Page 59 of The Story Between Us

I need concrete numbers. NOW.

Call me. Immediately.

The warmth drained out of the morning.

She should ignore it. She should walk to Nate’s, bring him lunch, check on his progress, keep building the momentum they’d found. Richard could wait. Richard always wanted everything immediately, and nothing was ever good enough anyway, and⁠—

But her thumb was already pressing his name.

He answered on the first ring.

“Finally.” His voice was ice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”

Had it been two days? She tried to remember the last time she’d checked her email. Sent a report. Thought about New York at all.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been focused on⁠—”

“On what? Vacation? Playing house in the country?” A pause. “What’s the word count?”

“Total? Twelve thousand.”

Silence. “That’s…”

“Not enough to meet the deadline, I know. But we’re making real progress,” she said, hating how weak it sounded. “He wrote three thousand yesterday. That’s a new high. He’s finding his rhythm, and⁠—”

“He has eighty thousand words, or more, to go,” he snapped. “And while you’ve been playing author-whisperer, I’ve been drowning. Where are those four manuscripts I asked you to read?”

“You said you didn’t want them. So I gave them to Roger’s assistant. I figured another agent could⁠—”

“You what?” His voice went sharp. “How dare you go around me like that. Those were my decisions to make.”

“You said you didn’t want them.”

“Your job is to find the gems, Olivia. To convince me that they’re worth exploring.”

She swallowed. Well, there was that one…

“You’d better pull this off with Rivers, because if you don’t, there won’t be a job for you here. Not with me. Not with anyone. I’ll make sure of it.”

The line went dead.

Livvie stood on the sidewalk, phone in hand, rain dripping from her hood. The coffee had gone cold. The sandwich bag was damp.

There won’t be a job for you anywhere.

She took a breath. Squared her shoulders.

Fine. If she had to be a shark to survive, she’d be a shark.

She walked toward Nate’s house with her jaw set and her heart hammering.

The green Craftsman sat quiet in the rain.

Livvie climbed the porch steps, wind chimes silent in the still air—and paused at the mailbox. Force of habit. She’d started grabbing his mail three days ago, after realizing he’d let it pile up for a week.

Bills. A flyer for the Flannel Festival. A catalog for outdoor gear. And⁠—

She stopped.