Page 88 of Not on the Same Page

He raises his hands, palms out. “Message received.” Lowering his hands, he smirks. “But if I may offer some advice?”

“Your expression suggests you have an inability to take this seriously, so no. I don’t need your advice.”

“That’s the problem,” Ryan offers anyway. “You’re taking it too seriously. Half, if not three-quarters of the writers on your list are writing books in stolen minutes between day jobs and family duties. And why do they keep doing it, even despite those challenges?”

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” I mumble.

“Because it’s fun. Because they’re passionate about it. Is Ashton Cochran passionate about good books?”

“He’s not passionate about anything but stepping on me to get ahead.”

“Bingo.” Ryan points at me. “But you have dedicated your life to bringing gorgeous books into the world. That’s why Trina came to you with Scarlett’s manuscript last year. That’s why Anastasios gave you this role. Fuck, he didn’t give you anything—you earned it. You’re letting the business get in the way of the fun. Writers want to work with people who remind them that bringing beautiful art into the world is the best job there is. And if we wanted to extend the motif, you probably let it get in the way of the fun you were having with Trina, too.”

The memory of watching Trina come to life while talking about publishing on her panel in Denver comes rushing back to me. “But the written word is important,” she had said. “Now more than ever. In a time when anyone can produce a novel with a few keystrokes in a computer program, the art of writing and reading is special. It’s remarkable. Even the struggle is vital. It shows us we’re alive, in a way.”

She had been worried about losing that. Turns out I should have been, too.

“Trina was more than fun,” I protest weakly.

“Of course she was. So are books. But don’t lose sight of the joy, you know? That’s what you’ve got that the other guy doesn’t. That’s what’s going to keep your relationship going through the tough stuff.” Ryan stands. “And if I can offer one more piece of advice?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to whether I want it or not.”

Sure enough, he continues as if he didn’t even hear me. “When someone stops acting professional to you, the rules no longer apply. Tell that guy where he can shove it, then lay it to rest so you can move on to more important things.”

And with that, he leaves. But not without a wink on his way out the door.

I can’t help the chuckle that rises out of me because he’s right. Fuck professionalism. If Ashton isn’t going to follow the rules, I won’t either.

I look up his office number, then dial quickly before I lose my nerve. He answers on the second ring.

“Do you have a particular beef with me, or are you spreading lies about all the young adult publishers?” I ask by way of greeting.

He lets out a laugh that sounds almost sinister. “Casey Endersen. I was wondering how long it would take you to call. Look, it’s not personal. It’s business. Releasing on the same date as your author makes sense, which you’d know if you paid attention in class⁠—”

“You mean if I found a pretty girl to take notes for me in class,” I correct him. He falls silent. “I don’t give a shit about your release dates. Keeper of Secrets is going to blow your book out of the water. What I do give a shit about is your lies. That is personal, Ashton, and I’m not really sure what your angle is.”

There’s a contemplative silence from his side, so I wait him out. Eventually, he takes a breath. “Look, the higher-ups at Morgan & Danielson hired me for this because I guaranteed I could outshine you.”

“And your plan was to lie and poach authors from my list to make yourself look better?”

“I never lied,” he insists, and his smarmy, overconfident tone is back. “I made some suggestions and offered a lot of money. Your authors were clearly concerned and attracted by the dollar signs.”

“Hm.” I nod slowly. “Do you have a plan to help those authors earn out those shiny advances? Because without one, you’re going to be so far in the hole, you won’t be able to climb back out again.”

“That’s publicity’s problem,” he says, but he sounds slightly unconvinced.

“Ultimately, it’s your problem. If Halo Sun goes under, it’ll be on you. You’re the one in charge now, remember? Or did you forget to con some girl into giving you notes on that lesson?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can practically feel him fuming over the line.

“Look,” I continue, wanting to wrap up this call as quickly as I can. “Copy whatever you want from me. Steal my release dates, duplicate my press releases and my team’s social media posts. The cream will rise.” My heart is bolstered as I quote my mom, almost as if she’s in the room with me, cheering me on. “Eventually, people will see you don’t have any original ideas. But keep my name out of your mouth.”

He laughs humorlessly. “What are you going to do about it?”

“You don’t want to find out.” He’s not the only one who can spout off false bravado. “Goodbye, Ashton. I really hope we don’t have to speak about this again.”

I quickly hang up before he can get another word in, then put my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths. I’m not a fan of confrontation, and it takes a few seconds before the adrenaline leaves my system.