Page 58 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

My frustrated editor. I drag my hand down my face, wondering if this call is good timing or bad. I settle on: it doesn’t matter. “I haven’t, but there’s something you should probably know.”

My father may not have blasted out our names or aliases with his social media bomb, but when his book comes out next year, the world might learn who I am. Who I was. That I’ve been in WITSEC for ten years. Gossip from Windfall might slither its way onto the internet sooner than that. Margot and my publisher will need this information, in case it comes with professional repercussions.

Delilah’s still on the couch, rubbing her forehead like she’s having a painful conversation of her own. I don’t like seeing her stressed, but I love that she’s here. That she didn’t hold my screwup against me. Talking quietly in the kitchen, I give Margot the lowdown so we can wade through this mess: I have two names, one of them might gain notoriety shortly, and I have no clue what it means for my career.

When Margot stays silent, I check the connection. “You still there?”

“Yes. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just floored.” She exhales heavily. “So you’ve been in witness protection the entire time I’ve known you?”

Honestly. The story that is my life. “That would be accurate.”

“And this tell-all from your father—it can’t be easy. How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be fine. Just don’t know what happens when I get my old ID back. How it’ll affect our contracts and such.”

“I’ll have my lawyer look into it, but . . .” Her pause lingers. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned your new project—a graphic novel about your life. Is it about your father and the cartel and what it was like being in witness protection?”

I tense. I know where this bread crumb trail leads, and I refuse to follow it into a gingerbread house that will be laced with arsenic. I go into my bedroom for privacy, followed closely by Candy Cane, who launches herself onto my bed.

“That book’s off the table,” I say. “I’m writing it for me and for a woman I hurt when I disappeared. I only told you about it because I figured Sathya would be in touch soon and it would never need to be used.”

“But you suggested I tell the publisher.”

“Only so you wouldn’t worry about the contract being dropped. I figured if you had a backup plan, you wouldn’t ask me to write the rest of Sathya’s script again, and when she resurfaced, none of it would matter.” She’s so silent, I go rigid. “You didn’t tell the publisher, did you?”

“Josh called this week, and I needed to do damage control. I suggested you had this other story, that if the worst happened, we could use it. I didn’t know then what I know now, and Josh didn’t seem impressed. He didn’t mention it again in tonight’s email, but we’ll have to tell him about your history. Once he puts two and two together, he’ll be salivating for this book.”

There’s that bird crap I was waiting for, falling directly on my head. “Then you tell him no. I’m not my father. I won’t sell our story.”

“You’re sure?” Margot pushes.

“I’m sure. Please don’t ask me again.” But I know she will. This is her livelihood, and she smells a big payday. As will my editor.

“Fine. It’s up to you. But just so you understand, if Sathya doesn’t come through with that script, we’ll be short on choices.”

When we hang up, I make another big decision and send a text to Sathya, telling her to check out Raymond S. Bower’s book announcement, adding the juicy tidbit that he’s my father and that my real name is Edgar. My regular “please call me” and “where are you” texts have gone unanswered. I’m guessing this shocker will get her attention.

“Everything okay?” Delilah’s at the entrance to my bedroom, arms folded around her middle.

I drop my phone on my bed, far enough from Candy not to freak her out. “Drama with my agent.” The concern on Delilah’s face reinforces that I can’t sell our story. Not when I know her wounds are deeper than she’s letting on. I’ll have to find a way to deal with my publisher. “What about you? You looked stressed on your call.”

“Staffing issues. Leif quit, so I’m down a dishwasher who also helps with the prep.”

Well now. That unfortunate situation comes with a silver lining. “Luckily you know a former professional dishwasher, and I might be able to help with some of the other stuff.”

“That’s sweet, E. But today’s been rough for you.”

I step toward her. When she wrinkles her nose, because I once again smell offensive around her, I step back. “The grunt work will be good for me. It’ll get me out of my head. As long as I can take breaks to walk Candy, I’m ready and willing.”

She shifts on her feet. “You have your own work to do.”

“Delilah, let me help you.” Let me love you. Let me be with you. Let me pick out the shrapnel from your wounds until there’s nothing left but scars I’ll kiss better every night.

She unlatches her arms from around her waist, then fiddles with her moon necklace. “If it’ll help you, then I’d appreciate it. Just until I find a replacement. But”—she makes a face—“you have to shower before showing up tomorrow.”

“No need. The sweat stench will dissipate when I sleep, and I’ll spray on some Eternity in the morning.”

The corner of her lips quirks up. “I doubt there’s any left in the bottle.”