Chapter 31
Ryan
I lie awake long after Scarlett has fallen asleep. Her dark hair is splayed out on the pillow, and her face is peaceful. Maybe more peaceful than I’ve ever seen it.
Her hand is resting on my chest, and I bring it to my lips to kiss her fingers before laying it gently next to her so I can get up. The rhythmic rising and falling of her back doesn’t change, which tells me she’s deeply asleep. As quietly as I can, I tiptoe over to my dresser and slide the top drawer open. Using my phone as a light, I rummage under the clothes until I find the small box I’m looking for. I take it with me out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me so I can turn on a light and sit on the couch.
The box is a soft, navy velvet that has been worn down over the years. I haven’t taken it out to look at it in a while—not since I got my tattoo, actually—but this box has been well loved, first by my parents, then by me. I used to hold it all the time even though I’d never open it. I haven’t opened it in five years.
My hands almost dwarf it, and my fingers shake slightly as I take a deep breath and crack it open. The hinge squeaks and pops open to reveal a ring. The band is gold and flares where it meets a single, small diamond solitaire. It was my mother’s ring. My dad had bought it for her on a limited budget. To hear her tell it, he always said he’d get her a new one—a better one—but she wouldn’t have it. “This is my ring,” she’d say, and that was that.
I use my thumb to spin his matching gold band around on my middle finger. His hands were always so much bigger than mine. Where he was bulky and solid, I was always thin and spindly. When he gave it to me before he died, it slid right off my finger. I wore it on a chain on my neck until I was an adult. Even now, I have to wear it on my middle finger.
My mom gave me her ring years after he died. She said she wanted me to have it just in case I ever met a woman I loved as much as my dad loved her.
That day in the park, as we ate our tacos and read our books in the Chicago summer sun, I knew I’d give this ring to Scarlett someday. It was too soon then, but I knew all the same.
I was carrying it with me the day Scarlett turned down JMP’s offer. I had thought we’d celebrate her signing, and I’d give it to her over dinner. Maybe I’d even have ordered tacos. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I knew I wanted her to have it that day. I wanted her to be my wife.
Carefully, I remove the ring from the box and turn it this way and that. It glints in the yellow light from the single lamp next to the couch. The band is worn on the underside because my mom wore it every single day for almost twenty-five years—well after he died. She didn’t take it off until she started dating again. The diamond is a little cloudy, but none of that ever seemed to matter. This was the ring, and Scarlett was the woman. She still is. She always will be.
But now isn’t the time, either. We’re just starting to find each other again, learning all the new ways we fit together. Someday, though. Soon. Because if we can make it through this, I’m confident we can make it through anything.
I put the ring back in the box and snap it shut. For some reason, I had needed to see it, to reassure myself it was still there. Of course it was. Right where I left it.
Turning off the lamp, I find my way through the dark to my bedroom. I place the box in the drawer and carefully climb back into bed. Scarlett shifts this time, then sighs in her sleep. Her hand finds me again, cold against my skin. I hold it in mine and place it back over my chest, where it belongs.
When I leave for work the next morning, Scarlett is still half-asleep. It’s almost unheard of for her to sleep longer than me, but I’m glad. She needs it. So I kiss her temple, whisper to her that she can stay as long as she likes, and head out the door.
The one drawback of working at Anastasios Press is the commute—I drive about an hour each way now that the offices are in the suburbs, though if I took public transportation, it would have taken me that same hour to get to JMP on a good day. Even all of the traffic in the world has been worth the move, though. It’s such a better environment. And it brought Scarlett back to me.
If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.
And that’s how I find myself musing about fate and soulmates and marriage as I distractedly make my way through the hallways to my office, my mind occupied by my own contentment.
I’ve barely set down my bag and powered on my laptop when a small knock comes from the doorframe of my open door. My intern, Margie, pokes her head in.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she says breathlessly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she sounded nervous.
“Come on in, Margie.” I motion for her to sit. “What’s up?”
She takes a step into the room, but lingers by the doorway, wringing her hands in front of her. “Mr. Martis was looking for you.”
“Really?” I ask. Then I snap my fingers when it dawns on me. “It must be because of that cover. There was a mistake. I’ll find him in a little while to explain—”
“I don’t think it was about the cover,” Margie interrupts, her eyes wide with worry. “He said you should meet him in the conference room right away when you got in. Miss McBryde is there with him, too, and Mr. Endersen and the publicity team. He did not seem happy.”
Trina, Casey, and Publicity? That’s strange, but this couldn’t be anything too terrible about Scarlett. She is currently either still snuggled underneath the covers in my bed or drinking my coffee and getting ready for her day.
“I’ll head over there right now. Thank you, Margie.”
She nods once and leaves quickly, as if staying anywhere near me is dangerous.
I walk quickly down the hall to the conference room where everyone Margie named is, indeed, sitting around the large table. When I walk in, they all look at me in unison and the room goes silent. A quick glance at Casey has me officially worried, because he looks about as panicked as he can get. Trina’s eyes are the only pair not on me; they’re downcast as she stares at something on the table in front of her.
“Mr. Whitlock,” Anastasios booms. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat.”
“Good morning, everyone,” I say as I sink into the chair in front of me. “What’s going on?”
Anastasios leans forward and folds his hands together on top of the table. “We have a very serious problem.”
“If this is about the cover—” I start, but he interrupts with a hand raised, palm out.
“This isn’t about the cover. Somehow, JMP found out that Scarlette Frye has signed with us, before we were ready to alert them. And even though we’ve assured them we were planning to disclose the information, they’re still very upset. So upset, in fact, that this does not bode well for my position here.”
“What?” I ask, still trying to process this information. “How the fuck did that happen? All external communication has only had her pen name on it.”
Anastasios gives me a pointed look. “That is what we are here to find out.”
Suddenly, Casey’s panicked look makes sense. And so does Trina’s expression. She’s sad. Like she’s been disappointed, and she’s not sure how she’s going to break the news.
“Wait.” I close my eyes and shake my head as if my willpower alone could make this all stop. “You think I outed Scarlett to JMP?”
“Everyone who knew about her identity is in this room, and you’re the only one who we haven’t talked to yet,” Anastasios says. “And you have to admit, your motivations are questionable.” He’s outwardly calm, but his voice carries an undertone of a disciplinarian. He’s ready to punish me if he doesn’t like my answers.
“How, exactly, are my motivations questionable?” I am also trying to remain calm, but it’s proving difficult.
“This was posted to social media this morning,” Casey chimes in, sliding his phone across the table to me. I look at the post. Sure enough, it’s an old picture of Scarlett and me at a coffee shop downtown. I’m pointing at her computer and saying something, and she’s watching me with wide eyes. Underneath is a caption that reads, Scarlett Frye is back with a new book, this time at JMP’s imprint Anastasios Press. Rumor is that JMP is none too happy one of their imprints snapped her up. Her and her new editor were caught cozying up at a coffee shop to work. Will this book actually be released this time? Only time will tell.
“Who wrote that?” I mumble. “The caption is garbage. You can’t possibly think I put that together. At the very least, I would have used a lot less repetition and put the commas in the right places.”
“This is not a laughing matter,” Anastasios warns, though his expression shifts as if he hadn’t thought of that.
“Oh, I’m not laughing,” I assure him. “This could destroy Scarlett in more ways than one.” The image of her sobbing against my chest yesterday works its way to the front of my mind. “I don’t understand why you think I would have done this. Aside from Trina, I’m the one person in this room who has the most to lose professionally if JMP makes you rescind your contract.” No one has said that’s where this is going yet, but I can assume it’s on the table. We might have a lot of autonomy here, but JMP officially runs the show. They can do what they want.
Anastasios clears his throat. “Did they offer you a higher position over there for this information, Ryan? They seemed very interested in this book and whatever she was going to do next—”
“No, they did not offer me anything, and even if they did, there’s no way in hell I would have taken it.”
“Revenge, maybe?” he suggests. “I know you were involved in her deal at JMP.”
My gaze flies to Casey, who has the good sense to look sheepish. I shake my head. “I would never want revenge on Scarlett. I…” I trail off. It’s not against the rules for editors to be romantically involved with authors, but I could get taken off this book if they found out. It reeks of bias.
As my eyes meet those of everyone in the room in turn, I make a decision. Fuck it. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it. If Scarlett goes down, I go down with her.
“That picture is from six years ago. I don’t know how anyone got it. We had done an impromptu photo shoot for her social media, but all of that has been deleted.” I take a deep breath to steady myself before continuing. “Scarlett and I had been in a romantic relationship at the time. It was why I was so involved in that deal with JMP. When Trina submitted Becoming here, I had no idea it was hers. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since the day she left.”
“I can attest to that,” Trina chimes in, looking wide-eyed at me.
“Being a spurned lover doesn’t exactly make your case for not wanting revenge,” Meri offers matter-of-factly.
Is everyone just out to clear their own names by implicating me? I shoot daggers in her direction, but I manage to calm myself before speaking again. “That’s true, but Scarlett and I recently rekindled our relationship.” Looking squarely at Anastasios, I add, “I loved her then. I’ve loved her for the entire time she was gone. And I love her now, sir. I would never hurt her. Not knowingly, and certainly not like this.”
Casey slumps in relief. I can’t believe he or Trina ever thought for a second that I had something to do with this, but I’m going to have to deal with that later because Anastasios runs a hand through his graying hair and grumbles.
“That’s a bit of a problem, Whitlock.” He sounds tired.
“I know, sir. But it’s not this problem.” I indicate Casey’s phone, which has gone dark on the table.
“No, it’s not,” Anastasios agrees.
“Did JMP hear about this from that post?” I ask.
“The caption on that photo would suggest no,” he says. “And it didn’t sound like it when they called this morning, but there were a lot of words. Most of them were unkind and vaguely litigious.”
“They don’t have a legal leg to stand on,” Trina says vehemently. “I checked. They never sued Scarlett. They couldn’t. She never signed anything. She walked away from that deal like any author has a right to.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t tie us up in red tape until we fold,” Casey points out. “They’re technically in charge here, even if they do leave us mostly alone.”
“At any rate, we’re going to have to get Ms. Frye in here to see if any of this can be salvaged,” Anastasios says. “Our best bet is probably to release the information ourselves, rush a release of the book, and make sure it makes enough money that JMP doesn’t have a choice but to let it go.”
I don’t like the sound of that one bit, but I sense that I’m still on thin ice because of our relationship, so I don’t speak up. Everyone starts talking at once, but I remain carefully quiet. Patting my pockets to look for my phone, I think that maybe if I can at least warn Scarlett of what’s coming, she’ll be prepared when she walks in here, but I must have left my phone in my office in my haste to get here.
Trina catches my eye and reaches a hand over to cover mine where they rest on the table. “I called her,” she says quietly. “She’s on her way. It’ll be okay.”
“How do you possibly know that?” I mumble.
“Because we’re on her side this time.” She shrugs and places her hand back in her lap. “I’m optimistic.”
I’m not. But the only thing I can do now is wait.