1. Trina
TRINA
ONE YEAR LATER
Even as I bring my nail between my teeth and bite down with a satisfying click, I know I shouldn’t.
Biting my nails was a bad habit I thought I kicked years ago—when I was eighteen and moved out on my own, to be exact—but it would seem stress brings out all those irritating old habits.
They’re reminders of times past. Times I’d rather forget.
And yet they keep popping up anyway as if my body has kept score all these years and reverts to its lowest common denominator any time things get even remotely tense.
I wish I could be normal, with shoulders that drift toward my ears or teeth that grind.
Even stress-eating would be preferable. Something that’s not outwardly visible.
Something I wouldn’t have to wear like a badge of dishonor for anyone to see.
But no, I got stuck with nail-biting and the beat-up cuticles to match. Go figure.
The source of my current stress level? The waiting room in the virtual call my boss, the head of Northbridge Literary Agency, insisted on having today.
I know what she's going to say. Doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
The whooshing sound comes through my speakers as Suzanna’s face fills the screen.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a slick, severe bun, and her precise makeup further accentuates her angular features.
She resides in New York, closer to the hub of literary activity, but hires agents all over the world.
Since I’m in Chicago, I’ve only met her in person a handful of times when we’ve happened to be at the same conference, but the woman gives off the same vibes in the flesh as she does online.
Harsh. Exacting. Competent. Her whole demeanor screams, It’s not personal, it’s business.
A mantra I’ve never been able to fully subscribe to when it comes to my authors.
“Trina,” she croons, her matte pink lips curling into something like a smile, if a smile were sharp, calculating, and not at all friendly.
“Suzanna,” I return. If she’s going to dispense with pleasantries and skip right to first-naming me, then so will I.
“I think you know why I called this meeting.”
“Why don’t you walk me through it?” The phrase is automatic, turning the tables back on her. It’s a trick out of the agent’s playbook—make them say the words. Never say anything for them. Suzanna for sure recognizes the move, but she nods approvingly.
Phew.
“Scarlett Frye is taking a break,” she states simply, then raises one delicate eyebrow. “Again,” she adds as if she can’t help herself.
I press my lips into a firm line, hoping it will keep me from saying what I really want to say—that authors should be allowed to take breaks whenever they need in order to preserve and protect their creativity.
But I also know Scarlett’s epic disappearing act a few years ago is still a sore spot for the agency.
I can’t blame Suzanna for her frustration, really.
Losing a one-point-five-million-dollar contract was a huge blow.
“Yes,” I respond. “Her early pregnancy has been rough, and she wants to ensure she doesn’t burn out again. But she will be back. She and I had a brainstorming meeting the other day about her next book.”
“Right, sure. But you know how it goes with babies.” She says the word with such disdain that I find it difficult not to cringe.
“Women somehow forget who they are when they have one. I don’t want you to be in a situation where you don’t have a backup star debut on your list if Scarlett throws in the towel.
” She leaves off the again this time, but it hangs there, nonetheless.
The problem is that what Suzanna is saying isn’t unreasonable, but I have a lot of heavy hitters on my list. There’s the author working on a seemingly never-ending series of epic historical fiction novels.
And the author working on some of the most mind-blowing speculative fiction I’ve ever read.
Oh, and the literary fiction author trying to write a brilliant coming-of-age story but needs a lot of editorial help.
Not to mention the twenty or so other authors I have who are actively working on projects or on submission.
Even so, I could add another heavy hitter to my list. I believe in Scarlett unconditionally—as if I need to prove that after continuing to represent her through her comeback last year.
It’s always a good idea to have another basket to put your eggs in, which is true for any industry, but Suzanna is asking me to sign someone new, and this isn’t the first time.
A debut author, nonetheless. Debuts are so much work.
And what’s her reason? Money. It’s always about money with her.
It seems she can never get enough of it.
I know that’s why I’ve been on Suzanna’s warning list ever since Scarlett walked away from that giant deal.
She had dollar signs in her eyes, and it clearly knocked me down a peg or four in her esteem when I didn’t close that deal.
Even Scarlett’s comeback wasn’t enough to appease her. Because it wasn’t seven figures.
“I’d even settle for a few indie authors selling well and trying to make the leap to traditional publishing—they know the deal, and you can make some easy sales,” she continues.
I have to fight back a groan. There are two types of agents in this industry—ones who deal in a large volume of smaller deals and ones who deal in a smaller volume of larger deals.
Since Scarlett was my first client and a breakout hit from the start, I serendipitously ended up in the second category. Suzanna is very firmly in the first.
But a funny thing happens now that she’s said it all aloud as opposed to dancing around it like she has been for the past month. It’s out in the open. And somehow, it’s less scary that way.
I clutch my hands in my lap under my desk and out of sight of my laptop camera. “I’m telling you, after this brainstorming session, I have a feeling whatever comes next will be even better than In the Time Before.”
“Whenever that is,” Suzanna states. It’s not cutting or sarcastic, just true, and I don’t have anything to retort.
In my silence, she tilts her head, the press of her lips the only sign that she might be summoning the slightest bit of empathy. “I know she was the first author you signed, and your first big client to boot. It’s a hard thing when success like that fizzles out.”
Well, that’s quite the assumption. “I’m not really sure we should be talking about someone as if her best years are behind her just because she decided to expand her family.
” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it was the wrong thing to say, even if I’m right.
Once Suzanna gets something in her mind, it’s almost impossible to talk her out of it.
I’m not going to win here, no matter what I say.
“I’m talking about her that way because her comeback deal was much smaller than her first. But look how far you’ve come since you signed her.
” Suzanna interrupts my thoughts in the quintessential Suzanna way—something a little backhanded and something a little kind.
It throws me off for a second. “Look, I’ll be honest with you, Trina.
I don’t trust Scarlett. The fact that you’ve supported her is admirable”—the way she says the word suggests it’s not—“but I’m looking out for the health of the agency here.
If Scarlett quits again, it’d be good for us all to have a backup plan.
Even if she writes her next book quickly and it’s as good as you hope, who’s to say she won’t get burned out and quit again after that?
Babies do that, you know. They’re a lot of work. ”
I stifle a huff of laughter and an eye roll because of course she’d follow up with another dig at Scarlett.
Wetting my lips with my tongue in another nervous motion, my hands twitch under my desk with the instinct to bring one of my nails between my teeth and pull at it.
But I clamp them more tightly in my lap to resist the urge.
“So are debut writers,” I grumble, then immediately hope my microphone didn’t pick that up.
Luckily, Suzanna doesn’t address it. She just purses her lips and says, “I know you’ve developed a relationship with her, but it’s not personal.
One door closes and another opens, et cetera.
” She waves her hand in a lazy circle on the last word as if she doesn’t even fully believe the cliché she’s spewed out.
The thing is, it is personal. It’s the very definition of the word.
Scarlett is not only my client, she’s my friend.
And Suzanna’s right—she was my first client, too.
She trusted me with her work when she didn’t have to.
Her book was certainly good enough to sign with a more established agent.
But she took a chance on me when I needed it, and I owe her far more than just taking this chance that she’ll be back again when she’s ready.
I draw in a long breath through my nose and wet my lips again. “Look, I’m not dropping Scarlett—”
“I’m not asking you to.” Suzanna puts her hands up, palms out.
“I’m just asking you to open yourself to some queries.
See what’s out there. And…” As she trails off, I know immediately that I’m not going to like whatever she’s going to say next.
“I’m sending you to the Writers and Agents Conference in Denver next month.
We need someone to sit on a panel about querying and another about finding the next bestseller.
With your credentials, you’re a perfect fit.
But it will also be a good way for you to meet with new authors in the pitch sessions. ”
Oh, shit. I must be in some kind of trouble because she only ever sends junior agents to this thing to help them build their client lists.
The last time I was there, I was as green as could be, but I skated by on having just signed rising star Scarlett Frye.
My reputation preceded me. I can only imagine all the backhanded questions about her that are going to get fired at me this time around.
But Suzanna’s expression allows for no argument. She’s sending me, and that’s that.
“Yes, ma’am.” I try to keep the bite out of my words. I’m not entirely sure I’m successful.
She arches a delicate eyebrow. “Good. I’ll send the details soon.” And with that, she disconnects the call.
Slouching forward and hanging my head between my shoulders, I let out a long breath. Fuck. Now, not only do I need to wade through queries, but I have to get ready for this conference I hadn’t planned on attending. And sitting on panels, no less.
God, I hate sitting on panels.
But if this is what I have to do to keep Suzanna happy, then I’ll find a way to be fine with it.
This job is the most permanent thing I have in my life.
It’s too important to me to lose it over something silly like whining about a conference and adding another author to my list. Even if I already have seven urgent emails from authors in my inbox just in the time that meeting was taking place—three of them from the same author.
Not to mention that Scarlett’s new book is going to be another blockbuster hit, and she’s going to need more from me to sell it when the time comes.
That’s Future-Trina’s problem. Present-Trina needs to find an author with a half-decent manuscript. And to stop biting her nails, I realize as I sit on my chewed-up hands.
I can absolutely, definitely handle all of this.
Right?