by Charisma Williams (@charismawilliams.bsky.social)
Adult Romance
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Query
I am seeking representation for SECOND CHANCES, my adult, multicultural rom-com best described as LOVE ISLAND meets BEACH READ. The manuscript is complete at 90,000 words, and would appeal to fans of Emily Henry’s voice, Tia Williams’ mastery on tackling serious topics and the black love and culture in Kennedy Ryan’s books. SECOND CHANCES is being considered by an editor at Simon and Schuster, UK for publication after a call for manuscripts from unagented black writers.
Ten years ago, Jesutoni Fashola and Naeem Adebayo had an amazing, explosive relationship. When he abruptly left, Jesutoni buried her hurt in writing romance novels and ignored her needs to raise their daughter in secret. Now, she’s a super mom and a successful author to boot—until the creative well dries up. On the hunt to fix her rut and dwindling finances, she learns about a perfect opportunity…if she’s brave enough to seize it. Participate on a TV show with a bunch of authors, prove to her publisher that she’s still a popular author, fix her writing block and get the biggest deal of her lifetime.
Sounds easy on paper, but reality is a cruel mistress.
With multiple awards, six-figure deals and an upcoming series for his popular series, Naeem is on top of the horror world. His one regret has always been walking out on Jesutoni even though he has achieved commercial success. Determined to win her back, he agrees to be part of the dating show.
A reunion with Naeem is the last thing Jesutoni wants. But on an island with cameras watching their every move, it’s hard keeping the past and both their secrets buried. Although Naeem is Jesutoni’s best shot at proving to her publisher that she’s relevant, sleeping under the same roof with him, being friendly and showing any emotion short of hatred is difficult. Until it’s not. As feelings grow and producers meddle more, Jesutoni will have to decide between keeping things strictly professional for the cameras or if trusting Naeem for a second chance is worth the potential hurt.
Despite bagging a chemical engineering degree and working in human resources, my passion has always been about books. This manuscript won the 2025 #RevPit competition and has received a full developmental edit. Its themes were inspired by my personal experiences as a daughter of a single mother and shaped by my childhood in Nigeria.
First Five Pages
CHAPTER 1: Better Days Tomorrow
JESUTONI
“Miss Jesutoni…the readers are curious. When would your next book be out? Should we be expecting a decade hiatus or are you ready to dazzle us with your latest release?”
Who send me come sef? I had been too comfortable listening to the moderator as he dazzled the audience with all the facts he knew about my books that I had allowed myself to lose guard.
I shifted in my seat. The adire dress I’d thrown on at the last minute for the author event had joined the league of bad children and resisted my movement. I had to lift my left butt up stylishly, and pull the fabric, before I could move well. I shifted again as I cleared my throat. One of the bookstore staff reached out with the tray of lozenges and a bottle of water. Smiling, I told them there wasn’t a need. Because I should have been ready for that question.
For crying out loud, I even had the list in my notes app on my phone, tucked away in the imitation bag next to my chair. I had signed off on the questions too. So, why was I surprised? As I wracked my brain for something to say, I noticed in the corner of my eye, one of the staff taking pictures of my bag.
She didn’t know it was a knockoff. Something I’d bought in the market, inside one shop that didn’t even have air conditioner. The audience and everyone at large, might have had a glamorized imagination to what being an author looked like, especially the bank accounts, but imitation was cheap and with my responsibilities, I didn’t have the money to be blowing on original designer bags.
Eh, instead of focusing on the question, I was thinking about imitation bags, the price of onions in the market and the fact that my bank account was inching ever so close to zero. I pulled the treacherous thing from the abyss and sat it before my mouth. I had to say something before escaping became too appetizing for my legs not to execute the command.
The National Mirror headline would read ‘Has-been author runs from book signing. Has the pressure to produce books gotten werser?’
“Miss Jesutoni…is everything alright?” the moderator’s voice was sweet to the ear. Too sweet in fact.
I cleared my throat again and smiled at the audience. They inched closer, waiting for me to give them a date. I had done it before, played the game and gotten a huge support boost for my ninth book. But all I wanted this time was to join them on the other side. To shed the writer hat and be a reader for once. To have expectations and demands. I wanted to look me in the eye and ask her when her next book was coming out. What was the delay and why had she been so tight-lipped about it?
Alas…I was the writer, and I needed to provide the answers. And quickly.
“Everything’s fine. As a writer, my mind’s constantly buzzing with ideas. One minute I’m with friends and the next, I’m a character falling in love in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“Is that the plot of your next book?” one eager person shouted. The others leaned in even closer. I shifted back. The front row had gotten so close, I was afraid they would be able to smell the bullshit on my breath.
The moderator laughed. He dropped his mic on his lap and stage whispered, “I can almost feel the heat in the book.”
I wanted to plaster my hands on my head. Lord! My life is finished.
“We’re all friends here,” he said as he winked at me, “just tell us something. We don’t mind if it’s just the acronym of the title, or even just a line the love interest says to the main character. After all, it’s been already two years since your last release. No updates. Not even a tease of your laptop.”
“Preach, pastor,” another person from the audience said.
Ah, my daughter and my mother were right. I should have said no to this event. Or ignored the emails. But in my usual fashion, I had acted as if I was prepared and could handle everything when all I really wanted to do now was hide and call on my mom to help.
But I needed money and RovingHeights had promised me enough to cover a few bills, and maybe even save for Lola, my daughter’s, secondary school fees.
I cleared my throat, the third time in less than ten minutes, and wracked my brain for something I could give them. “The publishers are trying a new marketing tactic.”
The moderator raised his brow. I kept my face straight, though I slapped myself twice over the head mentally.
That was the best I could come up with?
“Is there even a book?” someone asked.
This was my time to shine. I was a writer. Maybe not Goodreads award winning worthy, but I spun tales that still got me a crowd even though I hadn’t published in months. I had this in the bag.
“Sometimes these publishers come up with the most dramatic ideas for marketing and we authors just have to roll with it. My publisher wants to try to shake the game.”
The audience booed as I discreetly wiped the sweat off my temple.
A few of them promised to monitor my publisher’s website everyday just so they’d be the first to preorder it. The show of faith warmed me.
A few tears fell down my eyes before I wiped them away. I knew what it looked like to them, I was crying because I was touched. And that was partially true. Like twenty-six percent. The remainder was guilt. These people thought there was a book somewhere waiting to get printed and stuffed on the tables of every bookstore for them to buy.
But the truth was I didn’t even have half a draft of a chapter. And I hadn’t for way longer than two years. My writing laptop was collecting dust at the back of one of my wardrobes. I wasn’t even sure I remembered the damn password to the thing.
The moderator chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, we will wait.” His eyelids lowered and he widened his legs a bit as his biceps shifted to indicate a change in topic.
My eyes widened. The woman behind me whispered, “Oh lord have mercy.”
I couldn’t remember his name, but his aesthetics were pleasing. Even the baggy sweater and the loose pants he’d worn did little to hide what I knew was under the sweater. The man looked strong enough to carry me. And I was over two hundred pounds.
I licked my lips. What I wouldn’t give to jump into a fantasy where the moderator was bringing me to heights of pleasure. Instead, my fantasies were swamped with thoughts of empty wallets, losing Lola and watching my mom die because I couldn’t pay for her care. Where was the time for love or lust? I hadn’t healed from giving my heart away ten years ago.
“Miss Toni? I might have to start charging you if you ignore my questions.”
The audience laughed as I cleared my throat and fanned myself. Maybe this would throw my readers off the new book scent. I lowered my eyelids, puckered my lips and smiled at the moderator while maintaining eye contact. He couldn’t hide his intrigue or the way his throat bobbed when he gulped, and his eyes darted from my face to the audience.
“What do you think about being an audiobook narrator? I think you’ll do wonderfully well narrating the fourth book in my love in Lagos series. All the men who’ve auditioned don’t give the main character energy I, the author or you, my readers are looking for. But you…what do you think, readers? Won’t he be awesome?”
“If the offer’s on the table, why not? But it’s time to enter the next phase of the book signing, which is questions from the audience.”
All the hands shot up, before he could put down his microphone. My eyes widened and so did his. I hadn’t done a book signing in a while, and our questions had basically covered everything, other than a new release. So, what did they want to ask me?
“Wow! I wasn’t expecting so many people to have questions for Miss Jesutoni. I’ll try my best, but if we all want to go home with a signed book and picture, we have to be quick.”
He scanned the rows of people before pointing to the last row. “Yes, the woman at the edge with the pink and white ponytail.”
“Hi. I’m Funke. I’m the president of the Lagos fan club.”
There was no denying that. She’d printed my book covers on her shirt, ugly and nice. And the bag on the seat next to her? It looked chock full of all my releases. The indie versions, the mass paperback releases, the hardcovers, and even the special editions.
“Your question, Funke,” the moderator said.
She flushed under his words. Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling it.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I actually have two questions. How was the jump? Was it scary, or were you excited? And,” Funke bit her lip in a way that clued me in on what she was about to say. I wasn’t going to like it.
“Your last two books…I don’t know how I’m supposed to say this but I’m just going to go ahead and say it. They suck.”