Page 47 of Not a Strong Enough Word
There’s no way I can call Trina and ask her, either, because I won’t get past the first sentence without her needling me about dating, and this is not a date. I’ll leave the conversation late to dinner without any answers at all.
God, I miss my friends.
I had tried to call my best friend, Mandy, shortly after everything happened. Since we had gone to the same grad program, we were the closest of the four women in our first apartment in Chicago. She’s a writer, too, so I had kind of expected that she’d understand the pressure I had been under. The problem at the time was that it took her a while to get a publishing deal. She had just signed with a small press when I walked away from JMP, and on top of thinking it toxic to be associated with me, she was so jealous of the money I had been offered. She couldn’t believe I had left that offer on the table. She called me names, shouted, and told me never to contact her again.
Ultimately, that interaction with her led me to block Ryan’s number. She preyed on my vulnerabilities and burnout. She convinced me that I had cursed myself when it came to publishing and, in such a small industry, it was best for him that I disappear.
I shake myself out of the memory as I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my closet. I’ve settled on dark jeans, a green blouse, and black flats. Simple, understated, casual but not too casual. Good enough.
The restaurant is within walking distance of my apartment, and it’s a nice evening. I opt to walk the ten minutes, leaving with plenty of time to stroll. I arrive early, but to my surprise, Charles is already sitting at the bar when I walk in. His golden hair is cast in a yellow glow from the overhead lighting, and he kind of blends well with the deep reds and browns of the restaurant. He’s tapping furiously on his phone with an almost-full glass of beer at his elbow, and he doesn’t notice me approach.
“Is this seat taken?” I flash a cheesy smile as I stand behind the empty seat next to him.
He looks up, sighing heavily and his hand clenching on his phone, but his expression clears when he sees me. Well, this is off to a great start.
“S.J.!” he exclaims, standing to embrace me in a bear hug. He crushes me so hard against his pecs that I can barely breathe. My face is smooshed against the same navy sweater from earlier today, and I suddenly feel silly for worrying about my own outfit.
I awkwardly pat his very broad back until he lets me go and I can breathe again. “Good to see you again, Charles.” I have to wonder how he greets really good friends if that’s how he says hello to someone he met hours ago. But instead of asking that, I dip my chin to the drink on the bar. “Am I late?”
“What? Oh, no. I was in the area, so I figured I’d just wait for you at the bar. Ended up having a conversation with my agent about my little meeting today. She doesn’t seem to think it’s a good move to switch to a smaller imprint, but I think the writing is on the wall, know what I’m saying? Anyway, you know how agents are. What’re you drinking?”
Maybe I’m out of practice when it comes to having an actual conversation, but he spews out so much information all at once, I’m not exactly sure where to start. He must take the pause as me being starstruck again, because he claps me on the back good-naturedly. It causes me to cough, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Wine? You look like a wine gal. Maybe sangria? They have a great sangria here,” he blabbers as he pulls out the barstool for me to sit down.
“Oh, I don’t really drink—”
“Red or white?”
“Neither,” I say with more conviction this time. My meds don’t mix well with alcohol, though I’m starting to wish I could drink just to make this guy more tolerable. The idea that anyone would consider this a date is already laughable. I’ve only been here a few minutes, and I can’t get a word in.
“You’re not one of those sober girls, are you?” He pulls a face. “Is it a health thing, or did you get into some trouble with the law? I know a few great lawyers if you need.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I mutter under my breath. Fuck, this is going to be a long evening. Clearing my throat, I speak louder this time. “I just…don’t drink. It’s not that deep.”
Charles nods pensively, studying me as if he’s trying to tell if I’m lying or not. I’m not ashamed of taking medication to help with my depressive episodes, but I have a sudden feeling that the less he knows about me, the better. I’m happy to let him talk as if he’s important for an hour or so and then be on my merry way.
The bartender gives me a small reprieve by coming to take my drink order, which is just a soda.
“Are you all eating here, or are you waiting for a table?” the bartender asks, pausing with his fingers over some menus that are piled off to the side.
“I figured we could eat here, if that’s okay with you.” Charles raises his eyebrows at me in question.
I’m so surprised he asked my opinion that I nod in agreement. It is already abundantly clear that this whole dinner was a mistake anyway; waiting for a table would only draw it out. The bartender places menus in front of us, but I have a feeling I won’t be needing mine. Sure enough, Charles orders some grilled octopus, empanadas, and curried chicken for both of us before checking if I have any dietary restrictions.
“Nope.” I force a close-lipped smile. “All good here.”
“Great. Those will do nicely for us, I think.” He plucks my menu out of my hands and passes them both back to the bartender.
Charles takes a large swig of his beer, then plunks it down on the bar top with a satisfied ahh. “So, S.J. Your first book, huh?”
“Um…” I know what I’m supposed to say, especially since he hasn’t recognized me. Not to mention Anastasios’s warning from earlier is still ringing in my ears.
“You want to know how I got not one but two imprints trying to win me away from my current one?”
Not really, but I feign interest. “Two?”
He nods as if he is a wise sage and I am his lowly pupil. I’m surprised he doesn’t ask me to take notes. “Anastasios and…” He pauses for what I’m assuming is some kind of dramatic effect. “JMP. You know them?”
