Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
J asmine sat cross-legged on the window seat, head bent over a book, with a massive fleece blanket pooled around her.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” she chanted, smacking her knee as the story reached its glorious, devastating climax. She grabbed handfuls of the blanket and let out a stifled shriek as she blitzed through the final pages. Then she stared at the last one, refusing to believe what was written there. “No!” she wailed, slumping against the glass with the book splayed on her chest as she stared into the abyss, distraught and shaken to the core.
Johanna Ledger’s latest book was everything Sarai had promised it would be and more. Ballad of Deception , the second chance, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers triangle with slow burn and angst, had left her emotionally depleted and numb. Sarai had been gushing about the book on the jet and said it was one of the best stories Johanna had written in years. Jasmine had taken that with a grain of salt, but now that she’d read it, she one hundred percent agreed. She hadn’t been so thoroughly immersed in a book in years.
Johanna Ledger was a dark romance legend who’d been publishing for longer than Jasmine had been alive. Jasmine had stumbled across Johanna’s books when she was a teenager. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Johanna had changed her life. Not only had those stories introduced her to the darker aspects of the romance genre, which had molded her into the author she was today, but Johanna’s books had also emboldened her to leap into the affair that had permanently altered her course and planted the kinks Roth had later uncovered.
As Minnie Hess, she wrote pure fiction, with nothing borrowed from her real life. Because her family had known about her pen name, she made sure not to write anything too sexual, too negative, too evil. But when she started writing as Thalia, she released all inhibitions. Johanna Ledger had given her the courage to embrace her faults and mistakes and put them down on the page. Her dark desires, pain, fear... It poured out of her and connected with readers because it was authentic, vulnerable, and relatable.
Since Johanna was such a huge influence of hers, it was inevitable that her work would be grouped with Johanna’s. Not because their stories were similar, but because they possessed the same raw grittiness that attracted a particular type of reader. She didn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Johanna Ledger and was therefore always flattered when readers put their books on the same lists.
Johanna had been prolific in her younger years, coming out with hit after hit, but when the political and social tide began to change, her work became heavily criticized and deemed unacceptable. Johanna had adapted by watering down her stories to make them more palatable for the masses. But Ballad of Deception was a callback to her old work. Johanna hadn’t pulled her punches. No—she’d grabbed the reader by the throat and shoved them headlong into a disturbing nightmare that left Jasmine feeling unsettled, bereft, and desperate for more. In her humble opinion, this was the best thing Johanna had ever penned. Her unapologetic, uncompromising, and savage story had Jasmine in a fucking chokehold. What hell had Johanna been through to write such a brutal masterpiece?
She snatched up her phone to look up the reviews and wasn’t surprised by the controversy and pushback from the public. Thank God there were readers fighting to keep Johanna’s book from being booted from retailers. She threw her hat in the ring. She was late to the fight and didn’t have a fraction of Johanna’s audience, but even pebbles made ripples. Quickly, she made a post recommending Ballad of Deception to her readers, even though it would activate an avalanche of queries about her own book. Impulsively, she looked up Johanna Ledger’s account and clicked on the direct-message button. Her fingers trembled. She’d never messaged her hero, but she was high off the book, and her need to encourage her favorite author far outweighed the voice in the back of her mind that told her Johanna didn’t need another message clogging up her inbox.
“Just finished Ballad of Deception and I am speechless. I’ve been reading you since I was a teen and devoured everything you put out, but this... This is why I became an author. To rip someone’s heart out, have them thank me for the pain and beg for more. The way you craft stories is truly art. You’ve probably heard this thousands of times, but you are incredible, and I’m so thankful you’re still writing. If there’s anything I can do to keep your books on retailers, please let me know.”
Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send and immediately regretted it. Oh God. She sounded like a psycho fan. Well, she was, but...
Before she could freak out, Sarai’s name popped up on the screen, giving Jasmine’s anxiety an outlet.
“You!” she exploded as she leaped to her feet. “You lied to me!”
“I did?”
“You didn’t tell me Ballad of Deception was the first in a series.”
Sarai cackled. “You would have read it anyway.”
“That’s not the point,” she grouched.
“I saw your post on social media recommending the book. Do you want to dish? I’m out running errands. Roth’s stuck in meetings, so I have some downtime. Want to get a pumpkin chai latte?”
“Yes, oh my God,” she said fervently and put Sarai on speaker so she could text Mo and Johan as she hurried down the hallway to the bedroom. “Where do you want to meet?”
Before she hung up on Sarai, her clothes were already on the closet floor. Stuffing herself into jeans or something else fitted after days of comfy sweats would be unbearable, so she reached for a cream-colored sweater dress with a flared skirt. It was cozy and soft, and paired with knee-high boots and her caramel-colored coat, fairly fashionable. She popped into the bathroom to brush her hair and see if she looked presentable.
She hadn’t left the penthouse in days. There was no need to when there were multiple restaurants in the building and anything her heart desired (books) could be delivered within the hour. She was on a reading binge, devouring one or two books a day. She’d always had a voracious appetite for books. She needed stories like others needed food and water. If she didn’t get her literary fix, the color in her life started to fade. Her mind craved adventure, romance, and fantasy. Right now, she was high on it. The fact there was someone she could talk to who shared her taste in books was a fucking gift.
She was standing in front of the elevator when she realized she didn’t have her purse, phone, or wallet. Muttering under her breath, she ran to the bedroom. When she raced back, she found Johan waiting for her.
“Hi!” she said so exuberantly he jolted and gave her a wary once-over.
“Hi,” he replied cautiously.
She linked her arm through his and turned him toward the elevator. “I just finished the best book ever !”
She was so eager to talk about her book she didn’t try to peek at the code he typed into the keypad. She was perfectly content to remain trapped in her prison in the sky.
Johan didn’t try to extricate his arm as he escorted her through the lobby. She skipped at his side. However, when they stepped outside, she was forcefully reminded it was no longer autumn and she should be dressed in layers, not wearing a minidress, no matter how cute. The unforgiving winter air sliced through her coat and the loose cable knit material of her dress and sank its fangs into her bare legs. She hustled to the Bentley.
“Sounds interesting. I may need to read the book,” Johan said as she dove into the back seat.
“What book?” Mo asked.
“The best book I’ve ever read,” Jasmine gushed as she leaned between the fronts seats to pat him on the shoulder. “Long time no see. What have you two been up to?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as Johan slid into the seat beside him. “Training your second team.”
She turned to look through the back window as they pulled away from the curb. A black SUV pulled into traffic behind them.
“Training them to do what? Twiddle their thumbs?”
“To enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”
She faced forward and buckled her seat belt, grateful for the heated seats. “I’m not that bad.”
“No. You’re a dream client. Not demanding, compliant.” Dark eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror and crinkled in amusement when they spotted her disgruntled look. “You’d rather read than party at nightclubs until dawn, shop, or have affairs that could get us both killed.”
“You had a client like that?”
“Too many. Shadowing the spoiled wives or daughters of the rich and powerful is an exhausting, thankless, monotonous job.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”
“Be flattered,” Johan suggested.
“I’ll have you know, I did manage to slip past my other security team,” she said with her nose in the air.
“Yes. We were briefed on that and told it can’t happen in the future.”
Slightly mollified, Jasmine asked, “Don’t you think the second team is overkill?”
Again, Mo’s gaze flicked up to her in the rearview mirror before he shook his head.
“Why?” she prompted when she realized he wasn’t going to elaborate.
Johan turned his head toward his partner. She wished she could see his expression, but the headrest was in the way. Mo was silent as he stopped at a traffic light. He seemed to be weighing his words before he spoke.
“Your husband’s a wealthy man,” he said.
“Yes,” she acknowledged.
“You’re a wealthy woman.”
Her eyes narrowed.
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “With wealth comes power, and with power comes enemies.”
“I don’t have enemies.”
“The fact you believe that is why you need security.”
She jerked forward so abruptly her seat belt locked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He glanced to the right. “We’re here.”
“This talk isn’t over,” she said to Mo as Johan opened her door.
When she stepped onto the sidewalk, Johan tapped her arm to signal her to wait. Jasmine glanced back as two men slipped out of the black SUV and ambled toward a neighboring store. They didn’t look in their direction, and they weren’t dressed like Mo and Johan, who favored suits. Instead, these men were dressed in casual streetwear. She blew out a gust of white air and stomped her feet before looking up at the sky. She hadn’t checked the forecast, but it looked like they might get their first snow of the season.
When Johan gestured to the café, she didn’t dally. She thanked the man who held the door open for her and stepped into Life & Coffee. The first thing she noticed was the suspended greenery over the coffee bar and the exposed brick walls. There was a worn leather couch in the corner and as many little tables as the space would allow. Sarai waved from a spot she’d managed to snag against the wall. Jasmine waved back and went up to the counter, with Johan at her back.
“See anything you want?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me.”
She glanced back and saw her extra bodyguards hadn’t entered the café. They were hanging out on the sidewalk. “Should we get them coffee?”
“I’ll take care of them.”
She stepped up to the counter to order a maple latte and a pistachio croissant. It was an odd combination, but she had a strong craving for sweets that she needed to assuage. She realized she wasn’t alone in her quest when she saw Sarai had a plate of large, gooey cookies in front of her and a pumpkin chai latte.
“You made good time,” Sarai said, not acknowledging Johan as he passed their table to check out the back half of the room, which was divided by a massive bookshelf.
“I’ve never seen anyone navigate traffic better than they do,” she said, closing her eyes to savor her first sip of her piping-hot drink.
“That’s their expertise.”
Her eyes opened to find Sarai daintily nibbling on a gingerbread cookie. “It’s their expertise to navigate traffic?”
Sarai’s large brown eyes followed Johan as he backtracked, apparently satisfied none of the hipsters or men in suits were assassins. “They’re tactical experts, proficient behind the wheel, have medical training and led highly decorated military careers...” Sarai waved her hand. “You know, the usual.”
Jasmine set down her cup. “No, I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about the details. That’s their job. So. ” Sarai propped her chin on her hands. “Tell me what you think about Ballad of Deception .”
If the book weren’t so fresh in her mind, she wouldn’t have let Sarai get away with changing the subject. But her need to discuss the story trumped her curiosity about Mo and Johan’s qualifications. She launched into a spirited analysis of her latest obsession, which had kept her riveted for two days and left her with internal injuries.
“And now there’s a sequel !” She cringed when Sarai gave her a pointed look. “I know, I’m a hypocrite, but this isn’t about me—it’s about Johanna Ledger and her twisted mind keeping me up at night.” When Sarai continued to stare, she let out a disgusted sound and slouched in her seat with her arms crossed. “Leave me alone.”
“Speaking of, how’s your writing coming along?”
“I haven’t been writing. Just reading,” she said testily as her boot bounced.
“That’s good. Books like Ballad of Deception will inspire your own work, right?”
Jasmine took refuge in a long sip of coffee and finished off her croissant. Sarai looked especially chic today in a black sweater-vest belted at the waist, a white long-sleeve and fitted black pants that fit snugly into ankle boots.
When Sarai didn’t fill the silence and continued to stare at her, she caved. “I don’t think I can write Juliet’s book.”
Sarai’s eyes flared. “Why not?”
“This thing with me and Roth...” she began but stopped when she remembered she was talking to his employee, not her girlfriend.
“What about it? Everything seems perfect.” Sarai gestured to Jasmine’s original wedding ring on her right hand, which she had yet to take off. “He leaves the office by seven most days, and yesterday, six o’clock! No one can believe it. I assumed all was well.”
“It is.” Her cheeks felt a little hot. What the hell was she blushing like a teenager for? “We’re good.” She reconsidered and amended, “Great.”
They were acting like a real married couple with Roth leaving work at a decent hour so they could have dinner together. After, he retired to his home office while she cozied up with a book until he decided it was time to play. The past two nights, he had to be extra persuasive to convince her to put down Johanna Ledger’s book. He was miffed that she went back to reading after two orgasms, so she coaxed him to put his head on her lap and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. They’d spent more time together this week than they had in their first month of marriage. It was idyllic. She couldn’t ask for more.
“If things are great in your relationship, wouldn’t that make it easier for you to write the same for Rex and Juliet, or is that not how it works?” Sarai looked a bit distraught as she struggled to understand the mind of a writer.
Maximus’ conditioning made her hesitate. It had been drilled into her and her sisters not to confide in anyone outside of the family. Vulnerabilities could be used as weapons, so they learned to keep their own counsel… Look where that had gotten them. Ariana was an addict, Colette was a workaholic, and she lived in a dream world.
She had to remind herself that just because her family had never understood her, didn’t mean others wouldn’t. Readers from all over the globe empathized with Juliet’s plight. It was just her luck that her flesh and blood insisted on seeing her in the worst possible light. It was time she found people who accepted for who she was.
She was getting there. Not a day passed where she didn’t hear from Johnny, Penelope, Kira, and, unfortunately, Daiyu (whom she was blatantly ignoring), and she was sitting across from a woman who was dead set on her living a happily ever after. Sarai had never been put off by Jasmine’s prickly nature. She took everything in stride and was in the unique position of knowing both the professional and personal sides of Jasmine’s life. If anyone would under her dilemma, it was Roth’s personal assistant.
She snagged the last quarter of Sarai’s gingerbread cookie and cautiously lowered her guard. “This thing with Roth coming back into my life and us remarrying is so...”
“Unexpected?”
Understatement of the year, but... “Yes. My dad passed, and we saw each other for the first time in five years, and...” Her hand wove through the air to encompass everything that had happened since. “It’s too real, too fresh, too in my face. I haven’t had a chance to process or adapt to any of it. I can’t write what’s happening to me as it’s happening. It doesn’t work like that. I usually write in retrospect. I need more space, more...”
“Time?”
She nodded. “Lots of it.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
She dusted the crumbs off the table and onto her empty plate. “I was thinking of finishing some old projects.”
Sarai brightened. “What projects? Are you going back to writing as Minnie Hess?” Sarai placed both hands flat on the table. “You have stories just sitting on your computer that no one’s ever seen?” She let out a squeal that made a man sitting at the next table jump. “I can’t stand the suspense. Can I read what you have?”
Jasmine pulled back as she was battered by Sarai’s hyper energy. “You’re scaring me.”
Sarai ignored that and bounced in her seat. “I mean, I hate that the next book for Thalia Crane is being postponed, but I can deal, since I have a hint of what’s to come.” Sarai gave her an exaggerated wink before clapping her hands together. “But I also love your work as Minnie Hess, so if that’s what you’re going to work on, that’s still a win. I’ve read everything you’ve published. I can’t stand knowing there’s something you’ve written that I haven’t gotten my hands on.”
“There’s a lot of shit you haven’t read,” she muttered and put up a hand when Sarai started to rise from her seat. “They’re just fragments of stories, not books ready to be read! Calm down.”
Sarai closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t tease me. When it comes to you and Johanna Ledger, I’m not entirely sane. You’re my favorite authors.”
Jasmine paused with a cookie inches from her lips. “I’m one of your favorite authors?”
Sarai opened one eye to glare at her. “You’re surprised? You think I go psycho like this for every author I read?”
“Yes?”
Sarai opened both eyes to give her a disgusted look. “I may be obsessed with books, but we both know there are stories you read, enjoy, and promptly forget, and then there are those that hit right here.” Sarai tapped her chest, over her heart. “And they never leave us. When Roth told me you were a writer, I was interested, of course. I read anything I can get my hands on, even phone books and those annoying pamphlets on airplanes.” Sarai waved a dismissive hand. “Plenty of people think because they know the alphabet, they can write a captivating tale. But just because you can talk doesn’t mean you can sing. And I’ve come to realize, the most educated tend to be the worst writers, because they lack creativity and imagination.”
Jasmine found herself nodding, because she’d come to a similar conclusion. Writing was still an art, which meant it was subjective and imperfect. Those who excelled in school and needed structure, rules, and parameters struggled in creative endeavors, because they didn’t know how to color outside the lines. They tended to focus on the technical aspects rather than tapping into their emotions or following their intuition.
“I didn’t have high expectations for your work as Minnie Hess,” Sarai said bluntly. “I was pleasantly surprised when I read your fantasy novel. I could tell we read the same authors and probably had similar influences.” Sarai swished her hand. “But your work as Thalia took me to another place. I could tell you let go. I heard about Thalia Crane long before I picked up your book. They compare you frequently with Johanna, but I heard the hero cheated, so I avoided Rex and Juliet for the longest time. Readers said not to be dissuaded by that and reassured me the main characters still had a relationship and would probably end up together.” Sarai grinned when Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Isn’t there a saying—‘art imitates life’? If that’s so, I need to start writing the man of my dreams so he shows up.”
“That sounds so weird,” Jasmine protested, though she’d had similar thoughts about how strange it was that the series foretold some events that had come true in real life.
“It’s not weird—it’s magical . A fairy tale come true.”
“You know we aren’t.”
“You’re the realistic version of a modern fairy tale, and in some ways, that makes it even better.”
When Sarai suddenly sobered, Jasmine tensed. “What?”
Sarai glanced around before she said, “You don’t have to answer, but I’ve always wondered...”
“Yes?”
Sarai leaned across the table and mouthed, “In the book, Juliet leaves Rex because she catches him cheating. I always wondered if Roth actually…?”
Jasmine swirled the last of the latte in her cup. “We spent our marriage in different countries. He did things that led me to believe he was having an affair.”
“But he didn’t,” Sarai said in a flat tone.
It wasn’t a question.
“So he says.”
“You believe him, right?” Sarai demanded.
Her hand fisted on her lap as she nodded. She watched Sarai closely, waiting for a reaction to this information. Would his loyal personal assistant be offended on Roth’s behalf about her revenge sex? But Sarai looked thoughtful rather than angry.
“You had other reasons for leaving him besides thinking he was unfaithful?” Sarai asked.
“Yes.”
Sarai nodded and finished her drink without sharing her thoughts.
“How many women have you seen him with?” The question shot out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Mortified, Jasmine dropped her face into one hand and held up the other. “No, don’t tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’ve never seen him with anyone.”
Her head shot up. “Never?”
Sarai shook her head.
She eyed Sarai’s innocent face and narrowed her eyes. “Would you lie for him?”
“Yes.”
“ Have you lied for him?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in her answers. If anything, Sarai sounded downright cheerful.
“Then why should I believe you?” When Sarai eyed her strangely, she snapped, “What?”
“Roth is...” Sarai pursed her lips. “You know...”
“No, I don’t know,” she said testily.
Sarai searched the ceiling for the right word before settling on, “He’s different.”
“You don’t say,” Jasmine drawled. “I never noticed.”
“Then you should know he doesn’t see women as women.”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s so focused on work I don’t think he registers anyone’s sex. They’re just people to him. Workers, staff, employees, colleagues. I have seen women hitting on him. They think he’s playing hard to get when he ignores them. They refuse to believe he’s not interested, which makes them more aggressive. He rescheduled a meeting once because the men were distracted by a woman who was on the verge of stripping to get a reaction from him. If I didn’t know he’d been married, I would’ve thought he was either in the closet or asexual. Hence my shock when I stumbled across Thalia Crane, recognized your voice and writing style as Minnie Hess, and realized the story was based on your relationship. I knew enough about your background to know who each character represented—your sisters, father, et cetera. But I couldn’t see the man you described in the books in my boss.” Sarai reached across the table and grasped her hand in a strong grip. “Until you reunited in Colorado. He’s come alive. He actually sees you. You register for him. I’ve been with him three years and never saw him show an interest in anyone. Everyone around him sees the difference you’ve made in a few short weeks. We’re ecstatic.”
“We?” she said weakly.
“The office can’t stop talking about his schedule changes. His behavior since you remarried is unprecedented.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Would you lie to keep us together?”
“Yes, but in this case, I don’t have to. He’s always been yours.”
Even as that warmed her from the inside out, she had the dangerous compulsion to confess the terms of their marriage and that her father had blackmailed him. She would love to hear Sarai’s take on it, but his personal assistant already knew too much about the inner workings of their relationship. She wasn’t sure how much of her real life would end up in book five and could always chalk up certain plot points to fiction. Sarai would be none the wiser, if she kept the details of their personal agreement to herself.
Although she was pleased to hear Sarai hadn’t seen Roth with a woman, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been with anyone, just that he hadn’t had any serious relationships. He wouldn’t be able to hide that from his personal assistant who scheduled his packed work schedule. She refused to believe he’d gone five years without sex. He had the strongest sex drive of any man she’d met. He was a borderline addict. He must have gone to great lengths to keep his women a secret to have Sarai speculate that he was asexual or gay. Why had he been so discreet? Because he favored prostitutes or high-end escorts?
As she felt herself beginning to mentally spiral, she distracted herself with, “Do you attend most of his meetings?”
“Not all, but most.”
“Does he do anything illegal?”
Sarai’s open expression didn’t alter as she said, “I think that’s something you should discuss with him.”
She’d expected a diplomatic, evasive answer and wasn’t disappointed. “I see.”
Sarai squeezed her hand. “Regardless of what comes, he’ll take care of you. Just trust him.” As Sarai’s phone trilled, she pulled it out of her pocket and downed the last of her drink. “I have to head back.”
“You want a ride?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
They returned their plates and dumped their trash. Impulsively, Jasmine swung by the counter. When she made her way back to Sarai with a brown baggie, she shook it.
“Warm cookies for Roth.”
Sarai grinned and linked arms with her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat a cookie.”
She hadn’t either, but... “How could he resist these?”
Sarai playfully bumped her with her hip. “If you give them to him, I’m sure he’ll eat it. You should come by and say hi. And by the way, you still haven’t told me which designer you want to hire for your office.”
“No,” she said as they left the warm, dimly lit coffee shop for the noisy, freezing outdoors.
“No, what? You didn’t like any of their portfolios?”
“I don’t need an interior designer. I’m just going to order a desk and a chair. That’s all I need.”
“Roth wants you to have a comfortable office, not a depressing cubicle.”
“Roth doesn’t always get what he wants,” she said, raising her voice as Sarai rounded the car to get in on the opposite side of the Bentley.
“Do you not know your husband?” Sarai asked as she strapped herself in.
“He can’t force me to get an office designed.”
Sarai gave her a long look before shaking her head and pulling out her phone. “You make a fuss about the strangest things.”
Jasmine glared at the front seats, where either Mo or Johan snickered. “Really, guys?”
“Your post is trending,” Sarai announced.
“What post?” Jasmine asked before remembering her book recommendation for Ballad of Deception . “Trending in a good or bad way?”
“Good.”
She pulled out her phone to see for herself and was shocked at how many comments there were. As expected, there were more than a few who’d ignored the point of her post and were demanding a release date for her next book. There were also quite a few haters. Those she blocked without hesitation. People were entitled to their opinion of her and her work and were free to leave a review or discuss her to death in groups or message boards, but she drew the line at someone spewing insulting comments in her group simply to create discourse or because they wanted attention.
She replied to comments and was thrilled to see many readers had already read Ballad of Deception . There were quite a few interesting theories about the direction of the second book.
“Did you hear about this?” she asked Sarai, who didn’t look up from her phone screen.
“Of course. I’m in every discussion forum there is.”
“How the hell do you have the time when Roth has you working fourteen-hour days?”
“It’s down to almost twelve, with actual days off, thanks to you.” Sarai reached over the console to pat her shoulder. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us.”
“I agree,” Johan said from the passenger seat.
For the second time in an hour, she blushed. The same sense of belonging she felt when she was with Johnny and Aleixo engulfed her. Her father’s security had treated her like a parcel they wanted to deliver and be rid of as quickly as possible. None of them had tried to get to know her. Mo and Johan filled the role of concerned uncles even though they couldn’t be much older than Roth. She didn’t feel stifled by them despite them shadowing her every step when she wasn’t locked up in one of Roth’s residences. The urge to lean forward and wrap her arms around Johan was strong, but she resisted. She’d enjoy their companionship while it lasted. Hopefully, after the year was up, they’d want to remain friends...
When her spirits dipped, she distracted herself by switching to another social media platform. She scanned her notifications and let out a scream. The car swerved as Mo looked around for the threat. Johan wheeled around with a gun in his hand.
“What is it?” Mo rapped out.
“Johanna Ledger responded to my message,” she breathed.
“What?” Sarai shrieked, making both men clap a hand over their ears. She undid her seat belt and propped herself on the console so she could see Jasmine’s screen.
“Thank you, Thalia, for recommending my book to your audience and for your sweet message. I’ve been watching your come-up since you published your first book, Breaking Tradition. I can’t count how many times I’ve been told to read it. Before I start the sequel to BoD, I’ll pick it up. Thank you for your support, and if anything can be done about the censorship of BoD on certain retailers, I’ll let you know. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you as well. Nice to finally connect with you. —JL”
Jasmine stared uncomprehending at the message as Sarai gave her a little shake. “She knows who I am?”
“Of course she does! You’re famous!”
Johan, who was still turned in his seat with his pistol in hand, abruptly faced forward and muttered, “She’s crying.”
“I’m not,” she said as she swiped at a tear. “Oh my God, I’m going to freak out.”
“You want to tell us what’s going on?” Mo asked.
“My favorite author in the whole wide world just messaged me.”
Sarai plopped back in her seat. “This is turning out to be a wonderful day. Gah, I wish I could tell the discussion boards what just happened. Two of the greatest authors in the game finally collided. If you collaborate on something, I might die.”
Her freaking idol had just said her name. Well, her pen name, but a part of Jasmine still thought Thalia was the best version of herself—self-assured, positive, steadfast, kind, forgiving. In real life, she overanalyzed, wavered too much, and doubted herself more than she cared to admit.
She reread Johanna’s message again, feeling like her heart might burst. It was one thing to be acknowledged by readers, and quite another to be recognized by a peer, especially one of Johanna’s caliber. Till this day, she hadn’t met another writer in real life. She’d chatted casually with authors in her genre on social media but hadn’t developed any friendships, because she didn’t attend conferences that would take her beyond a name on a cover to a real human being. She’d declined invitations to book conferences because she couldn’t chance her pen name being connected to her family. She hadn’t regretted that decision until now. She wanted to go beyond the polite chit-chat and ask Johanna about her inspiration, her writing, and her advice for longevity in this industry. She wanted to ask if she?—
“We’re here.”