were her babies just as much as her computers were-was all she had to do to get paid, Felicity would be in heaven. A heaven that would hopefully also have premium Italian-roast coffee and a range of cute ballerina flats. In bright colors and maybe with cute little animals on them. The shoes, not the coffee, of course.

"Have you looked over that box of advance copies I sent you for blurbing?" Laurel's voice cut into Felicity's musings about heaven, which was an ironic train of thought since the Torah kind of didn't specify if there was an afterlife or not.

"How mad would you be if I said no?" Felicity asked, bracing herself.

It wasn't that she wasn't dedicated to being an author. She agonized over every word in every draft. She always responded promptly to editorial concerns. And doing copyedits, like she was right now, where she got to spend an hour trying to decide if she should use a semicolon or not, was one of her favorite things because it was a lot like programming.

But unfortunately, being a published author also meant doing publicity, cultivating her image, and generally doing a bunch of things that didn't really matter. Because if your book was good, it should stand on its own merit and not by some meaninglessly vague bit of praise plastered all over the cover of your book, praise from some other author or a quasi-celebrity.

Laurel must be pinching the bridge of her nose, she sounded so exasperated. "Felicity, you know how important it is for Ex Astris to see that you're part of the family. Which means blurbing at least two of their fall titles. I know it sucks that they bumped you to the winter, but I still think it's for the best. You'll be able to do a lot of great promotion after the first of the year, but not if you don't-"

"Play the game," Felicity said along with her agent, repeating Laurel's favorite phrase. "I know, Laurel, I know. I'll do it today and send you the blurbs, I promise."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Swear on your coffeemaker?"

Jumping to her feet, Felicity crossed her apartment to one of her other babies (okay, so she had a big heart and found room for lots of things that were considered her babies), the top-of-the-line coffeemaker she had purchased with part of her first book's advance. "I swear on Paolo's life, I will send you two perfectly-crafted blurbs by six p.m."

"Six p.m. my time zone, or six p.m. yours?"

Damn it, she needed a new agent. One who didn't know all her tricks. "Six p.m. your time zone, of course," Felicity said immediately. "I'm not out to make your life more difficult."

There was a very unladylike huff from the other end of the phone, but Laurel, who was frankly perfect, let it go. "Okay, great. Thanks, Felicity. How's everything going with Treehouse?"

Felicity smiled happily at just the thought of her latest book. "It's amazing. I love it so much."

"You are the only author I know who falls more in love with their books during copyedits. Everyone else starts to hate their book," Laurel said with a laugh.

"This is my last chance to really live with my book, before I have to set it free. Set my baby free into a cold, cruel world. Why wouldn't I fall more in love with it?" Felicity asked, taking advantage of being next to Paolo to fill a mug with coffee.

"You are just one-of-a-kind," Laurel replied.

Chuckling, Felicity took a sip of her coffee before speaking. "I bet you say that to all your authors."

"Yep. Ego-stroking is a critical part of the job. Okay, Smoak, get me those blurbs," Laurel said, switching gears nearly as fast as Felicity could. "Six p.m. on the dot."

"I swore on Paolo! You'll have them," Felicity said, trying to keep her voice light and upbeat. To not dump her frustration on Laurel.

Hanging up, Felicity took another sip of coffee, closing her eyes and savoring it. Then, squaring her shoulders, she walked over to the box that had arrived last week and hadn't made it any further than her front door. She pushed aside a few pairs of shoes that had collected around the box and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and setting her coffee beside her as she opened the box.

Part of being published was being asked to provide forthcoming books with a blurb. Her publisher had sent advance copies-printed versions of the final draft designed for reviewers, booksellers, librarians and the like-of all the books they would be publishing this fall, so now she had to decide what looked interesting enough to read and possibly blurb.

Words that could be used as both a noun and a verb were some of her favorites. She wrote a blurb . . . he blurbed the new Walter Isaacson . . . they are blurbing the same way . . .

To be honest, she would probably be reading all of them, because Felicity loved books. Loved discovering new authors, loved learning something new, loved having her preconceived notions challenged. But being able to distill down what she loved into a pithy quote, suitable for marketing the book . . . that wasn't exactly something at which she was good. Because when she got excited, it was all babbling and enthusiasm and lots of hand movements, and none of that really translated into a blurb.

Still, it had to be done. So she sipped her coffee and started making piles of books around her, letting herself at least enjoy this part of the process. Until she reached the bottom of the box and pulled out the last book, unable to keep her nose from wrinkling.

What were they thinking? Did they honestly think she would recommend the Frat Boy Fraternity book?

Even though judging a book by its cover was so bad that it had the world's oldest cliché to say how bad an act it was, Felicity just couldn't help herself. Because this book was a symptom of one way that books-all of society and culture, really-were going wrong, in her opinion.

The glossy black cover featured a mirror inset, so she could see a funhouse reflection of herself, underneath the book's title, written in lurid red letters. The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World's Most Successful Frat Boy's Twitter Account.

Felicity sighed. She wasn't exactly the demographic for this book. And based on the hour she had spent reading the Frat Boy Fraternity Twitter feed when the book deal was first announced, she wouldn't enjoy reading this. But it was thin-it was bound to be a quick read. And there was the very fact that a blurb from her would attract some attention . . . maybe that would make her publishers feel more welcoming towards her?

Turning the book over, Felicity felt her breath catch in her throat when she caught sight of the author photo. She had heard of Oliver Queen, of course. Had seen some of his more notable exploits on TMZ and the like. But it was one thing to see blurry cell phone video of some falling-down-drunk playboy and a carefully-staged author photo. Because Oliver Queen took good picture.

The photo looked like it had been taken on the beach; she thought she could see the ocean in the far distance. His dirty blonde hair, a bit shaggy and messy, was blowing in the wind and he was half-smiling, half-smirking at the camera. But what made her stare at Oliver Queen was his eyes: because they were an intense shade of blue, with a charismatic power that made her not want to look away. They both invited you in and kept you at a distance. Those eyes said he took you on his terms and you would like it.

It was too much. Felicity quickly flipped the book back over and dropped it on the floor before bringing her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool her flushed skin. It was just as bad to be too positive about a book based on its cover as it was to be too negative. But . . . but now she was curious. Curious about the mystery she was glimpsing in Oliver Queen's eyes.

And mysteries needed to be solved. So even though she felt her cheeks go as red as an overclocked CPU running with a too-small fan, Felicity put The Frat Boy Way in her to-be-read pile-at the bottom of the pile, to be saved for last.

She carried the contenders to her comfy chair, putting them on the coffee table before she fortified herself with more coffee. Settling down, Felicity pulled the top book off the small pile and started reading, taking advantage of her speed-reading ability to zip along. And if she occasionally threw a glance at her pile, seeing Oliver Queen's book waiting for her, she was the only one who had to know.

Even before she got to the bottom of the pile, Felicity was able to give her victory fist pump. She had two books that she was completely willing and eager to blurb. Not wasting any time, she got her tablet and another coffee refill, pausing only to kiss Paolo before she started typing up her thoughts.

For some reason, the blurbs were easy to write. It was not because the sooner she got them done, the sooner she could start figuring out what the story was with Oliver Queen. No, it was because she needed to make her deadline and give Laurel a break. That was what was motivating Felicity. Yep, the only thing. Not piercing blue eyes.

Her tablet let out a cheery little beep as she hit send on her email to Laurel and Felicity fist pumped again for good measure. But that meant there was no longer any reason to put off reading The Frat Boy Way.

Felicity pursed her lips and tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. She felt the oddest mixture of anticipation, embarrassment, and dread run through her. Because . . . because all things being equal, she wasn't going to enjoy reading that book, yet she felt like she just had to read it.

"Oh, just get it over with," she said out loud, reaching over to tug the book from the bottom of the pile. There was no need to get ridiculous like this. She was a published author, a MIT graduate, and an accomplished hacker. Regardless of how she felt, it wasn't like Oliver Queen would ever know.

XXX

"Dude, Ollie, you gotta come read this!"

The gleeful tone in his best friend's voice was way too much to take at this hour of the morning, Oliver Queen thought grumpily as he buried his head under one of the feather down pillows on his king-sized bed. Last night's tequila drinking meant one of those killer hangovers, the kind where he was sensitive to light or noise or doing anything harder than breathing. "Go 'way."

"C'mon, Ollie!" The sudden brightness made Oliver wince. Tommy had yanked the pillow away and was now thumping it against his back. "If you can't trust me . . ."

Oliver rolled over and squinted at Tommy. "I only trust you 'cause of what you know." He pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"

"Three. Here."

A phone was in his face, too close for him to read it. Leaning back, Oliver tried to focus on it and then looked up at Tommy. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

Tommy appeared downright gleeful. "This chick read your book and wrote about it!"

"How can anyone read the book? It's not even published yet."

"Dunno, but she did and you gotta read what she said, it's awesome." Tommy grinned and took his phone back, beginning to read. "'The Frat Boy Way is the outgrowth of a Twitter account called Frat Boy Fraternity. Putting aside how redundant that is, I went into reading The Frat Boy Way wanting to hate it. I fully expected to, because after all, I'm not exactly a frat boy, and the last thing I want, or really any woman wants, is to be treated as advised by Mr. Queen. Because the world has plenty of misogynistic, patronizing, arrogant douchebags. But what it doesn't have? Good writers. And it pains me to say that he's not bad and could be better. And since this is all way too long to put in a blurb-and it's not exactly what the marketing department would want to see on the cover of any book-I wrote this blog post. I doubt Mr. Queen will ever see this . . . but maybe just putting it out into the universe is enough.'"

As Tommy read, Oliver found himself sitting up straighter, his mouth going dry. This was the last thing he expected when Tommy had revealed, six months ago, that he had been Tweeting about their exploits in Starling City-and that they had a lot of fans. Or followers, whatever it was called with Twitter. So many fans that somebody wanted him to write a book.

He hadn't really understood what the big deal was. Not at first. But then he started reading the Tweets and . . . and it was weird, seeing that version of himself. Realizing that people seemed to care what he thought. That didn't happen a lot to Oliver Queen. Even if it was because of some dumb Twitter account, it was something.

So it was easy to just go along with what Tommy had set in motion and do the book. It gave him something to think about whenever Robert Queen complained about his lack of ambition and focus or when his mother sighed and looked disappointed in him. Not that it was enough-it was never enough-but it was something.

"Who is this woman?" Oliver asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Tommy shrugged. "Her name's Felicity Smoak. Uptight teacher type." He tapped a few buttons and turned the phone back to Oliver, revealing a picture of a woman about their age, with dark hair pulled back from her face and wearing a black turtleneck. But there was something in her blue eyes that made Oliver think she was putting on an act. Being more serious than she really was.

Before he could deliberate this Felicity Smoak any more, Tommy took his phone back. "Gotta say, I'm surprised you're alone. What happened to that redhead?"

"More trouble than she was worth. Thought she wanted a rebound, but she was too hung up on the ex still to do anything but cry," Oliver said, throwing back the covers and swinging his feet to the floor.

"You've had crappy luck lately," Tommy said sympathetically. Then a grin crossed his face. "Or you've lost your touch."

Snorting, Oliver threw Tommy a look and got up. "No fuckin' way. Just enjoying not being tied down-and not looking for drama. Especially after the last shitstorm with Helena."

"All the more reason to have as much sex as you can, now that you've finally cut her loose. Dude, you're letting down all the brothers in Pi Kappa Alpha."

"I think Pike's got bigger problems than me," Oliver said, heading towards the bathroom. "God, I need coffee. And food. Call down and ask Raisa if she could make me some breakfast, will ya?"

His best friend shook his head. "You are scared of being happy. You need to have some fun, and we're gonna make that happen. So yes, I'll get you some breakfast and while you eat, we're gonna plan for tonight. Because we are gonna hit Starling City hard, and we're not comin' back until you, my friend, have at least one girl."

Oliver stopped in the doorway to his bathroom and looked at Tommy. Last year-hell, even a few months ago-his plans would have been normal. Completely ordinary. But now . . . it had lost some of its appeal. But how could he tell Tommy that? He couldn't, not without revealing more than he wanted. And he was right-it had been too long since he'd found some woman and lost himself for a few hours. Maybe that's what he needed, to deal with all these strange ideas he started getting while writing the book.

Because Oliver Queen wasn't a serious guy.

So he threw Tommy a grin and a salute. "Aye aye, captain."

Tommy's laughter was loud and uncomplicated, and it followed Oliver into the bathroom. He started the shower and then stood by the sink, lathering up his face to shave. As he smoothed the razor over his skin, he found his mind going back to the words that Tommy had read to him. About how he had potential as a writer.

Potential. It was one of Oliver's least-favorite words. Because whatever he had, he never seemed to live up to it. No one he knew-not Tommy, not his little sister Thea, not even his mother-seemed to think he was capable of anything more than what he was.

Yeah, sure, it had surprised him to discover that he actually cared about the book. Actually wanted to work. Actually . . . liked it. He hid it, of course, but he did care. So what made some stranger, a woman he'd never even met, think that he could be something?

Who the fuck was Felicity Smoak anyway?

A small slip with his razor made Oliver jerk back and out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he made himself focus on shaving and showering. He needed to have his mind clear for tonight. Needed to remember just who he was and who he always would be.

And that was just your average billionaire playboy, pressured by his family to step in and help run the family company-a fate that Oliver was eager to avoid. Because he would be a crappy CEO and the only reason he'd have that job was because his name was on the building. He didn't want that. So until he knew how he was going to avoid that fate, he was going to keep living his life as he always had: waking up whenever, working out hard, then going out and partying even harder. That was what he was good at, really. The book was just a fluke, something fun, and in a few years he'd probably barely remember it.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was to find that Raisa was a miracle worker. Not only had she produced one of her amazing breakfasts, she was chatting away with Tommy: giving him the gentle teasing that made Raisa more of a mother than either Tommy or Oliver had ever had.

Oliver couldn't help smiling as he walked over to Raisa. "This smells amazing. Just what I needed, Raisa. Thank you." Kissing her cheek, he took a seat and immediately dug into his eggs.

"My pleasure, Mr. Oliver. Do you or Mr. Tommy need anything else?"

"Nope, we're good. Thanks, Raisa," Tommy said, smiling as he sipped his coffee.

As soon as the door closed behind Raisa, Tommy turned to Oliver. "Right. Here's what I think we should do. I was checking my email, and you're gonna be traveling for the book soon. Doing publicity and shit. So we should kick off a week of good-byes to Starling City, leave 'em looking forward to us comin' back. A trail of broken hearts in our wake."

He couldn't help chuckling. "And how's that different from any other week with us?" Oliver leaned back in his seat, drinking some coffee and grinning. Yeah, this was what he needed.

"I'm talking about pulling out all the stops. Make this something to be remembered." Tommy grinned, clearly pleased at how Oliver was responding. "We're gonna have to do actual work on this tour, from what I've seen already, so we might as well have fun before we leave."

"Then what's the plan for tonight?" Oliver said, setting down his coffee cup and picking up a piece of bacon.

Tommy grinned and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Ollie. You worked too damn hard on that book. I still can't believe you didn't want a ghostwriter. You've got lost partying time to make up for, and we're gonna do it, starting tonight. Dinner at Table Salt before we start clubbing."

"Sounds great," Oliver said. And it did. It sounded like just what Ollie Queen needed.

And if he told himself that he needed to find that article by that Felicity Smoak and read it later, when he was alone, it wasn't like he was gonna do it tonight. No, that could wait until the start of the tour. Then he'd read it and figure out how to feel about this so-called potential of his.

Tonight, the only potential he was interested in was the female kind.

End, Chapter 1