Chapter 21
Ryan
I saw Scarlett smile at Charles fucking Hall. I haven’t seen that flattered, genuine smile in years . The first time I saw it was shortly after I ran into her in a bar, and I had to work for it. That asshole got one out of her in just a few minutes with hardly any effort at all.
In the elevator, I avoid looking at her, though I watch her wavy reflection in the metal doors. As the elevator ascends, she takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slowly, wiggling her hands at her sides.
My attitude softens slightly. “It’ll be okay,” I say with as much gentleness as I can. “Anastasios wants to meet you, that’s all.”
“I’m not worried about him,” she mutters.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I almost draw blood. “Nervous for your date, then?” I spit out the word “date” so hard that I’m surprised she doesn’t react to it.
Scarlett simply flicks her blue eyes to me as she sucks on her teeth. “It’s not a date. He wants to talk about writing.” She pauses, then adds, “I can’t write in a vacuum, Ryan. Recent events have proven that.”
If I could pull her into a hug right here in my workplace, I would, but the elevator pings, signaling we’ve arrived at our floor. This woman can shatter my heart into a million tiny shards that pierce me again and again with their sharp edges. I want this for her. Truly, I do. But she’s kidding herself if she thinks Hall isn’t after something else. He hasn’t signed with us yet, but the publishing world is small, and I’ve heard enough about him to know what he’s about.
We both stand there for a second too long, and the elevator doors close again. Scarlett sighs and turns to face me. “I get it. You want to shelter me from the worst parts of this job.” She swallows audibly, then licks her lips. “You’ve always tried to do that for me.”
I huff, almost defeated. “I failed.”
“You absolutely did not.” She says it with such conviction, with such a fire in her eyes, that I go completely still. “You did not fail me,” she repeats, punctuating each word. “That was…it was out of our control in a lot of ways.”
“I pushed for that deal,” I practically whisper, my words fighting their way out around a swell of emotion. “I thought more money would make it easier on you. You could hire someone to help, or…” I trail off and shrug. It doesn’t matter. “And now you’re here, having this meeting you shouldn’t need to have.” And meeting hulky men in the lobby and going to dinner with them later when she should be mine . But I don’t say that part aloud.
“More money always means more product,” she says simply. “I’m an investment. And now, I’m a risk. The only surprise here is how long it took Anastasios to meet with me, not that it’s happening at all.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. If I don’t, I won’t be able to resist folding her into my arms, smelling her hair, kissing her. “You are surprisingly well adjusted about all of this.”
She snickers and tosses her dark hair over her shoulder. “It helps that I’ve been taking my meds.” Pursing her lips, she adds, “I know what I did, Ryan. Walking away from that deal was my decision. Even at the time, I had a good understanding of the consequences. Publishing again was my decision, too. I knew what I’d have to overcome when I sent that manuscript to Trina, even if parts of it have been harder than I thought they would be. And even if I never expected you’d be part of it.”
“I can still find someone else to edit the next one or take over this one if you want,” I offer half-heartedly. We talked briefly about her directive to Trina to find a different editor, but she ultimately decided to stay with me. Though it was unclear if she actually wants me on the project or if she’s afraid of looking like she’s asking for too much on top of everything else.
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else.
“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of dinner with Charles tonight?”
She continues shaking her head, but her lips curl up into a wicked smile. I stifle my annoyance; I know her well enough to expect that the harder I push, the more she’ll want to see him. Spite has always been a pretty powerful motivator for Scarlett, as has pushing my buttons just enough to make me want her more. Though I can’t imagine wanting her more than I do right now as she challenges me with a light in her eyes I haven’t seen in a long time. Since before she left, I realize with a start. I only wish I had noticed the absence of it sooner.
Tipping her chin toward the elevator doors, she presses the button to open them and says, “Let’s get this over with.”
As she exits the elevator, I trail behind her like a dejected puppy, back to imagining her and Charles Hall tucked into a corner at a small, romantic table, sharing tapas and wine with her smiling at him the way she was in the lobby.
I shuffle a little faster to open the door to the conference room for her. It’s a smaller room than the one we were in the last time she was here. Anastasios is already there, waiting. He has a presence about him that makes it easy to see how he climbed the ranks in the publishing industry. At fifty-two years old, his dark hair is now more salt than pepper. He wears it long enough to dust over his ears, and there’s a notable shock of gray running from his right temple over his forehead. His beard has even more gray in it, adding to his distinguished air. He is slightly shorter than me, but he doesn’t exude any less power for it. He’s always dressed in a three-piece suit—today’s is a charcoal gray with a blue dress shirt that pokes out the top, unbuttoned at the neck. He never wears a tie. I think he wants to look more approachable, though that’s hard to do when he turns heads every time he enters a room.
Usually, he’s commanding but also comforting. He has solutions to problems and answers to questions, which is something everyone wants in a boss, especially in an industry that thrives on negotiations and deadlines. But the tense silence that reappeared between Scarlett and me when I asked her to cancel her date has put me so close to the edge that I know I’m not going to be in a good place during this meeting.
Luckily, I don’t have to do much. Anastasios stands immediately when we enter the room, and Scarlett turns on her charm. I’ve seen her do this before; it’s like a veil she puts on in meetings and interviews like this, all bright smiles and easy laughter.
“Scarlett,” Anastasios says warmly, taking her right hand in both of his. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she replies.
He releases her and motions to the chairs placed around a round table. “Please, let’s sit.”
We do, and I catch Scarlett adjusting the fabric on her blue skirt in a motion that means she’s nervous. Anyone who doesn’t know her as well as I do would miss it, but I’m hyperaware of her every move. I have to actively resist covering her fidgeting hand with my own and telling her it’s going to be okay.
“Thank you for meeting with me today,” Anastasios says politely.
Scarlett clasps her hands together on top of the table, leaning forward on her elbows. “Of course. Let’s cut right to the chase, shall we? I know you’re worried about me and what happened last time, but I can assure you that will not happen again.”
Anastasios’s eyes widening slightly is his only tell that he’s surprised. I, on the other hand, gape at Scarlett. What is she doing?
Silence stretches for so long that I wonder if someone is going to explode, and I worry very much that it will be my boss. Hopefully, I’m not watching an oncoming train wreck as I bounce my gaze back and forth between the two of them.
Suddenly, he bursts into loud, deep laughter that shakes his whole body. “You sure know how to cut through the bullshit.”
Scarlett smiles wide, but the stiffness remains in her spine. “I won’t lie, sir. I’m nervous about why you called me in here, so I figured we should address the elephant in the room before we go any further.”
Anastasios dabs at the corners of his eyes, then leans back in his chair. There’s a mirth about him—just a little air, like he’s amused. “All right. I’ll bite. What happened five years ago, and why are you so sure it won’t happen again?”
“I can’t tell you everything.” Scarlett, however, is all seriousness. “Some of it was personal, and I owe a lot of people explanations that I haven’t had the chance to share yet. But the gist of it was that I burned out and broke down. The pressure of a grueling press tour, deadlines for edits and drafts stacked on top of one another, and more of each on the horizon had me asking some very serious questions about whether or not that was what I wanted my life to look like in the long run. The answer was no.”
“They offered you a seven-figure deal for three more books.” Anastasios cocks a bushy eyebrow. “You didn’t want a million dollars?”
“All due respect, that made it worse, sir.”
I recoil slightly at that, knowing the hand I had in making that deal for her. Scarlett very carefully does not look at me, though. It seems like she wants to, but she keeps her eyes trained on Anastasios.
“How so?” He pushes forward in his chair again, his lips flattened together.
“With more money comes more expectations,” she explains. “You and I both know they weren’t going to give me a million-dollar advance and then let me take time off to enjoy it.”
That was the piece I hadn’t seen at the time. I had thought she loved the work but felt she wasn’t being compensated appropriately for what was expected of her. But what she had wanted was fewer expectations and more reasonable deadlines.
In my twenties, everything had been about the money. My classmates who had gone on to get MBAs were making seven figures by the time I started at JMP. My only thought was that if I could get Scarlett that kind of money to write, surely she would have felt successful. And we had talked about it, too—what we would do with a million dollars if we had that kind of money. I should have gotten the hint when her fantasies were always about moving to a cabin in some remote area, luxuriating in hot tubs with bottles of wine with nothing but time to read and write and be together.
“True.” Anastasios snaps me out of my reverie. “But you could have negotiated that later, after you had been more established.”
Scarlett nods slowly, as if that’s a fair assessment. “Yes, but I needed it then. I don’t know if you’ve experienced burnout, Mr. Martis, but it feels like…” She trails off, then sighs deeply. “Nothing has any joy anymore. There’s no sparkle, no excitement. Colors aren’t as bright. Songs you used to love grate on your nerves. Everything feels like too much and not enough, all at once. The people you love become a burden. It’s hard to get out of bed. Puts a real damper on the creative process.”
Anastasios tilts his head, regarding her. “Sounds an awful lot like depression.”
“There’s a lot of overlap, at least in my case. After all of that, I isolated myself, which did lead to depression. Eventually, I got help. I have a plan now, and a support system, even if it is small. And my agent negotiated a contract with longer periods of time between deadlines and a cap on the press I’ll do when you decide to release my identity, as I’m sure you know.”
He rubs a hand over his close-cropped beard and nods once in acknowledgment. “There are a lot of people at JMP who are still very angry with you. If it gets out prematurely that we signed you here, there could be consequences.”
“I don’t blame them, sir. But I was young and inexperienced, and I didn’t have the vocabulary to clearly express what I needed at the time. The irony of me being a writer and not having the words does not escape me, but it doesn’t make it less true. I could tell a story, but I couldn’t figure out my life.”
“There were many other authors who spoke up about their work-life balance after you left. JMP had a lot to consider.” Anastasios dips his chin to look at her across the table.
“So I’ve heard,” Scarlett responds without missing a beat.
I don’t think Anastasios is trying to intimidate her or make her feel bad in any way, but she’s not backing down. She’s frank and unapologetic in her explanation of what happened, and even though I know it’s not the full story, I’m so fucking proud of her. For everything. For working through all of that, for getting to the place she’s in now. Even if there are slipups like she had a week ago, she’s trying so hard to get her life back to where she wants it, and she’s unashamed of the journey. Of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but I’m even proud of her for walking away back then. She did what she needed to do. Even if it broke my damn heart.
He nods slowly, narrowing his eyes and taking her in. “Thank you for your candor, Ms. Frye. It wasn’t my intention to ask straight away, but I appreciate the information you’ve given me. And, more importantly, I am sorry. I can’t speak on behalf of JMP because I wasn’t there at the time, but you deserved better. My goal is that here, at Anastasios Press, we can provide that for you.”
She smiles, and this time it’s more relaxed. “I appreciate that.”
“I’ll say it again, though. We have to keep your identity under wraps until our team is ready to do a reveal. We are still owned by JMP, and there are a lot of people over there who wouldn’t be too happy if they knew you signed with us. We’d like to be ready to provide sales data to show them, irrefutably, that signing you was a worth the risk.” He shoots a warning glare at Scarlett, then turns the same look to me.
“I’m also hoping that there’s a plan to mitigate some of the anger I incurred when I canceled my press tour,” Scarlett says, drawing his attention back to her.
With that, Anastasios launches into an outline of the marketing and publicity plans Meri has mocked up, complete with a tentative timeline for everything with Becoming . Scarlett listens attentively, asking questions where appropriate.
After that, the rest of the meeting goes off without a hitch. He asks her about the new book she’s working on, and she lights up when she starts explaining the plot to him. Watching as she speaks—her hands waving wildly in the air and her expressions changing rapidly the way they always used to when she was talking about her books—I can’t help but realize I’m falling a little more for her with each minute that passes. She’s still the Scarlett I was in love with all those years ago, but better. She’s more confident. Her eyes are clearer. Excitement radiates off her in waves.
She’s magnetic, and I’m a piece of metal, powerless to resist her pull.
Eventually, the meeting comes to a close. Anastasios asks me to stay back to discuss a few other projects that are on the docket. On her way out, Scarlett grins at me, clearly relieved the meeting went so well. That glittery smile reminds me of the one she was flashing Charles when I came down to bring her up to the meeting. In my pride for her, I had almost forgotten about her date tonight, but now I can’t get it out of my head.
All throughout my conversation with Anastasios after she leaves, I try to avoid seeing them together in my mind’s eye. It distracts me, and Anastasios has to repeat his questions a couple of times before he ultimately dismisses me, telling me to get some more sleep so I can focus.
I have no right to be as obsessed with this dinner as I am. Scarlett deserves to have writer friends she can talk to. Just a few days ago, I was hoping she’d find new critique partners, which makes me a hypocrite. Admittedly, I had hoped she’d reconnect with her old roommate, Mandy, or something, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.
And yet, even though I know it’s wrong, there’s no way I’m getting any sleep tonight while Scarlett is out with that guy.