{"product_id":"this-might-hurt-isbn-9780593100103","title":"This Might Hurt","description":"“You’ll be gripped in this clever exploration of fear and vulnerability right until the flawless ending—one you’ll most certainly want to talk about.”—\u003cb\u003eASHLEY AUDRAIN\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Push\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNAMED A MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK OF 2022 BY \u003ci\u003eNewsweek\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e∙\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e E! \u003cb\u003e∙\u003c\/b\u003e \u003ci\u003eParade\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cb\u003e∙\u003c\/b\u003e Katie Couric Media ∙ Betches \u003cb\u003e∙ \u003c\/b\u003eCriminal Element \u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e∙ Shondaland \u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e∙ Bustle \u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e∙\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003c\/b\u003eand more!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eFrom the \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling and Edgar-nominated author of\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eDarling Rose Gold\u003c\/i\u003e comes a dark, thrilling novel about two sisters—one trapped in the clutches of a cult, the other in a web of her own lies\u003c\/b\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eWelcome to Wisewood. We’ll keep your secrets if you keep ours.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNatalie Collins hasn’t heard from her sister in more than half a year.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe last time they spoke, Kit was slogging from mundane workdays to obligatory happy hours to crying in the shower about their dead mother. She told Natalie she was sure there was something more out there. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then she found Wisewood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn a private island off the coast of Maine, Wisewood’s guests commit to six-month stays. During this time, they’re prohibited from contact with the rest of the world—no Internet, no phones, no exceptions. But the rules are for a good reason: to keep guests focused on achieving true fearlessness so they can become their Maximized Selves. Natalie thinks it’s a bad idea, but Kit has had enough of her sister’s cynicism and voluntarily disappears off the grid.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSix months later Natalie receives a menacing e-mail from a Wisewood account threatening to reveal the secret she’s been keeping from Kit. Panicked, Natalie hurries north to come clean to her sister and bring her home. But she’s about to learn that Wisewood won’t let either of them go without a fight.“The mastermind behind last year's \u003ci\u003eDarling Rose Gold\u003c\/i\u003e returns with a second, equally sinister feat…Fans of Liane Moriarty's \u003ci\u003eNine Perfect Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e will adore this.\" —\u003cb\u003eNewsweek\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Wrobel once again proves to be a master at crafting thrillers.”—\u003cb\u003eShondaland\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"With shades of Brit Bennett’s \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Half\u003c\/i\u003e and Liane Moriarty’s \u003ci\u003eNine Perfect Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThis Might Hurt\u003c\/i\u003e is a tense psychological thriller with an eye towards larger themes.\"—\u003cb\u003ePureWow\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThis Might Hurt\u003c\/i\u003e is a mesmerizing and original ride! Expertly paced, hugely unsettling, and perfectly dark, you’ll be gripped in this clever exploration of fear and vulnerability right until the flawless ending—one you’ll most certainly want to talk about.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eAshley Audrain\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Push\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A gut wrenching, propulsive story about vulnerability and power. It was impossible to put down.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eTarryn Fisher\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York Time\u003c\/i\u003es bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Wives\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A sharp and intriguing look at reinvention and self-empowerment. \u003ci\u003eThis Might Hurt\u003c\/i\u003e follows three women, each confronting her own set of fears, with revelations and consequences that are unexpected and chilling, right up to the jaw-dropping finale. Dark and twisted in all the right places, I did not want to stop reading this book.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eMargarita Montimore\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Toda\u003c\/i\u003ey bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eOona Out of Order\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A genius, ripped-from-the-headlines masterpiece with a cult at its center. Inventive, disturbing, and tense, This Might Hurt hypnotizes the reader, until we realize, too late, what is truly happening. The very definition of suspense, this extraordinary novel will steal your breath away.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eSamantha M. Bailey\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eWoman on the Edge\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I don’t know if blood is thicker than water, but I know that my blood ran cold at several points reading this book. Filled with menace, this was a gripping and compulsive read from first page to last. I thought I’d never get off that island!\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eLiz Nugent,\u003c\/b\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLittle Cruelties\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“An immersive novel about our capacity to both love and destroy, This Might Hurt is genuinely shocking, laced with dark humor, moments of surprising tenderness, and nightmare fodder galore. I read it in 24 hours, but will be thinking about it for much longer.” \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eLaura Hankin\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eA Special Place for Women\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"This Might Hurt\u003c\/i\u003e has all the ingredients of a great mystery: a remote island, estranged sisters, some whopping secrets and a cult to boot. In the deft hands of sophomore author Stephanie Wrobel, these ingredients mix together to give us a novel that’s fun, creepy and incredibly fast-paced. Wrobel is such an observant and clever writer; It’s quite the trick to execute plot twists so perfectly that the reader at once doesn’t see them coming but then can’t believe they didn’t catch on. A ridiculously wry and absorbing thriller.\" \u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eAmy Stuart\u003c\/b\u003e, bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eStill Here\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Wrobel has honed her writing style even more sharply since her strong debut novel...and is again delivering her readers a \"ripped from the headlines\" story. \u003ci\u003eThis Might Hurt\u003c\/i\u003e contains moments and characters recognizable to those familiar with the NXVIM cult and its downfall, although the twists and turns are all Wrobel's own, and will leave readers guessing until the very end.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It’s hard not to fall under the spell of Wisewood, or Wrobel’s mesmerizing, edge-of-your-seat storytelling. A deep dive into psychological abuse and manipulation and their long-lasting emotional and mental tolls; will certainly leave a mark.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eStephanie Wrobel\u003c\/b\u003e is the international bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eDarling Rose Gold\u003c\/i\u003e. She grew up in Chicago but has been living in the UK for the past three years with her husband and dog, Moose Barkwinkle. She has an MFA from Emerson College and has had short fiction published in \u003ci\u003eBellevue Literary Review\u003c\/i\u003e. Before turning to fiction, she worked as a creative copywriter at various advertising agencies.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Natalie\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e January 6, 2020\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I stand at the head of the conference table. The chairs around me are filled with men: short, tall, fat, bald, polite, skeptical. I direct the close of my pitch to the CEO, who has spent fifty minutes of my sixty-minute presentation playing with his phone and the other ten frowning at me. He is past his prime, trying to disguise the fact with hair plugs and a bottled tan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Using this new strategy,\" I say, \"we're confident we will make your brand the number one beer with men twenty-one to thirty-four years old.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The CEO leans forward, mouth slightly ajar as if a cigar is usually perched there. He oversees a household-name beer that's been losing market share to craft breweries for years. As sales have slipped, my new agency has found itself on thinner and thinner ice with this client.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He looks me up and down, sneers a little. \"With all due respect, what makes you think you\"-he spits the word like it's a shit sandwich-\"can get inside the mind of our man?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I glance out the conference room window, squint at the Charles River in the distance, and count to three. My team warned me about this guy, a dinosaur of corporate America who still believes business belongs on the golf course.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What I want to say: Yes, however will I peel back the layers of such complicated minds? Can a simpleton ever truly understand the genius of the noble frat star? For now they crush empties against their foreheads, but someday they will command boardrooms. Someday they will be you and insist they got to where they are through nothing but sheer hard work. By then they'll have traded the watery swill you call beer for three-hundred-dollar bottles of pinot noir. They'll still spend their weekends falling down and throwing up, only now they'll do it in hotel rooms with their best friends' wives. When Monday rolls around, they'll slump at this table and wonder why I don't smile more often. They will root for me to break the glass ceiling as long as none of the shards nick them. They will lament the fact they can no longer say these things aloud, except on golf courses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What I actually say: \"To get up to speed on your business, I've spent the past two months conducting focus groups with six hundred men who fit your target demo.\" I scroll to the appendix of my PowerPoint deck, containing forty slides of detailed tables and graphs. \"I've spent my weeknights collating the data and my weekends analyzing what all of it means. I know these men's occupations and income. I know their levels of education, their religion, their race. I know where your guys live, their lifestyles and personal values, their attitudes toward your brand as well as toward all of your competitors' brands. I know their usage frequency, their buyer readiness, and the occasions when they buy your beer. I know their degree of loyalty to you. When I get on the train to go to work or am lying in bed at night, I relisten to my interviews, searching for any insight I might've missed. I can say with confidence, I know your guy as well as I know my own father.\" I wince involuntarily. \"Which means I know him as well as you do. I don't think I can get inside the mind of your customer. I know I can. Because I already have. With all due respect.\" I grin so the jab sounds playful instead of aggressive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everyone else in the room appears impressed. My assistant, Tyler, forgets himself and claps. I shift my eyes in his direction, and that's enough to make him stop, but by then the others have joined in, both the clients and my account team. The CEO watches me, amused but undecided. It was a risk, publicly challenging him in order to galvanize the rest, but I'll rarely interact with him; I'm told he shows up to advertising meetings only when he has no one else to antagonize. The marketing team members are the ones I need on my side. The CEO sits back and lets his underlings finish the session. He leaves halfway through the Q\u0026amp;A.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Five minutes later the clients have signed off on our strategy brief for the year. Handshakes and back pats are exchanged. Invitations to lunch are extended for the first time in months. The account team stays with the clients but I bow out. My lunch hour is for catching up on e-mail. If my inbox is empty, I spend the hour at the gym.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tyler and I take the elevator forty floors down to the lobby of the Prudential Tower. I smirk while he raves about how awesome the presentation was. I didn't choose him as my assistant; he was assigned to me. What he lacks in ambition (or any set of demonstrable skills, really) he tries to make up for with personality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On Boylston Street I shiver in the cold while Tyler books an Uber. Once we're nestled in the car, I turn toward him. \"I want you to buy a box of Cohibas from the cigar parlor on Hanover. Wrap the box in navy blue paper. Send it with a note on the back of one of my business cards. Not the shitty agency-issued ones but the thick card stock I had made with the nice embossing. Do you have a pen? Then get your phone out. I want the note to say this exactly: 'To a productive partnership.' End that sentence with a period, not an exclamation point. Then, under that line, a dash followed by 'Natalie.' Got it? No 'Yours truly' or 'All my best' or 'Cheers.' Just a dash with my name. Send it to the CEO.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tyler gapes at me. \"But he was so rude to you. In front of all those people.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I tap a list of post-meeting to-dos on my phone. Without glancing up, I say, \"When I was coming up in this industry, you know what I spent most of my time doing? Listening. And taking notes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Out of the corner of my eye I see his expression sour slightly. He's only three years younger than I am.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I want the minutes of today's meeting on my desk within the hour. Please.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"In my two years at DCV no one has ever done meeting minutes,\" he mumbles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Maybe that's why you almost lost the client that pays all of our salaries.\" I wait for a snappy comeback. When I don't get one, I pull a folder from my bag. \"I glanced through your Starburst brief. It's riddled with typos.\" I find the marked-up pages and hand them to him. \"It reflects poorly on both of us when the work is subpar. More careful proofreading next time, okay?\" His jaw tightens. \"And I told you: section headings in all caps and bolded. Not one or the other. Both. You'd be surprised how far attention to detail will take you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The car pulls up to our office building. We ride another elevator together, this time in silence. On the sixth floor we get off. As we're about to part ways, Tyler sniffs. \"If you've never met the CEO before today, how can we be sure he smokes cigars?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know my target.\" I head into the women's bathroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A minute later I walk down the hallway, scrolling through my calendar (three more meetings this afternoon). I'm about to round the corner to my office when hushed voices in a nearby cubicle catch my ear. I recognize the first as that of one of the assistants, a woman who doesn't know she's being considered for a promotion. \"I would love to work for her. She's such a boss bitch.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Or your run-of-the-mill bitch.\" That one is Tyler.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The other assistants titter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She treats me like a child,\" he says, gaining steam from his friends' reactions. He affects a shrill voice. \"Tyler, I want you to go to the bathroom. When you wipe your ass, use four squares of toilet paper, but make sure it's three-ply, not two. If it's two, you're fired.\" They all giggle, these people who are almost my age but make a third of what I do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I straighten, pull back my shoulders, and stride past the cubicle. Without slowing down I say, \"I don't think my voice is that high-pitched.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Someone gasps. The last thing I hear before closing my office door is total silence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At my desk I remove the lid of my scratched-up Tupperware and stare at my lunch, the same one IÕve eaten every day for years: a cup of kale, two slices of bacon, toasted walnuts, chickpeas, and Parmesan cheese, tossed in a shallot vinaigrette. I eagerly await the day scientists discover kaleÕs worse for your health than nicotine; for now, a superfoodÕs a superfood. I sigh and dig in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had a lot of time to think through my New Year's resolutions over Christmas break. Last year I put an additional two and a half percent of my pay into savings. The year before that, I started washing my bed linens twice a month instead of once. Every January (except this one) Kit tells me I should resolve to have more fun. Every January (except this one) I want to snap at her that resolutions have to be measurable or you can't tell whether you've achieved them, but that would do little to disprove her point.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On New Year's Eve, as I sat alone in my apartment, staring at the needles falling off my three-foot Fraser fir while snow pelted my window, I was loath to admit my sister might be onto something. I don't know a soul in my new city other than my coworkers. How does a thirty-one-year-old make friends if not through her job? I'd rather be eaten by a bear than go to one of those Meetups, standing around with a bunch of strangers, trying to figure out who's least likely to make a skin suit out of me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'd resolved to try harder my first day back at work, focus less on the job, more on the people. Three hours in, I veto the resolution. Why waste my time with dolts like Tyler?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I allow myself a moment to wish Kit were here, then brush the weakness away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I check the time back home (nine a.m.) and text my best friend, Jamie: Still not making any progress with work people. No response; must be busy with the baby. I stab a chickpea with my fork and jiggle my finger across my laptop's track pad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Once I've cleared my work inbox, I move on to my personal account. I scan the subject lines: a few newsletters, a grocery coupon, spam from someone named Merlin Magic Booty. Plus a message from info@wisewood.com. I pause.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Kit went to Wisewood six months ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My sister didn't tell me much before she left, just called last July to explain she'd found this self-improvement program on an island in Maine. The courses are six months. During that time you aren't supposed to contact family or friends because inward focus is the goal, and oh, by the way, she had already signed up and was leaving for Maine the following week, so she wouldn't be able to call or text me for a while.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had balked. She couldn't afford to go half a year without income. What about health insurance? How was she okay with cutting off everyone she knew for such a long time?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I pictured her shrugging on the other end of the line. If I had a dollar for every time Kit answered me with a shrug, I could pay for her to live at Wisewood forever.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What are you thinking?\" I'd asked. \"You finally have a dependable job, benefits, an apartment, and you're going to throw it all away on a whim?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her tone cooled. \"I'm not saying Wisewood is the answer to all my problems, but at least I'm trying to figure it out.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Your job is the answer.\" I was incredulous that she didn't get it. \"How much is this program? How are you going to afford it with that student loan?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why don't you worry about yourself for once, Natalie?\" She never calls me that, so I knew she was furious. \"Why can't you be happy for me?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I couldn't be happy for her because I knew exactly how this would end: Kit disillusioned with Wisewood and stranded on the island, begging me to save her. My sister needs rescuing more often than most people. Last year she called me sobbing over a scarf she'd misplaced. (I found it an hour later in her closet.) On the other hand, she's known to get in hot water on occasion. She once found herself stuck in the desert after her loser guitarist boyfriend dumped her in the middle of his tour, which she had dropped out of college to follow him on. Another time a misunderstanding with her best friend ended with me picking both of them up from a police station. My sister doesn't want me to hover until the exact moment she needs me, and then she expects me to drop everything to save her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We ended the call still snapping at each other. I haven't heard from her since. She doesn't even know I moved across the country to Boston, taking a page out of her playbook that mandates when the going gets tough, the tough flee the situation. Back when I started toying with the idea of moving, I had pictured more frequent sisterly get-togethers; I would be only a train ride away now. She left New York before I got the chance. On my more honest days, I can admit her absence is a relief. The less often I talk to her, the less guilty I feel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The e-mail has no subject line. I open it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eWould you like to come tell your sister what you did-or should we?\u003c\/i\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304931348709,"sku":"NP9780593100103","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593100103.jpg?v=1767742514","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/this-might-hurt-isbn-9780593100103","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}