Chapter 26 #3
But how to explain? He had crafted a full monologue, but instead this was a debate.
It was a fight. It was him angry at her betrayal of his privacy and her angry for, well, everything.
He had planned to pull up the email from Elena in response to Mo’s manuscript, the praise from someone who had read and understood her book like he had.
The words of admiration and care, the probing consideration of what might be tugged and rearranged in the publication process.
In short—Elena had fallen in love with Maureen’s book, and he couldn’t blame her. Wes had too.
And, unfortunately, with the author of that book, he realized.
“You don’t understand,” Wes said.
“What don’t I understand?” She wheeled from the hallway where she had been leaning against the wall, putting her shoes on.
“This isn’t some simple misunderstanding like not knowing I’m allergic to something, Wes.
This isn’t a little white lie about your past with Yuri.
This is you, using your connections. Using your power.
Sending your book out to an editor at a major publishing house when you know that things aren’t set yet. ”
She wouldn’t look at Wes, directing her rage at the floor. Wes wanted to pull her face up to look in his eyes and see the good intention there. “If you hang on for a moment, I can tell you the whole thing.”
“There shouldn’t be a whole thing , Wes.” She looked at him directly, tears still shining in her eyes but not falling. Her jaw was set, mirroring the line of her blunt bangs. “I shouldn’t have read your email. Sorry for that. I am.”
Wes nodded, unsure how to receive the apology when it was clear she had more to say.
And she did. She continued, hotly, as she made her way to the door.
“I was stupid for thinking my project had any shot against yours. I know I was. I don’t have a powerful family, and I don’t have a million connections.
I have student loans, for God’s sake. Do you even comprehend what that feels like?
I don’t even know the names of people I’m supposed to rub elbows with, and even if I did, my elbows would never make their way into the rooms where those elbows were.
I don’t work in the publishing business, and I don’t have the direct emails of the top editors in the country.
My agent does, but she isn’t off shooting a book that we can’t sell to them yet.
” She paused by the front closet, taking a breath while removing her coat from a hanger.
“I can’t be here anymore. Thank you for the sandwich. And the chips.”
“Mo, wait—”
She was already at the entry, her pink coat on. She glanced back as she turned the knob. “Good luck with the book. It’s good, and I’m sure you deserve all the success in the world.”
And then she was gone, the door slammed behind her.
Wes ran out to the front step, feet bare on the cold concrete. He would run after her, but he didn’t want to waste time getting his shoes on. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, shooting off a text to her. Please come back. I need to explain.
If she came back, Wes could tell her he was sorry.
Yes, he had stepped beyond his normal bounds as estate representative, as a professional, and definitely as a friend, but he hadn’t cheated her out of her opportunity.
The way he’d gone about everything had been unprofessional, especially since he wasn’t Mo’s agent.
Even though Wes had known Elena would love Maureen’s book, it wasn’t his job to pass off the manuscript—not without Yuri’s okay, not without Mo’s okay, and not without the estate’s okay.
But he’d known the way he would feel if Elena had only his book to read and consider.
He’d known that the decision of which of their books got produced wouldn’t be based on its likely reception by the editors at the big presses: it was in the hands of Estelle and her family alone.
Wes waited for Mo to text back, or for her soft knock on the door.
He didn’t want to sit on the couch, staring out the window like a dog for her, so he fell back on the couch and tried to watch the show that Mo had been watching.
Astronaut lovers, unscrewing their bubble helmets to look in each other’s faces for the first time.
Their eyes meeting, the camera zooming in on their lips.
The soft press of space suit against space suit as they came together for a passionate embrace.
The fucking fake astronauts were going to get laid for a reality show, and he couldn’t even get a text back to explain and apologize correctly. He chanced a second text with more information, praying that it would be enough to get her to come back and talk. I sent the editor your book, too.
But the message went undelivered. She had blocked him.
He sighed, then scrolled through his contact information to find a number he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use. The phone rang, then clicked into the call. He took a deep breath. “Hi, Yuri. I’ve got some explaining to do.”