13. Trina #2
I stare at him, blinking. “Right. I didn’t know you had been promoted. When I walked out of the hall from my panel, you were there with coffee, and she saw us talking. She must have approached me because I had worked with you, wanting to get in on the ground level of the new Starlight era.”
“So she saw us talking? Who cares? All that should do is solidify your connection with me and make this easier for everyone.”
I narrow my eyes in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“She thinks I lied to her. She’s not going to want to be represented by someone she thinks she can’t trust. And besides, I saw her face after you left. You may not be fluent in sad-as-hell, but I am.” I grimace. “She looked devastated.”
Casey waves this away as if it’s unimportant. “We can fix this. I’ll call her to set up a meeting and—”
“Hold your horses. I didn’t even agree to this.
” Before I got here, I had barely processed the information about his promotion, and now he’s asking me to represent a writer who he wants to sign—who I would, quite frankly, love to work with but who also would likely rather choose the whirlpool and let it swallow her ship whole than work with me.
I mean, I almost made her cry. The look of betrayal she gave me across the hallway that day still sends a pang of guilt through me.
I suppose that makes me the six-headed monster.
Honestly, that’s fair.
“This is an easy deal for you.” It’s the point of the negotiation where Casey tries to sweeten the pot with something that’s not tangible, and also not entirely correct.
“Assuming she decides not to hate me, then yes. At first.” I shoot him a pointed look. “Don’t promise me the moon, Endersen. You can’t deliver it. I’m very cautious with my debut authors after Scarlett walked away from that deal. It’s hard work keeping everyone happy for the length of a career.”
He clasps his hands on top of his desk and regards me with a blank face. A little thrill passes through me. It’s been so long since we’ve negotiated. This feels like a warm up—a little practice before the real thing—but it’s fun, nonetheless.
“I’m confident you can handle it.” The quiet power in his voice would be enough to end the conversation with a less worthy adversary.
My lips twist into a flirty smile. “Oh, I’m confident I can too. In fact, I’m sure I could get her a better deal if I shopped the manuscript around for a while.”
Casey’s eyes flash. “If you want to shop it around, that means you want to represent her.”
He’s got me there. I dip my chin in acknowledgment—round one to Casey.
“I read her query, and it’s good. The book has real potential. Even with it being outside my realm of expertise, I had considered representing her. The problem is whether or not she still wants me as her agent.”
Shrugging one shoulder, he leans back in his chair. “Worst she can say is no.”
I press my lips together and narrow my eyes. “I’m not used to being on this side of possible rejection.”
A low laugh rolls easily out of him, the type of rich, soft sound I’d love to curl up and fall asleep in. “It’ll be good for you.”
Despite my best efforts, my mouth twists into a smile. But it falls almost as fast. “What does this mean for us?”
The air shifts. It’s thicker, weightier.
We’re moving into the second part of the negotiation.
The more serious phase that most people outside of publishing never see.
Readers care about series titles and dollar signs, but just as many negotiations are won and lost on the behind-the-scenes stuff that becomes vitally important over time.
Casey’s face is blank again. He’s not going to give anything away at first, but I know what I want.
When we were together in Denver, I felt amazing.
And I haven’t felt that good before or since.
When he asked if we could get together after the conference, it was all I wanted—that feeling of lightness, where my muscles were so spent I couldn’t do anything but relax.
I’ve been with other men since he and I hooked up last year, and it’s always been fine.
But being with Casey is like driving a luxury car that cradles you perfectly in its seat and anticipates your needs. It’s addicting, and I need more.
If signing Imani means I’d have to give that up, I know what choice I’d make.
“What do you want it to mean for us?” he asks.
I smooth my palms over my skirt, then clasp them tightly in my lap. It’s not like me to show my hand this early, but we could dance around this for hours. I know what I want, and if his earlier flirting is any indication, so does he.
“Is there any way we can have our cake and eat it too?” I ask. “And before you answer that, Suzanna is still Suzanna. She wouldn’t like it if she found out you and I had something going on behind the scenes.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “How would she find out?”
I shrug. “People talk. It’s a small enough industry. And I can’t risk losing this job.” It seems I’m on thin ice as it is, but I don’t mention that part. Instead, I eye him warily. “Not everyone gets to be in charge of a shiny new imprint.”
“The way I see it, I’ve asked you to do this favor to me. We’re going to offer the best deal whether you and Imani decide to offer this exclusively to me or not. The rest of it has nothing to do with us at all.”
I tick an eyebrow up. “I’m not going to make this easy for you.”
“Why do you think I asked you to do this? I want to sign her, but I want what’s best for her, and I know you’ll do that regardless of my feelings.” He tilts his head. “No feelings at all, right?”
I nod, even as my heart sinks completely without my permission. “Right.”
“Good. Then we’re back on the same page? I’ll reach out to Imani in the morning and get the ball rolling?”
“Sure,” I say as I stand and extend my hand to shake on it.
Instead of taking it, Casey stands and comes around his desk.
He glances over my shoulder, then grabs me by the waist and twirls me around so my ass hits his desk.
Without thinking, I spread my legs and he steps between them, pressing his pelvis against my center.
A small moan escapes me at the contact, and again when his hand comes up to brush over my cheek and cup the back of my head.
He presses his lips to mine in a searing kiss, the kind of kiss people write books about.
It scrambles my thoughts and when he pulls away, it leaves my mouth feeling bruised.
He steps back quickly, likely afraid someone might walk by and see, but there’s no one in the hallway, so I allow myself an extra moment to catch my breath before pushing myself off his desk and steadying myself on my feet.
“I’ll call you later,” he promises.
“I look forward to it,” I tell him before using every ounce of strength I have to walk out of his office and down the hall to the elevator.
But once the elevator door closes and I’m alone, I release the breath I had been holding and brace myself against the wall.
I press my fingertips to my bee-stung lips that still taste like his minty lip balm and send up a prayer of gratitude for long-wear lipstick before letting out a low laugh and shaking my head.
This is a dangerous game we are playing, and unless I can figure out a way to follow the rules this time, I’m going to be in so much trouble.