26. Casey #2
Because Ashton is an asshole who doesn’t deserve my time. Because I don’t want to taint Trina’s view of him in case she ever ends up working with him in the future. But saying so would surely tarnish his reputation in her eyes anyway, so I ask, “What did Imani say?”
Hurt flashes over Trina’s delicate features. “You’re being evasive again.” When I don’t respond, she presses her lips tightly together. “Have you heard back from Isabella about your offer?”
“No,” I say slowly. “What does that have to do with Imani? And what does any of it have to do with Halo Sun?”
“Imani is friends with the author, apparently. Or they connected recently somehow? I’m not sure.
Halo Sun countered your offer, but someone over there bypassed Isabella to tell the author you don’t have the money or editorial resources to do her book justice.
She reached out to Imani to ask about her experience with Starlight so far, and Imani got worried.
” She runs a hand through her hair, grabbing it between her fingers in frustration.
“I don’t want to ask where he got that information, or if it’s true. ”
Fucking Ashton Cochran. I knew something was going on. Turns out he’s spreading lies about me and trying to poach my writers. He’s playing right into my imposter syndrome I’m sure he sensed in Denver, and his knowledge that I’ll never fight dirty like he’s doing.
But what hurts the most is that Trina would even consider the possibility. “You shouldn’t have to ask, Trina. It’s me. You know me.”
That must have been exactly the wrong thing to say. Letting go of her hair, she takes a step backward. One step backward, and I can already feel her drawing into herself and away from me.
“My author called with a legitimate concern about something you’ve been cryptic about for a while now. I have to ask you.” She swallows hard. “This isn’t about us, Casey. This is about work.”
I lean forward, trying to drive the point home. “Of course it’s not true.”
She chews on her bottom lip, clearly trying to decide whether or not she wants to continue. “You’ve been saying Starlight authors are looking for greener pastures. Why is that?”
It hurts that she even has to ask. No, it doesn't just hurt. It pokes a deep, dark part of my insecurities that I’d rather leave alone.
But I know she needs an answer, so I steel myself.
“If I had to guess, it’s because Ashton Cochran is telling them I’m incompetent or I don’t have the funds to pay out advances.
” I raise my arm and let it slap against my side.
“It’s a lie. You know I can do this, Trina.
” It comes out more desperate than I want it to, but the truth of the matter is that I can handle anything but her seeing this weakness of mine.
I want to be good enough in her eyes, and right now, I sense that she sees a chink in my armor.
“Ashton Cochran, the publishing director?” she asks quietly.
I nod. “We went to school together. We were…friendly. But he’s the type of person who will step on anyone to get ahead.”
Trina’s gaze drops to the floor. “You didn’t tell me this because I’ve got young adult on my list now.”
It’s not a question, but I answer her anyway. “I didn’t want to hold you back from any possible deals with him.” It takes a lot of effort, but I add, “I’m sure he’ll run a good press.”
She thinks for a moment, wiggling her bottom lip between her teeth. Slowly, her gaze rises off the floor to meet mine. “I wouldn’t want to work with anyone who doesn’t play fair. You could have told me.”
“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be loyal to me just because we were…” I trail off and shrug.
“Fucking.”
It’s like she sunk the dagger in deeper with that word, but that is all it was, wasn’t it? Not anymore, but that’s where we started. I nod.
Trina brings her hands to the top of her head, clenching her hair again before letting them fall to her sides.
“This is why agents shouldn’t sleep with editors.
We can’t be objective or fair.” She sounds like she’s talking to herself, but the knife twists in my chest regardless.
She faces me fully, her legs planted wide and chin raised.
“You’re guilty of it too, by the way. Telling me I shouldn’t have to ask because it’s you.
I didn’t want to, but when my author brings me a concern, I have to be able to talk to her editor about it.
Can you be her editor and my boyfriend, Casey? ”
It's the first time she’s ever called me her boyfriend out loud, and I like the way it sounds.
I want to be more than that. But most of all, I want her to see me as worthy.
As capable. As someone who she wouldn’t even consider questioning in a situation like this.
The fact that she doesn’t see me that way hurts more than all of it.
And with the way writers are flocking to Ashton, maybe she shouldn’t.
The worst part about it all is that she’s right. On one hand, I tried to honor the separation between us and our jobs. On the other, I want her to trust me because she knows me. It was hypocritical. And neither is fair to her.
When I don’t respond right away, her shoulders fall. “I think I should go.”
What the hell is happening? Twenty minutes ago, she was almost ready to spend the night. I shake my head. “Please don’t.”
“My job means a lot to me,” she says. “And so do you. But I don’t think this is a situation where we can have it all.”
I can sense that trying to stop her from leaving would not only be futile, it wouldn’t be good for her. She clearly needs space to think, and I’m going to have to hold on to what she just said—that I mean a lot to her. Maybe that’s enough for her to come back.
“Let me drive you,” I plead softly. I tell myself it’s almost night in Chicago, and even though she’s made this trip herself many times, I want her to be safe. But in reality, I want to be with her, even for just a few moments more. Even in tense silence.
“I have my car here.” Maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she sounds full of regret. Like maybe this isn’t at all what she wants.
But I don’t know how to make her stay, or even if that would be a good idea when she seems set on going. So I try something else, even though it feels painfully like a negotiation. I pray it’s not our last. “Can you call me from the car? So I know you got home?”
In silence, she checks her phone then shoves it in her purse.
Sliding her feet into her sandals, she pauses with her hand on the doorknob.
“I need to work fast to fix this,” she says without looking at me.
“I’ll be making calls on my way.” Her shoulders slump slightly as her gaze searches the ground.
“But I’ll text you when I get home. I promise. ”
I can’t respond because the pain in my chest is unbearable as she opens the door and leaves, shutting it softly behind her.