Page 41 of Not on the Same Page

“I told you I wanted to make you an offer on Keeper of Secrets and the entire series. I can do that without an agent, but it’s in your best interest to have one. Trina can work out the finer points of any contract you sign, whether that’s with me or another publisher⁠—”

“I don’t want to work with another publisher,” Imani interrupts.

Trina gives her a tight smile. “Imani, how old are you? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty.” Imani puffs out her chest with pride. “I’m the youngest person in my creative writing program.”

Those red lips twitch with victory, but she carries on. “Even better. You’re going to have a long career ahead of you. I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of experience in this industry, but Casey wants to position your book as his lead title. That means he’ll have a hand in every detail of your book, from editing to cover design to marketing. Not someone else on his team. Him. He’s going to do everything he can to ensure your book sells hundreds of thousands of copies.”

“Why would I want to work with anyone else then, if that’s the case?” Imani counters.

“You probably don’t,” Trina concedes. “But it’s my job to make sure you get the best deal possible. In order to do that, we should see what else is out there. Even if he does give you an amazing offer right off the bat, you’ll need someone in your corner to negotiate the rest of it and to handle everything else that comes with that level of notoriety.”

Fuck, that sounds good. Having Trina keep me in check at work and letting me do the same to her in the bedroom isn’t a kink I thought I had, but apparently I do.

Imani shakes her head. “I’m not entirely opposed to working with you, Ms. McBryde.”

“Call me Trina,” she says. “We don’t need formalities.”

“Fine, Trina. I won’t hold a misunderstanding against you, no matter how hard I find it to believe entirely. I wanted to work with you before, which is why I approached you at Writers and Agents. But I’ll only do it if you give Casey an exclusive submission. I don’t want to work with anyone else.”

“You won’t,” I say confidently, just as Trina chimes in, “Why?”

Face softening, Imani suddenly looks exactly the twenty years old she is. She’s young and almost scared, holding her story close to her heart. Seeing this expression, I know exactly why she wants to work with me specifically before she even speaks.

“You said it yourself—I’m young. I’m Black. I’m from a small, podunk town in the South that no one has ever heard of.” Her eyes flick to the side of the screen I imagine I’m on. “Casey looks like me. I know he’ll take care of my characters in a way another editor might not.”

Trina’s delicate brows furrow, and I can practically see the gears turning in her mind. “Would you prefer to work with an agent of color, Imani?” she asks gently, mindfully, and my heart squeezes. She’ll step aside if Imani wants her to. I have no doubt about that.

Imani is quiet for a moment, considering. “No. I mean, yes, but if Casey trusts you, I trust you. I think.”

Trina chuckles. “Fair enough. You and I can hash out the details later, but if there’s ever a time when you feel I’m not doing my job for whatever reason, you and I can part ways. That will be in your contract with the agency. So you don’t have to trust Casey fully just yet.”

She winks and Imani smiles. And I’m not the least bit surprised that Trina won her over so quickly. She’s charming and smart and witty. She smooths over rough edges and navigates sticky situations with ease. Everyone leaves conversations with her feeling like something was accomplished, even when they don’t go in their favor.

Ryan was right. We need Trina because she’s one of the best agents out there.

With congratulations and promises to talk about contracts and specifics soon, Imani logs off. Trina lingers, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and batting her eyelashes.

“So, what do I win?” she asks coyly.

“Dinner.” The word slips out before I can even think about it, probably because I’ve been thinking about sharing a meal with her again since we ordered room service in the hotel.

One of her eyebrows ticks up in question. “I was thinking like ten bucks or something. Dinner feels extravagant.”

“I was planning to make carbonara tonight⁠—”

“Wait. You want to make me dinner? Tonight? Because I guessed her age?”

No, I want to make you dinner tonight because I want to be near you, I think. Outwardly, I just shrug. “If you’re not hungry…”

Trina finally tips her head back and laughs, the sound crackling my speakers. “Let’s not get carried away. Of course I’m hungry. I’m always hungry.”

“Good, then come over in”—my gaze flicks to the clock in the corner of my screen—“an hour?”

Those raspberry lips curl up into a knowing grin. “See you soon.” Then, her screen goes blank.

I quickly disconnect the call and grab my wallet and keys. I hadn’t planned any of this, so now I have an hour to get ingredients for carbonara.