Page 72 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“Doesn’t mean they won’t tie us up in red tape until we fold,” Casey points out. “They’re technically in charge here, even if they do leave us mostly alone.”

“At any rate, we’re going to have to get Ms. Frye in here to see if any of this can be salvaged,” Anastasios says. “Our best bet is probably to release the information ourselves, rush a release of the book, and make sure it makes enough money that JMP doesn’t have a choice but to let it go.”

I don’t like the sound of that one bit, but I sense that I’m still on thin ice because of our relationship, so I don’t speak up. Everyone starts talking at once, but I remain carefully quiet. Patting my pockets to look for my phone, I think that maybe if I can at least warn Scarlett of what’s coming, she’ll be prepared when she walks in here, but I must have left my phone in my office in my haste to get here.

Trina catches my eye and reaches a hand over to cover mine where they rest on the table. “I called her,” she says quietly. “She’s on her way. It’ll be okay.”

“How do you possibly know that?” I mumble.

“Because we’re on her side this time.” She shrugs and places her hand back in her lap. “I’m optimistic.”

I’m not. But the only thing I can do now is wait.

Chapter 32

Scarlett

“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to panic.”

My coffee cup—well, Ryan’s since I’m standing in his kitchen—stops halfway to my mouth as Trina’s words sink in. She’s speaking quietly, almost whispering, and she sounds exactly as panicked as she’s telling me not to be.

“That is not how you get someone to remain calm.” I indulge in a long sip of coffee. If shit is going to hit the fan, I may as well be caffeinated.

She makes a noncommittal noise, then comes right out with it. “Someone outed you to JMP, and they’re super pissed Anastasios let you sign with them. I got called in this morning for damage control, and they want you to come in, too.”

I check the time on the microwave clock. It’s barely nine in the morning. “How did you get there so fast?”

Trina makes another noise—this one sounding like it’s accompanied by an epic eye roll. “Scarlett, focus. This is very bad. They could force Anastasios to rescind your deal. This is already on social media. Ryan could lose his job—”

“Wait. What does Ryan have to do with it?”

She’s uncharacteristically silent for longer than I would like. Just when I am about to start panicking, she speaks. “Very few people knew about this. You didn’t out yourself. You’re dumb, but you’re not insane. Martis was waiting to tell JMP for obvious reasons. Your publicity team has been working overtime to figure out how to release the information within the constraints we set out for them, so there’s no way they’d want to undo all that work. It wasn’t me. I actually care about you. And it wasn’t Casey. He left JMP for a lot of the same reasons you did.” She stops there, but she doesn’t have to say what’s next.

“Ryan didn’t do this.”

“I don’t know if he did, honey.” Oh, great. Now she’s placating me. “But you didn’t see him when you left before. He was…beside himself.”

“And you haven’t seen him with me now. There’s no way,” I insist, but my mind is working overtime. I left him high and dry. To hear him tell it, I took his love of literature with me. I disappeared from his life for five years. And yesterday I told him I lost our baby, which I had kept from him for so long. I did think I heard him get up in the middle of the night last night. Could he have been secretly so angry that he plotted some kind of revenge?

No. No. That’s not like Ryan at all. If he had wanted vengeance, he wouldn’t have brought me tacos or washed my hair or held me while I sobbed in his parking lot. He would have let me fester in my own depression. Or he would have gone to JMP straight away.

“Listen, he’s on his way in,” Trina is saying. “We’re going to talk to him and hopefully set this whole thing straight. Can you get here quick?”

I sigh heavily, wishing I could jump in a time machine and go back five hours to when Ryan and I were snuggled up together, our skin touching at every point of contact we could manage, his leg possessively intertwined between mine as I rocked back to feel him against me.

Scratch that. I wish I could go back five years and do literally everything differently to save everyone from this mess.

“Yeah,” I say, dejected. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I’m led into the conference room at Anastasios by a sweet-looking college kid. She introduced herself as Maggie or Marlee or something like that. And not for the first time in my life, I wish I was better at remembering people’s names in the middle of crisis moments.

The minute the door opens, Ryan practically jumps out of his seat. Distress is etched all over his features. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry,” he says.

I don’t know what he has to be sorry for. I won’t allow the little seed of doubt Trina planted earlier to take root. Ryan couldn’t have done this. Not after everything he said yesterday.

“Mr. Whitlock, sit down,” Anastasios says, his voice even but edged with frustration. “Ms. Frye, please, come in.”

There isn’t an open seat next to Ryan, though I wish there were. The only chair available is on the other side of Trina, sandwiched between her and Anastasios. It sure feels like this placement is by design, though I can’t imagine why. No one knows about my relationship with Ryan. Unless…