Don’t leave.
Don’t leave.
Don’t leave.
My forehead hit the wood again, harder this time, like I could knock the thought loose.
“I can’t breathe,” I choked, even though I technically was. “I can’t?—”
“You are,” he said immediately. “You are breathing. It just feels wrong right now. Stay with me.”
Metal scraped again on the other side—something hitting the handle, harder.
“Rhys—”
“I’ve got it,” he said, but I could hear the strain now. “Just stay with me. In for four?—”
The room flickered again at the edges.
My chest hitched, another breath catching wrong, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Get me out,” I whispered this time, voice gone raw. “Please… just get me out.”
16
HENRY
“I’m not asking for permission.”
She didn’t flinch.
On the screen, her mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing as she stared down her nose at me.
Dark lipstick, hair cut sharp at the jaw, eyes hard as stone…everythingabout Victoria Hale was designed to hold its ground.
She’d built a career negotiating for writers who’d been labeleddifficult to work with.
It was one of the reasons I’d agreed to work with her in the first place.
She didn’t fold.
She didn’t lose.
Right now, it was just pissing me off.
Her eyes fell shut for a beat before reopening. “Henry?—”
“I said I’m not asking.” My thumb ground into the edge of my laptop. “He’s already doing the work. He’s reading drafts, flagging inconsistencies, restructuring sections I didn’t even realize needed it. You don’t get to pretend that doesn’t count because his name isn’t on the contract.”
“That’s not how publishing works.”
“No,” I said evenly. “It’s exactly how it works. You just don’t like that I’m the one deciding.”
“We can revisit this for the next?—”
“No.”
I leaned back in my chair, gaze drifting to the spread of marked-up pages across my desk. Archie’s handwriting cut through mine in sharp, precise notes. There were questions in the margins and arrows connecting ideas I’d left loose.
