Page 26 of Always a Chance
The publisher might control my career, but they didn’t know me if they thought I’d take it lying down.
Aidan was in the kitchen, nervously grating cheese. “I heard the glass break, so I thought you could use some enchiladas.” Translation: he needed to make them to keep his anxiety in check.
“I’m starving.” Feeling much calmer than I should, I slid onto a stool. My fingers drummed on the countertop. This career had given me so much. I’d been able to do what I loved for years, made a ton of money, and lived my life the way I wanted to. Almost.
And it was time to blow it up.
“I won’t lie anymore.” It felt good to say the words, to be unable to take them back. We’d had this discussion before, but not in such absolutes.
Aidan turned, studying me. “Is telling the truth more important than your career?”
Was it? For so long, I’d said my lies weren’t hurting anyone. But we hadn’t merely faked who I was. Having a pen name wasn’t a harmful lie, if it was a lie at all. It was the persona we’d created, complete with Sheryl pretending to be me, fake interviews, and so many other questionable things.
Not to mention a man pretending to be a woman to sell books. It wasn’t okay.
I didn’t answer Aidan, instead finding another number on my phone.The New York Chroniclespent years trying to get an interview with me. The editor was a fan, but it was more than that. Their demographic was the same as mine. Every one of their attempts was blocked by my publicist, who’d sent them the standard answers to their questions.
They’d refused to print anything without speaking to me.
A man answered the phone after two rings. “New York Chronicle.”
I cleared my throat. “Hello, I need to speak with your editor. It’s urgent.”
“One moment please. He just got out of a meeting.”
I waited for a new voice to enter the conversation, my foot tapping against the stool. Sitting still was killing me.
“Hello.” This man sounded older. “Nolan Irons speaking. I was told this was urgent.”
Making a split-second decision, I started to speak. “Hello, my name is Aidan. I work for Trinity, the romance author.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve been trying to get in touch. We’re ready to run the interview when we have it.”
I couldn’t reveal anything until I sat in front of a reporter and had a chance to plead my case. But how did he already know what I wanted? “You read my mind. If you send someone to Gulf City, Florida, I’ll give you an exclusive that’ll increase your views tenfold.”
“Tenfold, you say?” He laughed. “Well, we’ve already sent someone to you. Has our reporter been in contact?”
“No.” My brow furrowed in confusion. “I haven’t met with any reporters, but I can ask around town.” If someone was sniffing around about me, I’d find out. “What’s their name?”
“Talia,” he said. “Talia Hillson.”
14
TALIA
I swear he did it just to make me mad. That’s what men did, wasn’t it? They coaxed girls in, pretended they weren’t an evil spawn intent on destroying anyone’s peace of mind, and then they struck right at the heart. Or, in this case, the shoes.
“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I growled as I scrubbed my two-hundred-dollar sneakers that were a gift from Barrett. Because, honestly, I could never afford such expensive shoes. But when I ran, my feet sang his praises with every step.
And I only ran when I was upset, so something had to make me happy.
I wiped my sweaty forehead on my shoulder and glared at the boy himself from my place in the bathroom doorway. “I don’t get what I ever did to you.”
He only cocked his head, his narrow eyes spearing right through me.
“Fine, there was that time I chased you with the vacuum. And all the threats… But if you weren’t so mean to me, I wouldn’t have to keep you away.”
“Milo,” Gianna yelled from her room. “Where’s Milo?”
