18. Casey #2
“Yeah, you’d like that.”
“I would,” he responds easily. “Your lines won’t ever be as straight as mine.”
The older man in the chair next to me chuckles, and I join in. “You’re right,” I say.
Jayden turns to his station and starts laying out the combs and tools he’ll need, but his smile turns proud at the compliment. “What do you got going on tonight? Seeing a girl?”
When he faces me again, he’s got an eyebrow cocked and a clipper and comb in hand.
If I lie, he could probably sense it. Being a barber means he can read people pretty well.
Or, at least, he can generally read me. He might let it pass, or he might give me shit about it for the rest of the time I’m here.
But as he starts in with the clippers on my hair, I realize I’m dying for someone to talk to about her.
And this is as safe a space as any. No one here knows her. No one could out us.
“I am, actually,” I say.
Jayden lets out an ooo, his grin widening. “Must be something serious if you’re coming in here every week.”
My expression falters at that—something Jayden doesn’t miss. He raises both eyebrows in question.
“Not so serious,” I admit.
“But you like her?”
Do I like her? She’s smart and funny and sexy as hell, and for some reason, she gives me the time of day. I don’t need to see her to talk about Imani tonight. I want to spend time with her, and not just for sex.
“Yeah, I like her.”
Jayden nods approvingly, running the clippers over my hair. “Gotta be something serious with this fresh cut, I bet.”
I laugh and close my eyes as he brushes stray hairs off my head. Even if she doesn’t want that, there’s no harm in looking my best for her anyway.
Trina lives in Lincoln Park about twenty minutes away from my condo.
Her place is a small studio with whitewashed walls, vinyl floor that’s meant to look like dark hardwood, and black countertops in a tiny kitchen.
She has a pull-out bed in the living room, but she usually has that folded up as a couch.
She keeps a smaller mattress in an area that should probably be a closet—the rainbow of skirts and loose pants she owns is displayed next to her bed on a standing garment rack.
Her shirts are folded in an open trunk at the foot of the mattress.
In her living area, there is an electric fireplace under the small window with a view of the Chicago skyline. I do a double take when I realize the fireplace is on.
“Trina, it’s hotter than the Sixth Circle of Hell out there. Why are you running the fireplace?” I ask as she closes the door behind me.
“I like the ambiance.” She shrugs, then huffs a laugh. “Nice Dante reference, though.”
“Classical literature wasn’t my favorite, but a few things stuck.”
“Mm.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes, a subtle smile playing out on her lips. “Give me all the old shit, any day of the week.”
That pulls a laugh from me, and something tight releases in my chest. “‘The old shit’?”
Shooting me a pointed look, she walks the few steps over to the fireplace and shuts it off. “I’m not classical. Just my taste in reading.”
I pull out one of the stools next to her kitchen peninsula and sit as she comes around to the other side and leans on her elbows against the countertop. The V-neck of her shirt dips low, and I have to try very hard not to look at the small, gold necklace that hangs between her breasts.
Oh, who am I kidding? I look. And not at the necklace.
When I drag my gaze back up, her red-painted lips are twisted upward. “Business first.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Are you officially representing Imani?”
“I am. She sent the contract back about an hour ago.”
“And does she want to shop her manuscript around?”
Trina flops dramatically on the countertop, her cheek resting against its surface as she groans. “No, but Suzanna emailed me following up from our meeting and asking me again to have Imani consider this new Morgan & Danielson imprint.”
I go still. “The what?”
Raising her head, then pushing herself slowly upright, Trina frowns. “Morgan & Danielson apparently saw what JMP was doing with Starlight and wanted to get in on the young adult market. They’re starting a new imprint,” she says slowly, eyeing me carefully.
“You don’t happen to know who’s heading that up, do you?”
She shakes her head. “No, why?”
“I guess if you can do it, anyone can.” Ashton’s words from a few weeks ago zing through my brain.
If I had to guess, he either approached the CEO of Morgan & Danielson about this, or it has been in the works for a while and he slipped right in.
And given how many Starlight authors are pulling out and testing the waters elsewhere, I would be shocked to find out he has nothing to do with this.
Ashton’s Modus Operandi has always been to piggyback off the success of others.
He’s been this way since college, slinking to class on a hangover and flashing a smile at girls to give him the notes he was too tired to take himself.
“Casey? What’s wrong?” Trina’s soft concern pulls me back to the present. I want to smooth out the line between her brows and bury myself in her to forget about this until I can deal with it later.
But I can’t tell her that. It would be especially inappropriate given she might have the opportunity to work with Ashton in the future.
She can’t be solely loyal to me, especially as she tries her hand at the very young adult market everyone seems so keen on busting into right now. That would raise too many red flags.
“Nothing,” I tell her.
Her deepening frown tells me she clearly doesn’t believe it. “Look, I don’t necessarily want to go anywhere else—”
“It’s not you,” I rush to tell her. “Or Imani.” I can feel that confidence Anastasios urged me to have earlier slipping through my fingers like sand, and a hot nugget of irritation replaces it low in my belly.
Trina reaches out and covers my hand with hers. It’s a movement so much like what my mother used to do when I was upset that it catches me off guard for a moment.
“The cream rises, baby,” my mom always used to say, usually as we were sitting at the kitchen table just like this.
I’d have inevitably been worried about someone teasing me, or getting a better grade than I did without working as hard, or not making a team.
Something that seems so trivial now, but Mom never made it feel that way.
She approached every problem with gravity, and she pulled me into her orbit to comfort me before letting me out into the world again.
Kind of like Trina does.
I swallow hard. Mom was right—the cream rises. Ashton—if it is him behind this—can have whoever he wants. I’m better at this job than he is, and I’m prepared to prove it. Even if it’s going to be a little harder than expected.
But ultimately, Trina might end up working with him someday, and it isn’t fair to her if I taint his image.
She deserves to make her own judgment calls about the editors she works with.
“It’s nothing.” I smile at her. She smiles back, and fuck, she’s breathtaking.
It’s enough to temper the irrational heat that started building in me a few minutes ago.
“Okay, then.” She removes her hand from mine, and I immediately want it back. The urge to be touching her in some way is so great that I almost reach right across the table and grab her.