20. Casey
CASEY
Fucking Ashton Cochran. I almost can’t believe it when his name pops up on my phone screen just before close of business.
I had been so distracted by Robert’s solo field trip that I had all but forgotten about this new young adult imprint at Morgan & Danielson.
But when I got back into the office the next week and opened my email to find another author’s agent telling me they were jumping ship, my rage was stoked anew.
I did a little digging. It didn’t take long for the headline Ashton Cochran named as publishing director for Morgan & Danielson’s new YA imprint, Halo Sun Press to pop up.
Halo Sun. That’s no accident. He intends to outshine Starlight.
And when Ashton’s call comes through about a week later, I just know it’s to gloat.
I press the green Accept Call button and his smug face fills the screen. He’s wearing a hard smile, his eyebrows deliberately raised.
“You move fast, Cochran,” I say, my voice tight and clipped.
He cocks his head to the side, a mocking pout on his lips. “Come on now, Endersen. No congratulations? I worked hard for this.”
The clear implication there is that I didn’t, but I let it go for the sake of decorum. “I’m sure you did.”
“Look, I’m just calling to give you a heads up. Last I heard, a bunch of Starlight authors were looking for a new home, and M&D doesn’t fuck around. My unofficial directive from the higher-ups is to bury you. I have a lot of money for new acquisitions. A lot.”
“Do you have marketing plans with any teeth to back up the fancy, bloated advances you’re going to offer?” I ask.
His smirk falters only briefly, but it’s too late.
I see it. He’s not equipped to handle this role, as much as he wants to be.
And knowing what I do about Morgan & Danielson, they didn’t set him up with any kind of training or mentorship.
He saw an opportunity he was about fifty percent qualified for, went for it, and they told him, “Good luck!”
I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t so arrogant.
Ashton glances off screen as he tries to recover. “You and I both know it’s always about the money.”
That is what we were taught in college. It’s a belief I held for a long time, actually. Until Scarlett came back and told us in no uncertain terms that she would not risk the type of burnout she experienced again no matter how much money we offered or how many books she sold.
I’m ashamed to admit I hadn’t thought about the mental toll of publishing before that.
It was always sell, sell, sell at any cost. Everyone had just gone along with it unquestioningly.
Turns out that if you burn the candle at both ends, it goes out a lot faster.
I won’t let that happen to my authors if I can help it.
I narrow my eyes at my phone screen. “Maybe for you. I’m playing the long game.”
Ashton laughs sharply. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, Endersen.”
Shrugging and trying to affect as much of an air of nonchalance as I can, I say, “At least I don’t have to poach authors from other publishers to get off the ground.”
That mocking pout is back, but with a scolding air. “Right. The whole world is out to get you. Set it up that way now so if you fail, it won’t be your fault.” He looks upward, reconsidering. “Not a bad plan, actually.”
“That’s not what I’m doing because I won’t fail. I can guarantee you that.”
Ryan appears in my doorway, and I’ve never been so grateful to be interrupted in my life. He sees I’m talking to someone, waves, and turns to leave, but I wave him in.
“Look, Ashton, I have a meeting.” I muster up all the goodwill I can. “Best of luck to you.”
“Sure. Same,” he says and disconnects the call.
Ryan sits in one of the chairs facing my desk with a huff. “Ashton Cochran?”
“The one and only.”
He grimaces. “I never liked that guy. Couldn’t tell you why, though.”
I could give him plenty of reasons, but I simply say, “He almost signed Charles Hall this year.”
He makes a gagging noise in the back of his throat, and I have to smile at the dramatics.
I truly think that if Ryan had a violent bone in his body, he would have punched Charles in the face when he found out Charles had publicly outed Scarlett’s new pen name for her comeback novel.
Instead, he quietly ruined his chances at a deal with JMP and Anastasios.
In many ways, that was probably more effective revenge.
“What did Ashton want?” Ryan leans back in his chair and crosses an ankle over his knee.
“To gloat, probably,” I grumble.
Ryan already knows about all of this publishing intrigue and how I’ve been losing writers.
He was one of the first people I told of my suspicions with the hope that he had some idea about what to do.
We both came up empty. If writers want to take new manuscripts elsewhere, there’s not much anyone can do to stop them aside from prove it’s enticing for them to circle back.
“Have you settled on a deal with Imani?” he asks.
I shake my head. I actually haven’t spoken with Trina since she dropped Robert and me at my condo about a week ago.
As much as I wanted to drive straight to her place and bury myself inside her once Robert was settled, I resisted the urge.
To no one’s surprise, she fit seamlessly with us at the restaurant.
She’s always been able to mold herself to a wide variety of audiences.
But I could tell she was uneasy. Her fingers would wiggle in her lap every so often, or she’d pinch the fabric of her skirt and rub it.
Her smiles were bright, but not quite as wide as they usually are.
She was guarded, and when we got out of her car, I think she was a little relieved.
The whole situation was so far outside of the spoken and unspoken boundaries we had originally set for our relationship that I can’t be surprised at how she reacted.
I was stunned but so happy when she came up to my place and offered her help.
But that doesn’t change the fact that we’ve crossed into personal territory we never meant to explore.
So I made the executive decision to let her process everything in her own time. She’ll come to me when she’s ready.
But I miss her. Not just her body. Her. The boisterousness of her laughter, the strawberry scent of her hair, the way she makes everyone in the room feel smarter and more capable than they believe they are even as she works to get the offer she wants.
There’s no part of me that regrets opening up to her in a more personal way.
In fact, I wish she’d do the same. But I don’t think I can ignore the fact that I’ve fallen for her at the worst possible time—just before we need to seriously negotiate a deal for my very first lead title as editorial director.
Somehow, I’m going to have to pack these feelings away, which is getting harder and harder to do.
Ryan smirks. “Is Trina being difficult?”
“Still time to rephrase that question, Whitlock.” Trina’s voice carries down the hallway outside of my office and a moment later, she appears in the doorway.
My heart skips. She looks like she always does—her hair in messy waves to her shoulders, her white T-shirt knotted at her waist and her tiered, purple skirt brushing softly against her calves.
She folds her arms across her chest and cocks her hip, pursing those raspberry lips in Ryan’s direction.
Same sass, same confidence. And yet…different. I can’t put my finger on why.
She flicks her hazel eyes to me and her expression softens for a moment before she turns her attention back to Ryan. “Who’re you calling difficult?”
“Never you,” he jokes.
“Mm,” she hums. “I thought not. How’s Scarlett?” She comes fully into the room and takes the other seat next to him.
When he faces her, his entire expression has changed. His smile is proud, and his demeanor is more relaxed.
“She’s great. Everything is going really well, though I think she’s starting to get bored. She’s been writing a lot. She mentioned she was going to call you soon.”
Trina wiggles excitedly in her seat. “Good. I’d love to hear from her.” She shoots Ryan a serious look. “Not just about work.”
He chuckles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’ll tell her.” Glancing between the two of us, he stands. “I take it you two have some business. I’ll leave you to it.” He points at me. “Let the trash take itself out, Casey. It almost always does.”
Huffing a laugh, I nod. “Excellent advice. I’ll engrave it on a plaque as a reminder.”
“You absolutely should.” He waves as he reaches the door. “Don’t stay too late. Almost everyone is gone for the night.” And then he leaves, closing my office door behind him.
There’s a moment of tense silence between Trina and me. We study each other for a moment, neither of us seeming like we want to make the first move.
“Hi,” she says eventually.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Imani finished her manuscript.” She dips her chin toward my computer. “You should have it now.”
Without looking at the laptop, I close it. “You drove all the way out here to tell me that?”
“Would you believe I was in the area?” she hedges.
No, I wouldn’t. She lives in the city and has no reason to come out here aside from visiting the press offices, and as far as I know, she doesn’t have any work with any of the other editors in the building right now.
But Trina has always loved a negotiation, and this feels like a warmup.
“Were you?” I return.
Her lips form a fine line, and she narrows her eyes again. “No. I…uh… I wanted to apologize.”
That’s surprising. My eyebrows shoot up my forehead involuntarily. “For what?”