Page 66 of Not on the Same Page

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

I want that to be true. But I don’t think he knows what he’s asking. So, instead of calling him, I turn on my electric fireplace, curl up on my couch with a book, and read until my eyelids droop enough for me to fall back asleep.

Three more sleeps, three more nightmare wakeups. Joke’s on them, though, because the only thing the nightmares are doing now is making me more and more desensitized to them. I’ve gotten pretty good at waking up sweating and gasping, taking a few deep breaths, getting in the shower, and going about my day.

This happened once before, during my sophomore year of college. I muscled through it then, and I’ll muscle through it now. It’ll stop. Eventually.

But my spirit is bolstered as I fly down the highway to pick up Imani from her hotel with my windows rolled down and my music blasting on a sunny, humid August morning in Chicago. She got in yesterday, but she wanted some time to, as she put it, “get used to looking at buildings rather than farmlands.” I have a strong suspicion this meant she and her friend were partying in their hotel room since she’s not old enough to get into any bars. And good for her. She has a lot to celebrate.

When I pull into the circle drive at the entrance to the hotel, Imani is waiting for me alone. I don’t know why she didn’t want her friend, Josie, with her for the signing, but I didn’t question it. She’s dressed in a light blue linen suit with pleated, wide-leg pants and a cropped jacket buttoned in the middle. Her off-white handbag matches her off-white strappy sandals, and her hair is held back by a coordinating headband. She adjusts her massive sunglasses up her nose before pulling open the car door and carefully lowering herself into the seat.

“You’re going to have to tell me where you get your clothes,” I say as she closes the door. “Every time I see you, you look like you walked out of a catalog.”

She gives me a small smile. “My grandma is a retired seamstress.”

My jaw drops as I turn in my seat to look at her incredulously. “Your clothes are custom made by your grandmother?”

At that, she laughs heartily. “Oh, no. She doesn’t make clothes anymore. But all my professional outfits are tailored.” Her laughter dies out and she takes a shaky breath. “You said publicity was going to be there today?”

Not wanting to make her more self-conscious than she already seems to be, I carefully avoid looking at her as I signal to pull out into traffic. “For a little while. They want some pictures for social media to post with your deal announcement.” I pause, waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet. “How do you feel about that?”

“Honestly, this is kind of surreal.”

I chuckle softly. Scarlett said almost the same thing when we were on our way to the JMP offices the first time. “I get that.” I merge back onto the highway, heading away from the city this time, toward Casey’s office. “The more you do this, the more you get used to it.”

Imani shakes her head vehemently. “I hope not. I never want this feeling to fade.” She laughs quietly to herself and glances at me. “I made Josie pinch me at least three times yesterday.”

Nodding silently, I change lanes to get out from behind a slow-moving semi. I look over at her to assess her mood, but she seems to have settled in. She’s more relaxed now. “I like that,” I say. “But if you start feeling like anything happening today is too much, you let me know. There isn’t anything you can do or not do at this point that can ruin this deal, and it’s my job to help protect your wellbeing.”

I wish I had a fuller understanding of what it meant to do just that back when Scarlett was being run ragged to the point of wanting to walk away from publishing altogether. We all thought that if we compensated her more for her time, it’d smooth some of it over for her, but we were wrong. I should have listened more carefully.

I won’t make that mistake again. Especially not with this young woman sitting next to me looking out the window with wide eyes as buildings and cars pass us by.

“Is this a lot different than home for you?” I ask, partially to keep her talking in case she’s overthinking and partially because I’m curious.

“Yes,” she sighs and turns those wide eyes in my direction. “Very.”

We make some more small talk as the suburbs whiz past us. Imani has a lot of small-town charm about her, but she’s nervous. Though if I hadn’t spent the past hour in the car with her, I’d never know it. Her posture and expression are unchanged. By the time we pull into the parking lot to the press offices, she’s gone completely silent.

I’m honestly a little jealous. I can already feel my heart beating faster knowing I’m steps away from seeing Casey again…and remembering what happened the last time I was in his office.

“This is going to be fun.” She might not fully believe me, but I can offer her at least a little encouragement. “It’s a red-letter day for you, but signing this contract isn’t going to fundamentally change anything.” She looks at me with enough hope in her eyes that I keep going. “The offer is already accepted. If you weren’t here, we would have done this all very quietly and electronically. Starlight is just hamming it up, taking advantage of your trip out here. That’s a lot of what marketing is, really. Just taking advantage of things as they come up. But you’re still you. Your story is still yours. You’re just going to start getting paid to do the thing you love.”

Imani huffs a laugh. “No big deal.”

“Exactly.” I give her my best comforting smile and tip my head toward the building. “Shall we?”

She nods, and we walk inside.

The Anastasios Press building—now the Anastasios and Starlight building, I suppose—has always been one of my favorites. Their sleek, swanky lobby has a receptionist desk and an elevator. Not much else. But behind the desk are large, floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase a large patio with café tables overlooking a wide-open prairie space with walking paths that are almost always in use.

The receptionist waves at me as we walk toward the elevator. Once it opens on the second floor, I lead Imani toward Casey’s office. When we round the corner, he’s standing in the hallway talking to Ryan and Scarlett. They all turn to look at us, smiling. Casey’s gaze finds me almost immediately, drinking me in like a man starved. It’s so intense that I find myself hoping I’m the only one who can feel it, though I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else sensed what was going on.

He's going to have to be careful with that. Especially as my stomach flips.

But I can’t worry about it because Imani stops in her tracks and grabs my arm. “Oh my god. Is that Scarlett Frye?” she whispers loudly.

Scarlett purses her lips, and her shoulders shake with repressed laughter. She definitely heard that.