Page 5 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“I was trying to get her to understand the feeling when you find something worthwhile. That punch-in-the-gut beauty of even a single line that makes the work promising, makes it something we want to spend a lot of time with before publication.” I eye him over my glasses again. “You’re not my boss, you know. What’s with the third degree?”

“I’m not your boss,” he agrees. “But I like to think I’m your friend.” When I dip my chin in a nod, he continues. “What’s going on with you? You haven’t seemed excited about this job in a while. Time for a career move?”

“This was the career move,” I mumble. When Casey doesn’t say anything, I finally give in. I wave at my computer screen. “There are some really good submissions here. But none of them are… They don’t strike me. There’s no connection to them. I just want to find a manuscript that makes me feel something.”

“Again,” he finishes my already complete sentence.

“What do you mean?”

“You want to find a manuscript that makes you feel something again. Because I know for a fact there have been feelings about manuscripts you’ve worked on in the past. But I’m going to tell you that you’re not likely to find that same feeling again, and you should probably stop chasing it.”

He’s right, of course. When words and books are tied up in bodies and souls to the point where you don’t know where one ends and the other begins, there’s not anything out there, no matter how good, that’s likely to bring that level of emotion back to my life.

Maybe that’s my problem. I got too high, and now nothing will compare. That’s certainly what it felt like, working on that book. Being with her. Like a drug, injected directly into my veins. And silly me, I let myself get addicted to the feeling, thinking there was nothing that could ever come between us. Nothing that could ever stop her words.

I was so young. Now I know better. Not just because of her, but because this industry can, and does, tear writers down more often than it builds them up. I should have seen it coming. No one can fly that high forever.

When I don’t respond, Casey inhales sharply, pushing forward in his chair so his elbows rest on his thighs and his hands meet between his knees. “I got a call from Trina McBryde today.”

Back when Trina was representing Scarlett, she used to send all her new manuscripts to me. Since Scarlett disappeared five years ago, she started working more closely with Casey. It hurts, but I can’t really blame her. In this business, loyalty is worth almost as much as a good book, and I know she will always be loyal to Scarlett, even if she’s long gone.

“And?” I ask, trying not to show how affected I am by hearing Trina mentioned in quick succession with Scarlett.

“She’s got a new book. Swears up and down that it’s brilliant. I read the first few chapters, and there’s definitely something there. How did you put it—a punch in the gut?”

Casey waits for my reaction, but I don’t give him one. I’ve become very practiced at shoving my emotions into the abyss where they belong, even if he constantly wants to try to get a rise out of me.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask instead.

Regarding me carefully, he takes in a deep breath through his nose. “It’d be good for Anastasios if we took it on. I can feel it.” He emphasizes the last part as a nod to my sob story from a few moments ago.

I raise an eyebrow. “Good for the press or the man?”

“They are one and the same, in this instance. Regardless, I don’t have time. I just signed three debuts that are going to need a lot of time and attention. And hand holding.” He rolls his eyes at this.

I chuckle. “This one isn’t a debut?”

“Oh, it is. The author’s name is S.J. Falmouth. But it doesn’t feel like a debut, if that makes sense. She’s been around the block a few times. Maybe this isn’t her first manuscript, just the first she’s put on submission.” He shrugs. “Who knows. But I think this might be just the one to get you out of your little slump.”

I scoff. “Little” is the understatement of the century.

There I go with the clichés again.

“Look,” Casey continues. “Let me send over the chapters. Read it with an open mind. See if you feel something. If you do, it’s yours. If you don’t…well, I’ll leave that up to you. But if you could trust me and fake it, I’d owe you one.”

“There’s no reason why I can’t at least take a look,” I say.

“Great,” Casey says as he stands. “I’ll send it over. Trina mentioned this author is a little skittish, so if you think there’s something there, let’s have the initial contact go through me. We can do a virtual or in-person meeting, depending on the author’s schedule, to introduce you before we really get started.”

“Sounds great,” I say to his back as he hustles out the door.

As I click through some more emails waiting for Casey to send the document over, I can’t help but hope he’s right about this one. I could really use the win.

Chapter 3

Scarlett

I know it’s ten o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday in April. I don’t care. My pajamas are comfortable, and there’s a holiday baking competition on a streaming service and a spot on my couch that’s calling my name. Curling up with my softest blanket and a mug of hot coffee, I start the first episode.