Page 83 of Not on the Same Page

It’s not quite an apology, but it’s an olive branch. Unfortunately, I can’t tell if it’s meant to bridge a gap in our relationship or smooth things over so we can work together. And, frankly, I don’t want to find out because if this is just about work for her, it might be the blow that ends me.

“Me too,” I say simply, still fighting against the hurt bubbling up like hot lava in my chest. “You’ll hear from Bethany soon.”

“Right.” She sounds as if she’s coming out of a trance. “Thanks.”

And with a click, the line goes dead.

Gently, I set the phone back on its cradle and press my palms into my eyes to try to stop the tears. I’m not even sure which emotion is the strongest—sadness, frustration, the fear of failure that has been looming over my shoulder since I took this new role.

“Give yourself a minute, then get up and get back out there,” Mom used to say. We were never a household where we were told that boys don’t cry. But we were a family who prided themselves on their strength when things got tough.

So, that’s what I do. I give myself a minute to feel it, wipe my eyes, and take a deep breath before marching over to the publicity offices armed with the knowledge that I’m better at this than he is. I always have been.

If Ashton Cochran wants to fight, I’ll fight.

29

TRINA

I’d say this has been the worst seventy-two hours of my life, but it hasn’t. Definitely a close second, though, considering I’ve spent most of it feeling like I have a terrible hangover despite not having touched even a drop of alcohol.

Completely without my permission, my brain is working on overdrive. When I’m asleep, it replays the more devastating scenes from my youth. When I’m awake, it alternates between the look of pain on Casey’s face when I asked him about Halo Sun and the dry coldness in his tone when I called him the next day.

He’s true to his word and delivers what looks like a pretty good publicity plan an hour after we hang up. Contrary to whatever he was upset about, there was never a doubt in my mind about whether or not he could handle this job. But if I had any concerns, this plan would have put them to rest. It’s clear he has his best people working on Imani’s book.

Regardless, I spend the rest of the day going over it myself and making notes, then two hours the next day walking Imani through it, pulling on every bit of experience I have to reassure her that this will work. That’s not fun, either—dredging up memories of Scarlett’s tours and the string of interviews and appearances that eventually broke her. She disappeared for years, and I have to clench my teeth through the memory of how devastating that was for everyone, including me.

That won’t happen to Imani. Not if I can help it. From the plan, it seems that Casey won’t let that happen either. He’s been incredibly thoughtful in scheduling breaks and rest for her. We all learned a lot from Scarlett.

“Do I really need to be home for two whole weeks the month before release?” Imani asks after reviewing the schedule. “And another week between interviews in New York and LA? I can do more.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I shake my head. “It seems like you can do it all on paper but trust us. You’ll need that time to recharge for the next leg of the tour.”

“I don’t need to recharge,” she insists. “I need to sell books. I definitely need to sell more than that asshole,” she mutters.

I had warred with myself over whether or not to tell Imani everything that was going on with Halo Sun. Ultimately, I decided she deserved to know about Ashton, if only as reassurance that she had made the right choice to go with Starlight.

“I admire the drive,” I tell her, “but my job is to make sure you sell more than that asshole over the length of a hopefully very long career. That means taking scheduled breaks so you don’t burn out. I have some experience in this area.”

She’s quiet for a minute, her face scrunched up as she thinks, then obviously doesn’t like that I’m right. “Fine.”

“Besides, if I know Casey at all”—and the realization that I do know him well slams into me so hard, I need to swallow before continuing—“you’ll have a stunning cover. Bookstore placement. The team will be running ads. You name it.”

“I’m just nervous,” Imani admits after a long pause.

“It’s nerve-racking,” I agree. “There’s so much that’s out of your control, but believe me when I say no one wants Ashton Cochran or Halo Sun to win this round.” I level a look at the screen. “They won’t.”

Her face set in determination, Imani nods. “Okay.” Her shoulders slump a little, and her expression falls. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”

A notification from Suzanna pops up on the bottom right of my screen. I clear it before I have a chance to see what it’s about. Imani is far more important right now. Suzanna can wait.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Imani.” I look straight into the screen as if I can cross the miles between us and drive the point home. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry for taking up space and advocating for yourself or your work. I care deeply, and so does Casey”—the pang is sharper this time, but I push through it—“but no one cares about your stories as much as you do. We want you to demand what’s best for them, and for you.”

Her eyebrows pinch upward and her nostrils flare as she clearly tries to hide some emotion threatening to well up. “Thanks, Trina.”

“Of course. If anything else comes up, text or email or call, okay?”

“Will do.” She smiles and waves before ending the call.