Page 26 of Not a Strong Enough Word

So why do I end up curling myself in a sad little ball and falling asleep feeling worse than I did before?

Chapter 13

Ryan

“What do you mean she doesn’t want to work with me anymore?”

Trina is standing on the other side of my desk, apparently having felt it better to let me down easy in person. She didn’t bother to sit, but as a result, she’s fidgety. Her arms are folded over her chest, but she keeps twisting and untwisting one of her bracelets around her finger, and the fabric of her skirt twitches in such a way that I can tell she’s shifting her weight.

There’s something she’s not telling me, but at this point, I don’t know if it’s about me or Scarlett.

“Did I…did I do something wrong?”

Her expression softens, and she drops her hands to her sides with a slap. “You didn’t do anything but exist in her space when she wasn’t ready for you to do so. Which was partially my fault; I will own that.”

“I know this round of edits has taken a while, but I’m almost done,” I assure her. “Scarlett’s revisions were spot on, and I want to do the work this story deserves and—”

Trina interrupts me with a shake of her head. “You’re not listening. It’s not about the story. It’s about you. It’s not personal.”

“What the fuck is it if it’s about me, then, Trina? That’s the literal definition of personal.”

She throws up her hands in exasperation. “I’m not the wordsmith here. Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m trying to say it’s not about you you. It’s about the idea of you. I thought after five years and a lot of work on her mental health, she’d be fine with this, but she’s fragile, Ryan. We both thought this book would be good for her to get her feet wet. Dip a toe in, so to speak. But then you showed up and acted all swoony and shit—”

“How did I act swoony?”

Trina levels me with a glare that would have a lesser man quaking in his boots. “‘Love isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about this book,’” she says in a deep voice that I assume is her mimicking my own.

It’s not a direct quote, but point taken. I’m not sure how much Scarlett has told her about our time together, but either way, I know I delivered that line with some weight. Casey brought it up, too, in our debrief after they left the office.

“And now, instead of getting her feet wet and acclimating to the publishing world again, she jumped in headfirst. She’s got the book you’re working on, the book she’s writing…and you.”

The overwhelming desire to talk to Scarlett crashes into me out of nowhere. It’s different from the everyday fight I’ve been having with myself about whether or not to call her or stop by just to see how she’s doing. This desire is borne of desperation. If I could just have a conversation with her, we could sort this out. I’m not delusional enough to think she’d give me another chance. It’s a pipe dream to think that she could possibly still be in love with me, and I’m going to have to live with that. But this book has awakened something in me I feared I’d never get back again, and at the very least, I want to see it through.

I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair. “I love h—” I stop myself before I can say her. “This book. You might think I was being swoony, but I don’t know if I can quite describe what it has done for me. Reading it…I feel alive again.” And knowing Scarlett wrote it has energized me. She’s there in those pages; her voice is crystal clear now that I know for sure the words are hers. It has pulled a curtain back on the inner workings of her mind. She’s alive and well, even if only in the book.

A stillness comes over the room. Trina tilts her head and regards me with a heaviness that is entirely unlike her. “Is your excitement about a book really more important than her entire well-being?”

Trina’s worried about her. It’s right there, in the way her throat works against a hard swallow and the slight flare of her nostrils. She doesn’t want to say it, but it’s written on her face, clear as day.

My stomach bottoms out with the realization. Here is her agent, trying to help Scarlett save face and push forward with a publishing house that is already admittedly cautious about working with her again.

This could have been prevented. Maybe. But there’s no telling how another editor would work with her. I know her, at least. And I can fix this.

As if she can see my thoughts playing out on my face, Trina’s eyes go wide. “No. Do not get involved, Ryan. I’m telling you this for both your sakes. Find another editor to finish out this project, and I’ll deal with the rest of it. Stay out of it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” I feign innocence.

She circles a finger in the direction of my face. “You didn’t have to. Those glasses hide nothing. And now I’m going to leave.”

“Why?”

“Plausible deniability,” she says as she backs slowly out the door. “I said what I came here to say, and if you fuck this up, you’re on your own. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The door shuts behind her, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. Trina was clearly concerned. I know Scarlett. I can help. If Scarlett truly does want to cut ties with me, I’ll honor her wishes, but even Trina suggested this was about the writing and not about our personal relationship. Maybe if we could separate the two…

My phone interrupts my thoughts when it buzzes where it sits on my desk.

Trina: Bring food, if you must.