17. Trina
TRINA
“Denver looks good on you.” Isabella makes a slurping noise as she sips her Americano.
She had weaseled her way into my working breakfast at the coffee shop down the street from my apartment.
It’s a different spot from where we usually meet—much smaller and quieter—but the ambiance is great.
The whole place is painted a dark green, and the tables and chairs are old wood.
At least thirty potted plants line the walls and hang in the windows, and each plant was named by the owner who is about as obsessed with plants as she is coffee.
I was able to snag a table away from the window, which I appreciate as I watch the people sitting in the summer sunlight wipe their brows and fan themselves.
“It was a good trip.” I don’t look up from my laptop as I scroll through Imani’s contract, checking it a third time to ensure everything is correct. “I think Suzanna’s happy.”
Isabella—who is on her second cup of coffee and hasn’t even cracked open her computer yet—snorts. “As happy as she can be.”
I eye her over my monitor. “Right. But her email back to me about Imani sounded like she was thrilled. There was even an exclamation point.”
Isabella leans forward, jaw slack. “Really?”
Nodding once, I pull up the email and spin my computer around. Her eyes bounce around as she skims the email once, then another time.
“Whoa,” she breathes out as she leans back in her chair. “You’ve officially made it.”
Chuckling, I turn my computer back to face me and start composing my welcome email to Imani, highlighting the finer points of the contract she’ll be signing with the agency.
This contract is important to outline our mutual responsibilities before I can negotiate a deal for her.
Most people don’t read everything they sign—even though they should—so I like to make sure they know exactly what’s in the contract in bullet point form.
Though I get the sense Imani is very thorough and will probably read every word at least once.
“Okay, but what else happened in Denver?” Isabella waggles her eyebrows. “I know you didn’t just go there to pick up one author.”
“You’re right,” I mutter as I type. She leans forward in her seat again, resting her chin on her hands. I pause and glance at her, then back down to my screen. “I found at least three more I want to reach out to.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re lying.” When I glare at her again, she flicks her wrist dismissively. “I mean, you’re probably not lying about the other writers, but this job has never made you so…” She turns that waving hand in my direction. “I can’t explain it. Something’s different.”
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes so far back in my head they won’t come back out the other side again. If she’s trying to be like some romcom sidekick by telling me I’m glowing because I got laid, I’m not interested in engaging with this line of conversation.
The truth is, being with Casey again is a comfort.
I felt the lack of him a year ago when we parted ways.
But it’s not emotional in the way Isabella probably wants it to be.
The sex is great and having someone to hang out with for a few hours is nice.
It keeps me from spiraling into my own thoughts—most recently, all of the possible outcomes of my mom having my phone number.
But that’s all it is. Like he said the other night, it’s a distraction. Nothing more.
Not to mention I’d like to keep having said sex and escaping my own problems for a while. So I couldn’t tell Isabella even if I wanted to. Especially not while I negotiate a deal for Imani.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Just like last time, I’m sure this thing between us is fleeting.
Everything is, one way or another. It would be best for me not to get too attached, even to the distraction and comfort of it all.
The most permanent thing I have in my life is my job, and I’d like to keep it.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go back to my normal curmudgeon state once I have my meeting with Suzanna later this afternoon,” I assure her.
This does the trick to get her off the scent of my sex life and reminds her that she, too, should be working. She finally drags her laptop out of her bag, and I get enough quiet work time to finish up the email. But the whole time I’m finishing the task, I can’t help but wonder what Isabella sees.
I don’t feel that different. More relaxed maybe, but not so much that it would manifest itself outside of my mind.
And yet, there is a quiet confidence in me that started the night I was walking through Old Town to Casey’s condo. This feeling that things are going well, and I can handle it if they take a turn for the worse. Which they inevitably will, if my past is any indication.
If that’s the case, and the other shoe is going to drop, I’ll need to hang on to this feeling.
And to Casey for as long as I can, because if the feeling doesn’t stem from him, he’s at least nurturing it with sex and ice cream and pasta.
With the way he anticipates what I need, and those little moments like the other night when I can see something about him he doesn’t often show.
When I’m with him, I feel trusted, wanted.
No, wanted isn’t the right word—desired, for my body and my mind.
That must be what Isabella sees. I don’t know if I’ve ever been desired in that way…
or even wanted. My aunt certainly didn’t want me.
Even if she did the best she could for me, I was unexpectedly thrust upon her.
I don’t have many friends to speak of either.
I’d love to be friends with my writers—many of them are wonderful people—but aside from the friendship I’ve struck up with Scarlett, they are rightly interested in what I can do for them and probably never think of me outside of that framework.
But Casey has always been different. He’s a worthy opponent in negotiations and a powerful ally for the writers who work with him.
He’s brilliant, too. Not only does he have an eye for great writing and a knack for editing and marketing it, but he doesn’t bat an eye when I bust out some reference or fact from the vault of my childhood spent poring over books in the library when there was nowhere else for me to go.
And when he turns his intense gaze on me, zeroing in like he has tunnel vision for me and only me, it’s like I’m finally experiencing something I’ve been searching for my whole life.
I shiver a little at the memory of it. When he uses that focus to make me feel like I’m floating before coming apart at the seams and stitching me back together with grilled cheese or ice cream, that’s when I feel the most myself.
I’m left with the notion that I can take on the world.
Maybe I can. Maybe it’s not just a notion. And maybe I can’t hang on to this forever. But regardless, I want it to be mine for as long as I can.
Suzanna leaves me in her video call waiting room for long enough that I check my calendar to be sure I have the right time. I do. This is just one of her power moves to keep me on my toes.
As I drag my notepad closer to start jotting down some ideas to brainstorm with Imani for the end of her manuscript, I realize I haven’t bitten my nails while waiting for Suzanna to deign to join the chat.
Before I can process that, the screen changes and the queen’s face appears on the screen, every hair in place and her pink lipstick perfect as always.
“Trina,” she croons. “I’m so glad you took my advice and found a new author in Denver. Well done.”
“Thank you.” I don’t preen at the compliment because, if I know Suzanna, there’s an edge to it that’s coming next. That has happened more times than I can count. Fool me once, and all that.
“I called this meeting because I wanted to talk strategy with you. If everything you’ve told me is true, this author could be big.”
“She will be,” I say. “Casey Endersen asked me to sign her because of her potential to be a bestseller.”
Suzanna frowns, at least as much as she can given her quarterly Botox injections. “I wasn’t aware that you didn’t sign her of your own volition.”
I keep my face carefully blank as I study her image on the screen. “It was my choice,” I say slowly. “I met her in Denver and liked her manuscript enough to consider expanding my genres to young adult. Casey just gave me the push I needed to take the leap.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I hope you’re not thinking about an exclusive submission to this new imprint he’s heading up.”
There are two ways to play this with her—I could either tell her Imani is insisting on just that, or I could approach it from a strategic perspective. Since Suzanna is of the mind that what’s best for the agency—in this case, bigger deals—is best for the writers, I go with option two.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a guaranteed offer on a manuscript that isn’t even finished yet. Not only that, but it’s a series, and Starlight is prepared to offer top dollar and position it as their lead title this season.”
Suzanna narrows her eyes. “If that’s the case, then you can use that as leverage to get an even better deal elsewhere.”
“I could,” I concede. “I brought up the possibility with Imani. The problem is that there are no guarantees, and it will undoubtedly be a slow process during which Starlight could be looking for someone else to fill the lead slot.” That’s probably not true, but Suzanna doesn’t know that.
“And the manuscript is unfinished,” I remind her. “That makes it a harder sell.”
“An existing offer will negate the lack of ending,” Suzanna responds quickly.
“Starlight is newly acquired,” I counter. “They want to move fast.”
A smile curls on Suzanna’s pink lips. “Ah, but I have new information for you. I have it on good authority that Morgan & Danielson saw what JMP was doing with Starlight and are starting their own young adult imprint, too. This is brand new—I was only notified this morning. They’ll need a lead title as well, and they’ll also want to move quickly. ”
I have to stifle the groan that wants to rise up out of me. The thing I hate most about this industry is how every press wants to copy the success of another—from similar titles positioned as rival books to, apparently, genre-specific imprints.
“Ultimately, this is up to Imani,” I say. “She’s going to be a heavy-hitter, and we’ll want to keep her happy.”
“Of course,” Suzanna croons. “I’m not asking that you force anything on her.
But if you wanted to use your considerable powers of persuasion to strongly suggest the idea, that would be smart.
” She gives me a pointed look, and I am left with the disturbing sense that nothing I said was persuasive at all.
She was just letting me work as an exercise.
My fingers twitch in my lap, and I hate how easily my newfound confidence has been chipped. “I’ll ask her.”
“Good.” Suzanna smiles again. “Talk soon.”
The screen goes blank. My head hits the desk as I let out that groan I held in.
Of course we can’t just be happy with a quick, exclusive offer on a series.
There has to be competition. Which shouldn’t surprise me.
Suzanna thrives on contention. She probably drinks the tears of her adversaries for breakfast.
Luckily, this is Casey we’re talking about. He’s a fair negotiator, wants to pay Imani what she’s worth, and…bonus, I like talking to him.
So I pick up the phone to make the call.