Page 126 of No Headlines Please

Huh.

Maybe I had some belief in love after all.

Mother's eyes narrowed. "Regardless, you're not going to find anyone suitable if you let Sloane Hayworth define the narrative."

Fuck the narrative. But I didn't say it out loud, because even I had limits.

And besides, she was already saying, "Which is why you'll be releasing a book of your own."

And here we were. Full circle.

I said it again. "No. I won't."

And now, she was glaring again. "You wouldn't need to write it yourself. As I've already explained, I've hired an excellent ghost writer."

"So un-hire them," I said. "Because it's not gonna happen."

"So you're going to what? Let Sloane be the only one who tells your story?"

"What do I care?" I scoffed. "She's been telling stories for months."

"Yes, but not all stories are the same."

"Meaning?"

"I do have publishing contacts, you know."

"So?"

"So I've gotten a peek at some excerpts. If you're not concerned, you should be." She gave me a pointed look. "It's not flattering."

She wasn't worried about me. She was worried about the family name. But hey, I wasn't the one chasing headlines.

Fucking Sloane. I shoved a hand through my hair as I processed this latest post-wedding surprise. Except it shouldn't have been a surprise at all.

In my mind, I could already see it, Sloane sitting on a talk-show couch, holding her book and telling the world yet again that I was some kind of monster.

As if sensing blood in the water, Mother said, "You need to get ahead of this. Listen, I'll have the ghost-writer call you. You can set up a time to work."

Yes, I was pissed.

Yes, I was also more surprised than I should've been.

And yes, when it came to stories, Mother had a point.

But my answer hadn't changed, so I said it again, quietly but firmly. "No."

She argued.

I refused to budge.

A few minutes later, Evelyn Whitmore-McGuiness stormed out of my office without ever sitting down.

Just as I'd predicted.

As for Sloane, apparently she wasn't done with me yet.

Just how much bullshit could one spurned woman reasonably fit between two covers?