Page 79 of Not on the Same Page

She chews on her bottom lip, clearly trying to decide whether or not she wants to continue. “You’ve been saying Starlight authors are looking for greener pastures. Why is that?”

It hurts that she even has to ask. No, it doesn't just hurt. It pokes a deep, dark part of my insecurities that I’d rather leave alone. But I know she needs an answer, so I steel myself. “If I had to guess, it’s because Ashton Cochran is telling them I’m incompetent or I don’t have the funds to pay out advances.” I raise my arm and let it slap against my side. “It’s a lie. You know I can do this, Trina.” It comes out more desperate than I want it to, but the truth of the matter is that I can handle anything but her seeing this weakness of mine. I want to be good enough in her eyes, and right now, I sense that she sees a chink in my armor.

“Ashton Cochran, the publishing director?” she asks quietly.

I nod. “We went to school together. We were…friendly. But he’s the type of person who will step on anyone to get ahead.”

Trina’s gaze drops to the floor. “You didn’t tell me this because I’ve got young adult on my list now.”

It’s not a question, but I answer her anyway. “I didn’t want to hold you back from any possible deals with him.” It takes a lot of effort, but I add, “I’m sure he’ll run a good press.”

She thinks for a moment, wiggling her bottom lip between her teeth. Slowly, her gaze rises off the floor to meet mine. “I wouldn’t want to work with anyone who doesn’t play fair. You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be loyal to me just because we were…” I trail off and shrug.

“Fucking.”

It’s like she sunk the dagger in deeper with that word, but that is all it was, wasn’t it? Not anymore, but that’s where we started. I nod.

Trina brings her hands to the top of her head, clenching her hair again before letting them fall to her sides. “This is why agents shouldn’t sleep with editors. We can’t be objective or fair.” She sounds like she’s talking to herself, but the knife twists in my chest regardless. She faces me fully, her legs planted wide and chin raised. “You’re guilty of it too, by the way. Telling me I shouldn’t have to ask because it’s you. I didn’t want to, but when my author brings me a concern, I have to be able to talk to her editor about it. Can you be her editor and my boyfriend, Casey?”

It's the first time she’s ever called me her boyfriend out loud, and I like the way it sounds. I want to be more than that. But most of all, I want her to see me as worthy. As capable. As someone who she wouldn’t even consider questioning in a situation like this. The fact that she doesn’t see me that way hurts more than all of it. And with the way writers are flocking to Ashton, maybe she shouldn’t.

The worst part about it all is that she’s right. On one hand, I tried to honor the separation between us and our jobs. On the other, I want her to trust me because she knows me. It was hypocritical. And neither is fair to her.

When I don’t respond right away, her shoulders fall. “I think I should go.”

What the hell is happening? Twenty minutes ago, she was almost ready to spend the night. I shake my head. “Please don’t.”

“My job means a lot to me,” she says. “And so do you. But I don’t think this is a situation where we can have it all.”

I can sense that trying to stop her from leaving would not only be futile, it wouldn’t be good for her. She clearly needs space to think, and I’m going to have to hold on to what she just said—that I mean a lot to her. Maybe that’s enough for her to come back.

“Let me drive you,” I plead softly. I tell myself it’s almost night in Chicago, and even though she’s made this trip herself many times, I want her to be safe. But in reality, I want to be with her, even for just a few moments more. Even in tense silence.

“I have my car here.” Maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she sounds full of regret. Like maybe this isn’t at all what she wants.

But I don’t know how to make her stay, or even if that would be a good idea when she seems set on going. So I try something else, even though it feels painfully like a negotiation. I pray it’s not our last. “Can you call me from the car? So I know you got home?”

In silence, she checks her phone then shoves it in her purse. Sliding her feet into her sandals, she pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “I need to work fast to fix this,” she says without looking at me. “I’ll be making calls on my way.” Her shoulders slump slightly as her gaze searches the ground. “But I’ll text you when I get home. I promise.”

I can’t respond because the pain in my chest is unbearable as she opens the door and leaves, shutting it softly behind her.

27

TRINA

My phone ringing is the only thing I could hear over the sound of my heart breaking as I sit in post-Labor Day traffic on my way back to my apartment. And that’s only because it sends me into a cold panic every time it happens. But not this time. This time, when it rings, I answer it without even looking at who is calling, letting the car’s speakers pick up the call. I’m trying too hard not to cry to even care.

A small part of me hopes it’s Casey insisting on making good on his offer to be on the phone with me while I drive.

“You can’t send a cryptic message like that and then go dark.” Isabella’s voice comes through.

I fight the biting disappointment at hearing her voice instead of Casey’s as I rack my brain trying to figure out what she’s talking about…until I remember. She had told me she was expecting a counteroffer from Halo Sun after the long weekend, so I texted her a few minutes ago to hold off until I could give her more information. That was before I asked Casey about it. Something about what Imani said felt wrong deep in my bones. Even though I was trying to keep Isabella in the loop on something that wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have gotten involved in another agent’s deal without all the information. I thought I was protecting Casey.

And I was protecting him. I’d do it again too, regardless of what happens between us. I don’t work with editors or publishers who play dirty.

Sighing deeply, I shift in my seat so my other hand is on the steering wheel. “Sorry.”