29. Trina
TRINA
I’d say this has been the worst seventy-two hours of my life, but it hasn’t. Definitely a close second, though, considering I’ve spent most of it feeling like I have a terrible hangover despite not having touched even a drop of alcohol.
Completely without my permission, my brain is working on overdrive.
When I’m asleep, it replays the more devastating scenes from my youth.
When I’m awake, it alternates between the look of pain on Casey’s face when I asked him about Halo Sun and the dry coldness in his tone when I called him the next day.
He’s true to his word and delivers what looks like a pretty good publicity plan an hour after we hang up.
Contrary to whatever he was upset about, there was never a doubt in my mind about whether or not he could handle this job.
But if I had any concerns, this plan would have put them to rest. It’s clear he has his best people working on Imani’s book.
Regardless, I spend the rest of the day going over it myself and making notes, then two hours the next day walking Imani through it, pulling on every bit of experience I have to reassure her that this will work.
That’s not fun, either—dredging up memories of Scarlett’s tours and the string of interviews and appearances that eventually broke her.
She disappeared for years, and I have to clench my teeth through the memory of how devastating that was for everyone, including me.
That won’t happen to Imani. Not if I can help it. From the plan, it seems that Casey won’t let that happen either. He’s been incredibly thoughtful in scheduling breaks and rest for her. We all learned a lot from Scarlett.
“Do I really need to be home for two whole weeks the month before release?” Imani asks after reviewing the schedule. “And another week between interviews in New York and LA? I can do more.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I shake my head. “It seems like you can do it all on paper but trust us. You’ll need that time to recharge for the next leg of the tour.”
“I don’t need to recharge,” she insists. “I need to sell books. I definitely need to sell more than that asshole,” she mutters.
I had warred with myself over whether or not to tell Imani everything that was going on with Halo Sun. Ultimately, I decided she deserved to know about Ashton, if only as reassurance that she had made the right choice to go with Starlight.
“I admire the drive,” I tell her, “but my job is to make sure you sell more than that asshole over the length of a hopefully very long career. That means taking scheduled breaks so you don’t burn out. I have some experience in this area.”
She’s quiet for a minute, her face scrunched up as she thinks, then obviously doesn’t like that I’m right. “Fine.”
“Besides, if I know Casey at all”—and the realization that I do know him well slams into me so hard, I need to swallow before continuing—“you’ll have a stunning cover. Bookstore placement. The team will be running ads. You name it.”
“I’m just nervous,” Imani admits after a long pause.
“It’s nerve-racking,” I agree. “There’s so much that’s out of your control, but believe me when I say no one wants Ashton Cochran or Halo Sun to win this round.” I level a look at the screen. “They won’t.”
Her face set in determination, Imani nods. “Okay.” Her shoulders slump a little, and her expression falls. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”
A notification from Suzanna pops up on the bottom right of my screen. I clear it before I have a chance to see what it’s about. Imani is far more important right now. Suzanna can wait.
“Don’t you dare apologize, Imani.” I look straight into the screen as if I can cross the miles between us and drive the point home.
“Don’t ever say you’re sorry for taking up space and advocating for yourself or your work.
I care deeply, and so does Casey”—the pang is sharper this time, but I push through it—“but no one cares about your stories as much as you do. We want you to demand what’s best for them, and for you. ”
Her eyebrows pinch upward and her nostrils flare as she clearly tries to hide some emotion threatening to well up. “Thanks, Trina.”
“Of course. If anything else comes up, text or email or call, okay?”
“Will do.” She smiles and waves before ending the call.
The back of my head hits the chair as I stare up at the ceiling, trying to stem the tide of tears that threatened to rise several times during that call.
I’m not sorry for bringing up Imani’s concern, but I am sorry Casey ever thought I was insinuating he was bad at his job.
He’s as thoughtful with Imani as he was with me, and I’m sure he gives the same care and consideration to all his authors.
It was never my intention to suggest I thought otherwise.
Truthfully, I didn’t mean to stay away from him for long.
I just needed some space to think, and after that stressful conversation, I knew there wasn’t much chance of a peaceful night’s sleep.
But after that phone call earlier, I don’t know if whatever happened between us can be repaired.
He was acting like I was just another thing on his to-do list to be checked off.
I knew he was too good to be true. I should have trusted my gut.
Now, I’ve had a taste of happiness that I desperately want to get back, but I can’t.
Maybe we could figure out how to work together, but that doesn’t change this feeling of abandonment that’s all too familiar.
First my mom, then Scarlett when she had her breakdown, and now Casey.
They say the third time’s the charm, but this is more like three strikes and you’re out.
I can’t keep opening myself up like this only to be disappointed.
I knew I shouldn’t have in the first place.
There are tears streaming down my face when my phone rings.
Like always, I freeze with my heart in my throat.
It would be so fitting for the universe to throw me my mom’s phone call right now—a giant kick while I’m already down.
But at the second ring, I’m swiping the tears away from my eyes and checking my phone screen to see Suzanna’s name.
I’m not entirely sure hearing from Suzanna is better than hearing from my mom, but I answer it anyway. Duty calls.
“Hello?”
“Do you not respond to your emails anymore?” Suzanna sounds like she passed annoyed about five miles ago and is now rounding the bend into pissed off. I’m glad we’re not on a video call so she can’t see how far back into my head my eyes roll.
“I was on a call with Imani. We were discussing the plan for publicity that just came from Starlight.” I give myself a mental pat on the back for refraining from reminding her that her email came in less than five minutes ago.
“Ah. Starlight. Your publishing house of choice.” She sounds like I’ve just given her the opening she wanted.
I sit up straight in my chair. “What do you mean?”
“I know you didn’t submit Keeper of Secrets to Halo Sun like I suggested.”
This isn’t the gotcha moment she seems to think it is. We talked about this before, but I remind her anyway. “Imani wanted to go with an exclusive submission, and the offer was excellent. She trusted Casey with her work.”
“And I’m sure you did your best to persuade her that an exclusive submission wasn’t in her best interests as a debut author.” Suzanna’s voice is full of sarcasm.
I fall quiet because, no, I did not try to persuade her of any such thing. It was important for her to work with Casey, and I wanted to respect that.
“That’s what I thought,” she says, vindicated. “What I don’t understand, though, is why you had to get in the way of Isabella’s deal with them.”
“Why I…what?”
“Did you or did you not tell Isabella not to consider a deal with Halo Sun?”
“I…” If she’s asking the question, she already knows the answer. There’s no sense in lying about it. “Ashton Cochran has been spreading lies about Starlight and poaching authors. That’s what Imani was so concerned about and why we were talking about publicity.”
“Did you ever consider that they aren’t lies? That Starlight truly isn’t equipped to handle these authors?”
“No,” I answer automatically. I wish Casey could hear it, because I never doubted him.
Even if I felt I had to ask the questions, I never thought any of it was true.
And now I’m seeing about a hundred different ways I could have broached the topic that would have been gentler and not played into what is clearly his raging imposter syndrome.
“No?” Suzanna asks, surprised. “And why not?”
“Casey and I have worked together a lot over the years,” I remind her. “And even if we hadn’t, it speaks volumes that Ashton has felt the need to talk poorly about him to other authors. Casey would never stoop that low.”
“Regardless, this is twice now that you’ve cost the agency a significant financial loss.”
“What?” I bite out. That’s a stretch. I’m not surprised someone like Suzanna wouldn’t have the same moral grounding as Isabella and me when it comes to which publishing houses we work with. But to say outright that we’ve lost out on some grand payout isn’t true. It’s speculation at best.
“By not using a potential counteroffer from Halo Sun to drive up Starlight’s offer, and by turning Isabella away from doing the same, you’ve cost the agency money.”
“You don’t know that Halo Sun’s offer would have been any better.
” I’d be willing to bet it wouldn’t have been, and she knows it.
She’s reaching, and I’m not sure why. I’ve consistently been one of her most hardworking and dedicated agents—she’s said as much to me in the past. I have no idea where this is coming from.
“But it could have been. As such, I’m issuing you a formal warning and putting you on a probationary period during which time—”
“Fuck that,” I say without much thought. Too late, I clamp my mouth shut. I hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but it’s out there now.
“Excuse me?” She sounds genuinely shocked.