Page 9 of Not a Strong Enough Word

No sooner does Trina sit in the chair next to me and grab a bottle of water for both of us does the door open.

“Trina McBryde, it is so good to see you,” comes Casey’s booming voice. I haven’t heard it in years, but it’s the kind of voice you don’t forget. Deep and rich, like a warm blanket. It’d be comforting if I weren’t so jittery.

Trina jumps to her feet, and they embrace with him angled just enough so he doesn’t see me. A woman enters the room after him. She has pin-straight black hair framing the bronze skin of her face, and she is wearing a bright yellow pantsuit that complements her features beautifully. I’ve never seen her before, but she smiles warmly at me.

“You must be S.J. Falmouth.” She extends her hand, and it takes me a moment to remember that’s my name here, at least until Casey gets a look at me. “I’m Esmerelda Chavez, one of the publicists here at Anastasios Press. But everyone calls me Meri.”

I stand and shake her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Meri.”

“And this man who has apparently forgotten his manners is—”

“Oh, fuck,” Casey curses. When my gaze snaps to him, he’s staring at me slack-jawed with pinched eyes. He does not look at all happy to see me.

Stupidly, I give him a little wave. “Hi, Casey. How are you?”

“You two know each other?” Meri asks with a forced politeness, clearly trying to salvage the situation.

He drags a hand down his jaw and turns his head toward Trina, though his eyes linger on me. “I knew you were acting weird. I wish you had told me,” he grinds out, ignoring Meri’s question.

“Surprise!” Trina wiggles her hands in a sort of jazzy motion, the bangles at her wrists jingling with a cheeriness no one is feeling. “S.J. Falmouth is actually Scarlett Frye! Which is why we wanted to meet to discuss marketing.”

“This is…” Casey trails off and finally drags his dark eyes away from me. They land on Trina, and not in a kind way. “This is not good.”

She furrows her brow. “Why not? I mean, I know you weren’t expecting this, but everyone loves a comeback, right? And I thought you said JMP doesn’t really check up on you all over here, so…”

Trina goes on and on, talking a mile a minute. The door opens again, but my back is to it, and I’m too engrossed in this exchange to turn and look. Which is why I’m gobsmacked when the newcomer speaks.

“Sorry I’m late. There was some traffic coming back from lunch.”

It’s a familiar voice. One that used to be closer to my heart than my own. One that filled the gaps in my soul and whispered to me in the dark.

But surely he isn’t here right now. I’ve just been stressed out about this whole thing, and I’m mistaking someone else’s voice for his. That has to be it. There’s no other explanation. Unless…

I freeze. Trina glances over my shoulder, and her eyes go wide. Her red lips form an O, and it would appear she’s been rendered speechless. Casey watches me carefully, and poor Meri is just standing there in her bright yellow pantsuit with her hands clasped in front of her and a smile plastered on her face.

“What is going on?” comes that voice again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to persuade myself that Ryan Whitlock isn’t standing right behind me.

It’s Casey who jumps in first. He clears his throat and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to turn around.

“We were just getting started with introductions,” he says as I turn as slowly as I possibly can to face my fate.

It is him standing there. The man I loved more than I loved my writing career, who pored over my words with me at such length, I wasn’t sure which were his and which were mine. Bodies and souls and words entwined in a love deeper than any I’ve experienced before or since.

The man I walked away from when I rejected my offer from JMP.

People are saying things in a flurry behind me now, but I don’t catch any of them. I have tunnel vision, laser-focused on Ryan standing in front of me, looking somehow better for the five years since I saw him last. He’s wearing a thin, navy V-neck sweater and fitted gray slacks. His classic dark-rimmed glasses frame his brown eyes which also seem to be zeroing in on me. The brown hair I used to run my fingers through is longer now, and my hand twitches to find out if it’s still as silky as it was then.

“Scarlett.” His voice is several decibels lower than the frenzy behind me. And yet, it’s all I can hear.

I can’t move, can’t speak. I can only nod slightly, and his hand flies to his mouth. He laughs, then—a harsh sound and not at all the joyous one he used to save for me. The room grows quiet at the noise.

“It was you,” he says, and if I’m not mistaken, his words are laced with awe.

Chapter 6

Ryan

Scarlett Frye is standing in the conference room at Anastasios Press. At first, I’m almost sure I’m seeing a ghost, but no. She doesn’t look like a ghost at all. Her skin is still smooth and milky white like it was before, but her cheeks are rosy, which they never were then. Not at the end anyway. She’s curvier, too. Healthier. Like she’s been taking time out of her day to eat—something I was never able to get her to do. Her dark brown hair is shorter now, falling just past her shoulders in soft waves. And her eyes… Those blue eyes are brighter. Sharper. Somehow lovelier than they were before. Or maybe they faded in my memory, though I don’t think that could possibly be the case. My memories of her have consumed so much of my life since she left; every detail of her has been etched in stark relief in my mind’s eye.