16
O n account of being slow to readjust to the pace of the city after her weekend in Green Hills—or maybe on account of the heart palpitations she was suffering at the prospect of facing Seth Flanagan and the A-team in twenty minutes—MC half skipped, half stumbled across Canal Street, tripping over the curb as her phone vibrated in her sweaty hand.
Conrad was calling.
“Hello?” she said, desperate to distract herself.
“Mom hit me up after you left yesterday. Any plans for Thanksgiving?”
She turned a corner, doing her best to weave through crowds of shoppers and tourists bundled up against the unseasonable cold.
“No plans at the moment,” she said. After she and Nora had finished their dinner at Delfino’s on Saturday—their conversation slowly relaxing as the fog of their kiss had cleared—MC had been up half the night, thinking, among other things, about whether or not to confront Conrad about what she’d seen.
She’d decided she would. Casually. But as soon as she’d gone into the kitchen on Sunday morning, Gabby was already regaling him with tales of the dance party as he hugged her from behind.
MC, apparently, still hadn’t found her nerve. “Mom doesn’t want us to come to the West Coast,” she said, “does she?”
“Nope. She’s coming to Green Hills.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Guess she wants to get in on all the quality time we’ve been spending together.”
“Does this mean you’re hosting?” Usually, MC met up with Gabby and Conrad for dinner the night before the actual holiday, as the two of them would inevitably be going to Gabby’s parents’ cozy cape house near the center of town for the official meal.
Gabby came from a big, warm family, a contrast to the Calloways that seemed to both excite and irritate her brother the few times he’d bothered to discuss it with MC.
“Yep,” he said. “So feel free to invite Joe and Nora and whoever else.”
MC cleared her throat. Nora had texted just that morning, but inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner, after the line MC had crossed on Saturday night, would not be wise.
Not that MC was ready to get into any of that with Conrad. “I’m actually on my way to Joe’s office now,” she said, skirting the issue. “I’ll ask him.”
“Are you coming back next weekend, by the way?”
“Oh... I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Just figured I’d ask.”
“I mean, I’m not sure yet. I have some annual reports I need to work on in person. Finance bros don’t take weekends.”
“Yeah, sure, I get it.”
“But I’ll definitely be there for Thanksgiving.”
“Great.”
“So, um... how’s your morning?” She wasn’t used to keeping in touch with her brother, and she tried not to dwell on how awkward it still was. The important thing was that they were both making an effort.
“Fine,” he said, “busy. Just glad we’re getting another break in three weeks...”
As they made small talk, MC could almost convince herself that what she’d seen on Saturday was innocent. After all, what had she even seen, really? Two colleagues grabbing a quick bite. Maybe Gabby actually knew about it already, and MC was the one out of the loop, which would be nothing new.
But that was why she’d said yes to his invitation. To clarify things. Get another chance to have some honest talk between them for once, in person, which was only fair. And if that chance came with another opportunity to be in Nora’s orbit, so be it.
When MC put her phone back in her pocket, her face was hot despite the cutting wind.
But all that heat transformed on her arrival at the Jawbreaker office, morphing into a burning dread as she approached Joe’s door.
“There you are,” he said, breathless as he met her halfway and guided her toward the conference rooms. He was wearing a black jacket, his hair carefully coiffed, but his expression was flustered. MC realized she probably should’ve worn something a little nicer.
“I was hoping we could talk,” she said. “Before the meeting?”
“We don’t have time.”
“I tried to get here sooner, but the subway was screwed up. Look, I was reading over what I sent you, and it occurred to me that maybe we’re not as ready as we thought.”
“We can figure that out later. Right now, we need to deal with Seth Flanagan.”
“You prepped him about how we’re going to protect Nora’s identity, right? Like, no last name, no geographical details—”
“I told him we’re going to deliver the best possible story, and that’s what he’s waiting to discuss.”
“I’m just starting to feel a little panicked.”
“MC, I love you, but you’re going to have to hold it together until after this meeting.”
“Okay,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
They walked into one of the glass conference rooms overlooking Broadway.
Seth Flanagan was seated at the head of a long table, flanked by three people with unreadable expressions.
As MC understood it, the A-team—referred to in certain circles as the Asshole Team—consisted of Jawbreaker’s head of legal and head of strategy, plus someone called the Money Guy.
MC had no idea which of these people filled which role, but they all looked to be in their late thirties, and everyone’s skin was flawless.
MC stuck close to Joe’s side as he pulled up a chair at a respectful distance from their audience.
“Okay, everyone,” Seth said, “let’s get down to business.” He tapped a printout in front of him. “This is, as you know, a major story, and we’re all very happy to see you two taking it seriously.”
MC blinked. Taking it seriously?
“You’re bringing in the psychology,” he said, “which I love. S. K. Smith was an outcast by choice, a kid who was totally unsupervised at home—”
“I don’t know if she was totally unsupervised,” MC said. “I just mentioned that her parents were gone for long periods of time.”
Joe gripped her leg under the table.
“Whatever,” Seth said. “She was used to being in control from a young age. In her little world, everything was in her power.” He pointed at MC. “And she wanted to keep it that way.”
MC cleared her throat. “I think we’re trying to say something more along the lines of, like, she had an environment in which she could totally embrace her own idiosyncrasies?”
“And that deep need for control,” Seth said, raising his voice a little, “made her a perfect fit for rom-com, where conventions and predictability are the point.”
She couldn’t help herself. “I’ve actually been reading other rom-coms, and it seems like there’s also something about emotional transformation going on there.”
Joe, along with the A-team, stared at her.
“The control aspect also explains her insistence on secrecy,” Seth said, steepling his fingers. “You could even argue that her book is an act of radical reclamation over her most significant experience of powerlessness.”
MC frowned. “Um, this was more toward the end of the doc, but I was trying to suggest that she wasn’t so much rewriting high school as she would’ve wanted it to be as she was revisiting the imagined version of it that offered the best opportunity for self-reflection.”
Seth paused. At first MC thought he was considering her point, but then he went on as if she’d said nothing at all. “The main thing we’re missing is why she decided not to cover her tracks. Which is crucial.”
“What tracks?” MC asked.
“Come on, Michaela Carson, you know what I’m talking about.” He smiled. “She barely changed people’s names.”
“But she added all this stuff from, like, over a decade in the future, which is totally made up.”
“If you ask me, it’s all part of her publicity long game.”
MC almost laughed.
But Joe was nodding along. “She gets to accelerate sales with a mysterious identity,” he said, “then whip out the reveal when interest finally ebbs, reviving her audience and maybe even expanding it.”
“I guess that’s possible,” MC said.
A mustachioed man cut in at last: “You don’t agree?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “She just doesn’t seem like the type to have a grand plan.”
“Based on what?” Seth said flatly.
“She’s not even sure what she wants out of her day-to-day. I don’t get the sense that she’s scheming about her future.”
Joe smiled tightly. “Everyone schemes about their future.”
“What I mean is,” MC said, “she’s not scheming about how to be a more successful author in the future.”
Seth snorted. “So why did she write the book this way?”
“As you mentioned,” Joe said, “we still haven’t figured that out yet.”
“There has to be a logic.” Seth gesticulated wildly. “A goal of some kind.”
“Agreed,” Joe said.
Blue eyes blazed. “I want you two to find out what that goal was. It’s the last piece in this story.”
“And if you can uncover it,” said Mustache, “I think we’ll be ready to go live with this.”
MC took a breath. “Joe and I were also talking about some ethical concerns—”
“Which we’ll run by legal,” Joe said, “once we’ve finished nailing the article down.” He shot her a look. “As you and I discussed.”
Seth frowned. “Ethical concerns?”
“About revealing S. K. Smith’s identity,” MC said. “You know—doxxing her.”
Everyone started to chuckle.
“MC,” Seth said, “you’re working for Jawbreaker. Not the goddamn New York Times Book Review .”
“Actually,” she said carefully, “I’m a freelancer.”
Joe whispered in her ear, “This isn’t the place.”
But wasn’t it? MC’s hands were clammy, her chest tight.
She wasn’t sure when she’d started holding her breath.
All she knew was that she was afraid to let it go.
She could tell them she was off the story.
That she was done being their spy-journalist or whatever.
And if they threatened to use her research without her permission, she’d threaten right back that she’d go to Nora first, blow up their publication plan.
Except Joe was looking at her like he was drowning. And she knew that whatever mess she made here would be his to clean up. His and Sheena’s and Jerome’s.
Which reminded her of why she’d wanted more time when she first arrived at Joe’s door. Part of her was still hoping that there was a way to pull this off.
To outsmart both Seth Flanagan and S. K. Smith.
“Can I be honest?” she said.
An ergonomic chair squeaked.
Joe’s eyes went wide.
Seth’s stayed narrow, suspicious. “Honesty,” he said, “is our stock-in-trade.”
“We need until the end of the year.”
The A-team exchanged looks.
“You’ve had six weeks already,” Seth said.
“Well, we need six more. This isn’t something that can be rushed.”
Mustache said, “What if someone scoops us?”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to be willing to take,” MC said. “Right, Joe?”
“Right.” Blinking, he seemed to come back to himself.
“MC has been piecing this together by going back home and playing a very subtle game. But if she’s suddenly hanging out there all the time, S.
K. Smith might realize what she’s up to, especially as MC gets closer to the real story behind her writing and publishing Girl Next Door the way she did. ”
Seth pursed his lips.
A long silence stretched across the conference room, pierced by honking and someone outside yelling, “Will you fucking move?”
“This article has to release by end of year,” Mustache said. “Whether it has your names on it or not. For metrics.”
MC swallowed.
“Understood,” said Joe.
“But until then, take some more time.”
Seth rolled his eyes.
MC and Joe thanked them all, then got up and left, MC snagging a croissant from a side table just before slipping out the door.
“Oh god,” Joe breathed. “What a fucking mess.”
“It’s not. We’ll sort this all out.”
“I know you want to protect Nora, but these people are vicious.”
“You’re the one who thinks they’re worth working for.”
He glared.
“I’m just saying”—she nibbled the croissant—“if we’re getting cornered into doing this, let’s do it on our own terms.”
Which seemed to relax him a little. “Am I hearing some fire from MC Calloway?”
“Something like that.” She threw out the rest of the croissant—it was weirdly terrible—and rubbed her temples, a wave of exhaustion rolling over her as they approached Joe’s office. “Also, Conrad wants to know if you’d like to join us for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s nice of him.” He went into the office and collapsed in his chair. “But I’m spending the holiday with Tyler.” Tyler was Joe’s latest boyfriend. They were a month in and going strong. But that was always how the first month went with Joe. “Are you going to make that your big moment?”
“Big moment?”
“To find out why Nora wrote the book the way she did.”
MC had planned on telling Joe about Conrad and Jae that morning, and her resolution to confront Conrad about it in person at Thanksgiving. But she suddenly felt protective of her brother’s secret, whatever it was. She owed it to him to speak to him first.
If Joe wanted to think her latest trip back to Green Hills was for the sake of their article, she wasn’t going to correct him.
“Uh... yeah.”
“I have a theory, you know.”
She sighed. “Care to share?”
“I think it’s all about you.”
“Like, Michaela Carson?”
“No. Like... you.”
MC tried not to think about how easy it’d been to kiss Nora on Saturday night, and how important it felt to keep that development—whatever it was—to herself. At least until she had a chance to gauge Nora’s next move.
“If it were about me,” she said carefully, “the real me, she would’ve just gotten in touch. Not done... all this.”
“See, you think that.”
“I know that. She’s the most direct person I’ve ever met.”
“Except when it comes to one subject.” He got up and squeezed her shoulder. “Do you believe me when I say I’m really sorry for getting you involved?”
“It’s all good.” She patted his back. “I just need, like, five years off now.”
“I mean, same.”
When she walked back out, she was hardly surprised to see Sheena was back at her desk, reading the novel of the moment.
“MC,” she stage-whispered, face lighting up as she leaned forward. “Joe made us swear not to say anything, but oh—my— god .”
MC winced. “I really can’t talk about it.”
“Of course. Totally. But—”
“I gotta run. Great to see you.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
MC headed for the elevators without even waiting for a response.
When she stepped into the steel box, after the doors slid closed, it was the hardest thing in the world not to scream.