Page 42 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“Hmm?” I blink a few times and turn my attention to him. “Oh. S.J. works.”

He studies me for a moment like he doesn’t believe me but then carries on. “Anyway, I was going to ask if you want to join me for dinner tonight.”

“Me?” I squeak just as Ryan huffs. He barely conceals an eye roll, but Charles isn’t paying any attention to him.

Charles lets out a hearty laugh, one that says he’s used to starstruck women falling all over themselves to go to dinner with him. “Yes. I thought it might be nice to chat about our books. You know, writer stuff.” He winks at me again, and I can feel the waves of irritation coming off Ryan from where I stand. “Where do you live?”

“In the South Loop,” I say before I can think better of it.

“Wonderful. I know a great tapas place there. Can I get your number so I can send you the details?”

“S.J.” Ryan’s voice oozes disdain over the letters. “We really need to head up.”

I don’t know where I get the audacity, but I check my watch. “We have ten minutes. I’m sure I can spare one to give Charles my number,” I say sweetly.

It’s not my intention to stoke whatever flame Ryan has burning right now. It’s really not. But a dinner out sounds nice. I haven’t been out to eat with someone in a really long time. The last time was probably with Ryan, actually. And while I don’t think I’m in the right headspace to date someone else, there can’t be any harm in meeting up with another writer to talk craft. When Ryan mentioned critique partners the other day, I was overwhelmingly sad about the loss of them all. It would be amazing to have another writer to talk to again.

Charles hands me his phone, and I type in my number. When I hand it back to him, he taps out a text and sends it. “I sent the information. Good luck with your meeting, S.J. I’ll see you tonight.” He flashes a pearly-white smile at me, then turns on his heel to leave.

Ryan stands perfectly still, his eyes tracking Charles’s movement through the lobby. It isn’t until the door has shut behind him that Ryan allows himself to relax a fraction. He closes his eyes, and his chest rises and falls with a deep breath.

“Tapas,” he mutters under his breath. He opens his eyes and pins me with a look. “Really?”

“I was flustered,” I say defensively. “Besides, you suggested yourself that I should have some critique partners again. How else am I supposed to meet other writers who are willing to be associated with me?”

Ryan flinches. He never did like my self-deprecating humor. “I don’t think he’s interested in critiquing your work.”

I shrug, but the motion feels robotic and stiff, even to me. “So maybe he also thinks I’m okay to look at,” I say. “There’s no harm in that.”

He stares at me for a moment, so still, I’d think he was made of wax if I hadn’t been talking to him. Then, he shakes his head slowly and turns his back to me. “Come on,” he says. “We’re going to be late.”

As much as I hate it, with that movement, I’m sure Ryan knows as well as I do that we can’t be together anymore. Before he turned around, the defeat was written on his face, disappointment etched in the curve of his shoulders. It wouldn’t be good for us or for the book. Even if the feel of his fingertips grazing my jaw in my kitchen days ago have lingered far longer than my fleeting handshake with Charles. It lingers, still.

But I have to put it out of my mind, at least for now. What’s done is done, and it would be best for me to move on.

Chapter 21

Ryan

I saw Scarlett smile at Charles fucking Hall. I haven’t seen that flattered, genuine smile in years. The first time I saw it was shortly after I ran into her in a bar, and I had to work for it. That asshole got one out of her in just a few minutes with hardly any effort at all.

In the elevator, I avoid looking at her, though I watch her wavy reflection in the metal doors. As the elevator ascends, she takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly, wiggling her hands at her sides.

My attitude softens slightly. “It’ll be okay,” I say with as much gentleness as I can. “Anastasios wants to meet you, that’s all.”

“I’m not worried about him,” she mutters.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I almost draw blood. “Nervous for your date, then?” I spit out the word “date” so hard that I’m surprised she doesn’t react to it.

Scarlett simply flicks her blue eyes to me as she sucks on her teeth. “It’s not a date. He wants to talk about writing.” She pauses, then adds, “I can’t write in a vacuum, Ryan. Recent events have proven that.”

If I could pull her into a hug right here in my workplace, I would, but the elevator pings, signaling we’ve arrived at our floor. This woman can shatter my heart into a million tiny shards that pierce me again and again with their sharp edges. I want this for her. Truly, I do. But she’s kidding herself if she thinks Hall isn’t after something else. He hasn’t signed with us yet, but the publishing world is small, and I’ve heard enough about him to know what he’s about.

We both stand there for a second too long, and the elevator doors close again. Scarlett sighs and turns to face me. “I get it. You want to shelter me from the worst parts of this job.” She swallows audibly, then licks her lips. “You’ve always tried to do that for me.”

I huff, almost defeated. “I failed.”

“You absolutely did not.” She says it with such conviction, with such a fire in her eyes, that I go completely still. “You did not fail me,” she repeats, punctuating each word. “That was…it was out of our control in a lot of ways.”