Page 93 of Down Knot Out
My stomach knots as she continues, each word delivered with the practiced neutrality of someone reading from a script. “Now, don’t get me wrong, Chloe. Your work is fantastic, and everyone here believes in your talent. But with the current uncertainty surrounding estate disputes and pack politics, the marketing department believes it would be prudent to adjust our timeline.”
Adjust our timeline. Corporate speak forput your career on hold while we figure out how toxic you’ve become.
“What exactly does this mean for me?” I manage to ask past the tight band around my chest.
“Nothing dramatic,” Jennifer assures me, hertone bright with false optimism. “We’re suggesting you take a step back from public appearances until things stabilize. No book signings, no podcast interviews, no social media promotion. Only until the legal matters resolve themselves.”
Quinn sits up now, wrapping her small arms around her knees and waiting with the patient silence of someone who’s learned grown-up phone calls often bring bad news.
“The publisher’s legal team wants to avoid any potential liability issues. When we first took you on, you weren’t an established author,” Jennifer continues with a hint of censure. “Legal didn’t dig deep into your background, and you never disclosed your connection to the Sinclair pack. But now we’re planning to invest so much… You understand how these things work. High-profile family disputes can get messy, and we can’t have that reflecting on our brand.”
Our brand. As if my life exists solely as a marketing tool, valuable only when clean and uncomplicated.
“They’re also requesting a detailed statement about any ongoing litigation you might be involved in. Standard paperwork, nothing to worry about. We need to know if there are any estate claims, inheritance disputes, that sort of thing.”
My throat closes. They want a full accounting of my messy Sinclair heritage and documentation of every legal landmine that might explode and damage their curated image.
“How long?” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
“How long do I need to stay invisible?”
Jennifer’s pause stretches long enough for Quinn’s soft breathing and Sprinkles’ gentle snoring from the floor to fill the silence.
When she speaks again, any sympathy she feels is diluted by the detachment of corporate protocol. “Hard to say, really. These pack disputes can drag on for months, sometimes years. The important thing is we’re being proactive about protecting everyone’s interests.”
Everyone’s interests.Everyone except mine.
“I understand,” I say, the automatic response ringing hollow. “I’ll send you whatever documentation you need.”
“Wonderful. And Chloe? This isn’t personal. We all think you’re incredibly talented. This is just business.”
Just business.The phrase that absolves everyone of responsibility for the human cost of their decisions.
My throat tightens. “Thank you for calling.”
I hang up before she can offer any more empty reassurances, my hand shaking as I lower the phone to the coffee table. The device lands with a soft click that echoes in the sudden silence.
My breaths come in short, sharp bursts that do nothing to fill my lungs.
Quinn watches me with worried innocence, her small face scrunched with concern. “Aunt Chloe? Are you sick?”
Before I can answer, footsteps shuffle down the hallway, accompanied by the whisper of fabric against fabric. Grady appears in the doorway, his blond hair disheveled and his oversized hoodie hanging loose around his tall frame. The sleeves cover his hands, lending him a younger appearance than his twenty-six years.
He takes one look at my face and climbs over the back of the couch without hesitation, landing beside me with a soft thump that bounces the cushions. “What happened?”
The words stick in my throat, too raw and humiliating to speak aloud. How do I explain how my career, the one thing I’ve built through my own effort, is being held hostage by bloodlines I never asked for and family drama I can’t control?
“They want me to disappear.” The last word catches on an unsteady breath. “My publisherthinks I’m too messy. They want me to hide until the Sinclair situation resolves itself.”
Grady’s arm comes around my shoulders. “Who said that?”
“Jennifer. The marketing team. Legal. They’re worried about liability. About brand damage.” My throat closes up. “I’m so tired of being a problem no one wants to solve.”
Grady’s grip tightens around my shoulders. “You’re not a problem. You’re a person. And you don’t need anyone’s approval to matter.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it with frustration.
