Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
A lot could change in an hour.
For Melody, it already had…thanks to Carmen’s quick call.
She marched into Nate's office, her blood practically boiling. The sleek, modern decor that once impressed her now felt cold and impersonal, much like the deal she was there to discuss. Nate looked up from his desk, his blue eyes widening slightly at her thunderous expression.
"Melody, I—"
"Save it, Carlisle," she interrupted, slamming the door behind her. "I just got another call from my agent Carmen on the way in. And now? I want answers, and I want them now. What's this ghostwriting deal really about?"
Nate sighed, his hand flexing over the knot of his perfect tie. His “tell” for stress. Good. He should be stressed.
"How much do you know?" he asked cautiously.
She laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "Oh, not much. Just that your father wants to turn me into some kind of romance-writing robot. Care to fill in the blanks?"
Nate stood, circling his desk to lean against it. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne, a scent that usually made her knees weak. Right now, it just made her angrier.
"Melody, it's not what you think. The deal is—"
"A betrayal?" she finished for him. "A complete disregard for my artistic integrity?"
His jaw clenched. "It's a business opportunity. A chance to reach a wider audience."
She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. "By writing badly punned romances under a fake name? That's not reaching an audience, Nate. That's selling out."
"It's not selling out," he argued, his voice rising to match hers. "It's being smart. Do you have any idea how competitive this industry is?"
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Of course I do! But I'd rather struggle and stay true to my voice than churn out soulless drivel for a paycheck."
Nate's eyes flashed, the ocean-blue hue growing darker. “Soulless drivel? That's a bit harsh, don't you think? Millions of people read and love those books."
"And good for them. But that's not what I write. That's not who I am as an author."
They were standing toe to toe now, the air inside his office growing warm. Part of her wanted to slap him. Another part... well, let's not go there.
"Who you are as an author," Nate said, his voice low, deep—intense, "is talented. Passionate. But also stubborn as hell. This deal could set you up for life, Melody. Give you the freedom to write whatever you want."
"Freedom? By signing away my creative control? That's not freedom, Nate. That's a gilded cage."
He ran a hand over his face, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Why can't you see this as an opportunity? A chance to grow your brand, reach new readers?"
"My brand? Is that all I am to you? To Carlisle Publishing? A brand to be marketed and sold?"
“What? No, of course not. Melody, you're—"
"I'm what, Nate?" she challenged, stepping even closer. "An asset? A commodity? Another notch in the company’s belt?"
His gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw a glimpse of the Nate she had come to... appreciate. "You're so much more than that, Melody. You're a brilliant writer with a unique voice. That's why we want to work with you."
She shook her head, feeling a lump form in her throat. "No, you want to change me. Mold me into something more... palatable.”
Nate reached out, his hand hovering near her arm before dropping back to his side. "That's not true. We want to amplify your voice, not silence it."
"By having me write under a different name? By dictating plots and characters? How is that amplifying my voice?"
He sighed, leaning back against his desk. "It's about balance, Melody. Finding a way to stay true to your art while also... playing the game."
"The game?" she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. “I gotta tell you, Carlisle. I’ve never been good at playing games. And I wouldn’t exactly compare my entire writing career to a round of Tiddlywinks.”
“What we’re doing here is far from Tiddlywinks, Mel. Though, I wish you had picked a different game to make analogies with.”Nate's eyebrows bobbed. “What we’re doing here is business. A business that needs to make money to survive. To keep publishing books, including yours."
She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back. "So that's it, then? Profit over passion? Money over meaning?"
"It doesn't have to be one or the other. We can find a middle ground."
She shook her head, stepping back. The distance between them felt like a chasm now. "There is no middle ground, Nate. Not when it comes to my integrity as a writer."
He reached for her again, and this time she let him grasp her arm. His touch sent a spark through her, even now. "Melody, slow down. Just... think about it. Give it a chance."
She looked into his eyes, searching for... she didn't know what. Understanding? Sympathy? All she saw was the cool calculation of a businessman.
"I trusted you, Nate," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought you understood my work, respected it."
His grip on her arm tightened slightly. "I do respect it. That's why I'm fighting for this deal. It could open so many doors for you."
She pulled her arm away, suddenly feeling cold. "The only door I see is the one leading me away from everything I believe in as a writer."
Nate's expression hardened. "So that's it? You won't even consider it?"
She straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. "There's nothing to consider. I won't do it, Nate. I won't sell my soul for a paycheck."
He flinched as if she had slapped him. "Is that what you think we're asking you to do?"
"Aren't you? You want me to write books I don't believe in, under a name that isn't mine, for readers who won't even know it's me. How is that not selling my soul?"
"It's called diversifying. Building a career that can withstand the ups and downs of the industry."
"Right. Because God forbid I write books that actually mean something, even if they don't top the bestseller lists."
"That's not fair.” His professional mask slipped before he shoved it back in place. “Your books do mean something. But they could mean something to even more people if you'd just—"
"If I'd just what?" she interrupted. "Compromise? Conform? Become another cog in the Carlisle Publishing machine?”She turned towards the door. "I thought you were different, Nate. I thought you understood. But you're just like all the rest. All you see are dollar signs and market shares."
She reached for the door handle, but Nate's voice stopped her. "Melody…Dammit. Hold on. We can talk about this."
She turned back, seeing the desperation in his eyes. For a moment, she wavered. But then she remembered the contract, the cold, corporate language that would strip away everything unique about her writing.
Nate took a step towards her. "Don't do this, Melody. Don't throw away this chance."
She met his gaze one last time. Anger and a hint of regret burned beneath her breast. "The only thing I'm throwing away is the illusion that you ever really cared about my work."
As she turned to leave, she heard her mother's laugh in her head—that warm, knowing chuckle she'd give when Melody was being particularly stubborn.
That's my girl, she'd say. Stand your ground, baby. The right people will understand.
With that, she wrenched open the door and strode out, ignoring Nate's calls behind her. As she marched through the office, past startled employees and gleaming corporate art, she felt a strange mix of emotions churning inside her.
Anger at Nate and Carlisle Publishing for trying to change her. Disappointment in herself for ever believing they truly understood her vision. And underneath it all, a tiny, traitorous spark of doubt. Was she making a mistake?
She pushed the thought away as she stepped into the elevator. No. She was standing up for her principles, for her art. And if that meant walking away from Carlisle Publishing and Nate Carlisle... so be it.
As the elevator doors closed, she caught a glimpse of Nate in the hallway, his expression a mix of frustration and something that looked almost like regret. But it was too late for regrets now.
She had made her choice. Now she just had to live with it.