Page 78 of Not on the Same Page

“Coffee, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And there’s always ice cream.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” She rolls over and sits on the edge of the bed, throwing on her shirt and shorts.

I sit up against the headboard and rest my hand behind my head as I watch her. “It’s a shame to get dressed just to get undressed again.”

“Your blinds are open,” she points out. “Plus”—she winks—“getting undressed again is half the fun.”

I’m pretty sure she puts some extra sway in her hips as she makes her way to the kitchen, but I can’t say I’m mad about the view.

Sure enough, she wiggles her ass as she bends over to rummage in the freezer. Ice cream procured, she drops the container on the counter and grabs a spoon, taking a taste right from the carton. She makes a show of licking the spoon several times, her tongue lapping up the cream.

It’s enough to have me bounding out of bed and crossing into the kitchen. Trina squeals as I turn her so her back is pressed against the counter, but I stop the sound with a deep kiss. She tastes of sugar and summer and promises.

“You had some on your lip there,” I tease.

She gives me a breathy laugh. “Did you get it?”

“Hmm.” I squint at her lips, then kiss her again. “Now I did.”

“Right.” She chuckles again.

Her phone rings from where it sits on the counter, and in that instant, her entire mood changes. Her eyes go wide, and her body stiffens under my grasp. It rings again, and with a start, she snaps out of it enough to grab the phone and look at it.

Relief crosses her features. “It’s Imani. Go put some pants on,” she jokes, but it falls flat.

I don’t know what could have made her so nervous about a call, but as she’s answering the phone isn’t the time to ask, so I do as she says before joining her back in the kitchen.

“Imani, slow down,” she’s saying. “Whatever he said, we can figure this out.” She listens for a moment. “That’s not true.” Another long pause. “I can promise you, that won’t be an issue.” She listens again, frowning deeply. Then, she glances at me and turns her back. “There’s no need to do that. I can ask, okay? But you’re going to have to have some faith in the answer. He hasn’t done anything that would make you think this is true, right? Okay, then let me talk to him. I’ll call you back.”

She hangs up and immediately starts tapping out a message. Once she sends it, she finally turns to face me again, still wearing that frown while she studies me. I get the inescapable feeling that whatever she’s about to say is not going to be good.

“If you’ve got beef with any of the editors over at Halo Sun, I think now is a good time to tell me,” she says.

“What?” I reel back. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Tilting her head, she winces. “You keep evading the question when I ask about them. Why?”

Because Ashton is an asshole who doesn’t deserve my time. Because I don’t want to taint Trina’s view of him in case she ever ends up working with him in the future. But saying so would surely tarnish his reputation in her eyes anyway, so I ask, “What did Imani say?”

Hurt flashes over Trina’s delicate features. “You’re being evasive again.” When I don’t respond, she presses her lips tightly together. “Have you heard back from Isabella about your offer?”

“No,” I say slowly. “What does that have to do with Imani? And what does any of it have to do with Halo Sun?”

“Imani is friends with the author, apparently. Or they connected recently somehow? I’m not sure. Halo Sun countered your offer, but someone over there bypassed Isabella to tell the author you don’t have the money or editorial resources to do her book justice. She reached out to Imani to ask about her experience with Starlight so far, and Imani got worried.” She runs a hand through her hair, grabbing it between her fingers in frustration. “I don’t want to ask where he got that information, or if it’s true.”

Fucking Ashton Cochran. I knew something was going on. Turns out he’s spreading lies about me and trying to poach my writers. He’s playing right into my imposter syndrome I’m sure he sensed in Denver, and his knowledge that I’ll never fight dirty like he’s doing.

But what hurts the most is that Trina would even consider the possibility. “You shouldn’t have to ask, Trina. It’s me. You know me.”

That must have been exactly the wrong thing to say. Letting go of her hair, she takes a step backward. One step backward, and I can already feel her drawing into herself and away from me.

“My author called with a legitimate concern about something you’ve been cryptic about for a while now. I have to ask you.” She swallows hard. “This isn’t about us, Casey. This is about work.”

I lean forward, trying to drive the point home. “Of course it’s not true.”