Page 67 of Kill Your Darlings

I did not.Which is to say, I remembered having one-on-one feedback sessions with about six authors that weekend.Not a lot, compared to how many I’d conducted back in my junior editor days, but multiply that by several events a year multiplied by a decade?

Yes, regrettably, the endless parade of authors and their five-page submissions tended to blur together in my mind.

Hayes said, “That’s ironic.Given that the book you trashed just won the Edgar.”

I echoed, “The book Itrashed?”

I was pretty sure I’d never trashed anyone’s book.Trashing books is typically performed by rival authors.

His lip curled.

I said, “I’m not infallible.My opinion is informed, but in the end it’s just another opinion.I’m glad the book did well for you.”

“Sure, you are.”He went back to scrolling through his phone.

It was exasperating, to say the least.There had to be more going on here than a forty-five-minute critiquehe’d requestedtwo years ago.

I gave him a look of disbelief, shrugged.What more was there to say?

Hays murmured, “You may have Scottie snowed, but you don’t fool me.”

Scottie.

Okay.Now I got it.

Not as complicated as I’d imagined.

Chapter Sixteen

The sound of Finn letting himself back inside the suite woke me from the light sleep I’d fallen into when I’d returned upstairs.

I opened my eyes, listening lazily as Finn moved around the main room.I heard the drapes opening, felt the light change in the bedroom, the wash of sea breeze as he opened windows and glass doors in the living room.It felt peaceful.

Despite everything that had happened, I felt strangely calm.

A little while later I heard Finn speaking on the phone, but his voice was low and I couldn’t make out the words.

He seemed to be on the phone a while, or maybe he made a couple of different calls.I continued to drift in and out of sleep.

When the floorboard outside the bedroom creaked, I opened my eyes and turned my head.

Finn had returned to his own room since that morning.He wore charcoal trousers and a flatteringly fitted moss-green dress shirt.He’d shaved and his hair was neatly combed.He looked handsome and assured—and unfairly well-rested.

“How are you feeling?”he asked.

“Better than I did.”I sat up and rubbed my head briskly.“What time is it?Do you have a panel?”

“Mm-hm.The Thin Blurred Line.With J.X., Pat Robinson, and your very favorite author T.McGregor”

“Ha.I wouldn’t say Thomas McGregor is myfavoriteauthor.”

Finn’s mouth quirked.“That’ll be a disappointment to Lila.She’s hoping you’ll accept an All-Star trade before the All-Star Game.T.McGregor for me.”

“Foryou?Like hell.Are you serious?”

“I sure am.I heard her whole pitch to Vaughn.I think she wanted me to hear it.”

I absorbed it and said, “Is that what you want?”I braced myself for his answer.

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