Page 154 of Score
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Sloan pings her eyes onscreen between my agent and me. “Sure. We’ll think all this over, but I love this direction. We can refine some next time. Verity, you think you can have it tightened some for next week? There are a few other folks who I’d love to hear what you just shared. I thinkBlack Pearlcould be a marvelous first project for our partnership.”
“Amazing,” Sheila cuts in. “Verity, we really have to go.”
I nod and force a smile before logging off. I sit at my desk, hands shaking and stomach churning like a windmill.
That went well… until it started going off the rails. I wonder if anyone noticed the forced speech there at the end.
My phone rings, and of course it’s Sheila.
“Hey,” I answer, prepared for a tirade. Yelling. Admonishment.
“Are you okay?” she asks, the gentle concern so far from what I was braced for.
“Um, yeah.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “No. I’m not sure. Yes, right now.”
“Was that garbled answer supposed to reassure me?” She manages to sound vaguely amused instead of panicked.
“I’m not fully manic, but I’m not exactly… stable. The world just feels like my oyster right now. I haven’t bought Christmas gifts for the entire staff at my ob-gyn’s office yet, so there’s that.”
“You did that?”
“Um… no?”
After a beat, we both laugh because I think she realizes I did indeed once wipe out half my savings buying expensive gifts for all my medical providers.
“Was it really bad?” I chew on my thumbnail and close my eyes while I wait for her answer.
“No. It was kind of like… is there something going on here? Maybe yes, maybe no. I think we caught it before everyone realized you were not completely yourself.”
Something about that phrasing—not completely yourself—doesn’t sit right with me.
Of course I know what she means, but through years of therapy and living with this condition, I’ve had to accept that the manicispart of me. It’s the part of me that digs through my imagination for overlooked treasures, things I never would have otherwise. It’s the part of me capable of being bright and vivacious and optimistic. I can’t give it free rein, but it is part of me and there is value there, too.
My phone beeps with an incoming call.
Mel.
Shit. I didn’t call Tessa back.
“Hey, Sheila, thanks for the save. We’ll see what they come back with, but I gotta take this other call.”
“Sure you’re okay?” she asks, concern lingering in her voice.
“Yeah, I am. Um… I will be! Bye!” I switch over. “Mel? What’s going on?”
“Verity,” Mel says, her voice barely recognizable through the sobs. “You need to come to New York.”
Dread grips me by the throat and I can barely get the words out.
“Is it?” I croak. “Is she—”
“Just come. It’s bad.”
FIFTY-TWO
Verity
