Page 48 of Trip Me Up

Whoa. The heaviness descended again. I rubbed a spot of nail polish off my cuticle and tried to reset my face.

Qiana blew on her nails. “How long have you been writing? All your life?”

“Not so long.” Something twisted inside me. It was worse than the Q and As. This time, I was lying to someone I knew. Who was trying to be my friend. “What about you? Did you always want to be a publicist?”

Qiana swiped her thumb under a fingernail. “I always wanted to write.”

“Why don’t you?”

She frowned. “I loved reading as a kid. I guess I never thought it was something I could do. But now I work around authors and books every day.” Her frown dissolved. “It’s like a dream to get paid to connect writers to readers.”

I knew what it was like to be discouraged from pursuing my interests. Mother would’ve been so much happier if I’d done something she could understand, like finance or business. It was pure stubbornness—and Jackson’s encouragement—that made me push past Mother’s resistance. “But you can do whatever you set your mind to. Why don’t you write a book now? You’re not any older than I am.”

Qiana nibbled on her red-stained lip. “Maybe. I—I’ve considered going back to school. For my MFA. Fine arts,” she added when I stared at her blankly.

“Oh. You should. Definitely. If it’ll give you the confidence to pursue your dreams.” Grad school had been hard, but it was the steppingstone to my independence.

“I’ve been saving up for it. With the success we’re projecting for your book and Niall’s, the bonus pool should be good this year. Maybe next year I can afford it.”

Qiana might as well have punched me in the stomach. I’d never worried about money, not even after I’d given away my trust fund. My stipend kept me in ramen and thrift-store clothing, and if I ever had an emergency, my family would swoop in and rescue me whether I wanted it or not.

Qiana didn’t have that safety net.

The door rattled, and muffled voices came from behind it. “My roommates are home,” Qiana said. “Want any more food before they scarf it?”

“No, thanks.” I scrambled to my feet. The afternoon with Qiana had been…nice. But I couldn’t face small talk with her roommates. “I should go. Thanks for letting me hang out.”

“No prob. We can do it again sometime.” And there was that radiant grin again.

It wasn’t even a lie when I said, “I’d like that.”

The door opened, and I waved and slipped out.

As I clomped down the stairs, the conversation stuck in my brain like a runtime error.Sales. Bonus.

Sometime soon, Heidi and Martell would disclose the full story of CASE andMagician in the Machine.When they’d told me about the plan, I’d focused only on that scroll just out of my grasp. I hadn’t given a thought to—

I stilled, clutching the banister. When they revealed the truth, what would happen to Qiana? Would she earn her bonus and her MFA dream, even though the book turned out to be a lie?

Surely she would. Heidi had it all under control. I released my death-grip on the rail and continued down the stairs more slowly. Lie or not, the sales were real. Growing up with an entrepreneur for a father and a CFO stepfather had taught me that people couldn’t usually argue with cash.

But.

When I stopped pretending to be an author, I’d return to my world of solo programming and—I hoped—a research position at a quiet lab. Regardless of what Heidi said, the fallout from the truth would leave behind a mess someone would have to clean up.

It wouldn’t be Qiana, would it? And how much would she hate me, even if it wasn’t? I’d lied to her face about being an author, someone interested in books.

This friendship stuff couldn’t continue. Not with Qiana. It would complicate my exit strategy.

But CASE was the machine, not me, no matter how much I tried to suppress my feelings. And the Balrog’s pit in my stomach told me it was already too late to make a clean break.

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