Page 6 of Falling Into Forever
“You took a risk leaving Malimar Media,” Kate says in her signature abrasive tone, and I’m glad I stayed in Connecticut for this meeting. “I understand why you did, but enforcing the rescission of your contract makes the other big publishing houses extremely nervous. They need a new book that’s impossible to turn down, and they need it now.”
“Malimar wanted me to write from a script, Kate. A script with borderline abusive heroes and heroines with no backbone. It wasn’t my voice, and it has to bemyvoice I listen to. And, if the whispers of his eh, business practices are true, I want nothing to do with him.”
A recent scandal with Will Malimar and an actress was the catalyst to get my butt in gear.
Kate’s teeth must be worn to nubs with all the grinding she’s doing. “I agree, Sassy. But Malimar Media is still considering legal action against you.”
Opening my mouth to release a curse-laden tirade, she cuts me off before I can get going.
“They don’t have a case—Grady made sure of that. They have no leg to stand on after the hack job they did to your last stand-alone book.”
I snort. Calling it my book is an exaggeration. Over fifty percent of that story came from someone else, and they published their revised version without my knowledge or consent under my name.
“But that doesn’t mean they won’t threaten anyone trying to take you on. Give me something so good Holiday House Publishing can’t refuse it.”
“Kate.” I groan and press my fingers to my forehead. Talking with her is the equivalent of little knives stabbing my eyeballs. “I can’t give them what I don’t have. I’m burnt out, and I need a break. I told you that three months ago that twenty-two books in five years has drained me. You’re supposed to be protecting me from vultures like them.”
“This is me protecting you. How long do you think new publishers will wait before they find the next big thing that comes with a hell of a lot less baggage? You have a small window of time to show up with something truly stellar because if you can’t deliver, they will decide you’re not worth the risk.”
While she stews, I sit in the silence of dead air and fantasize about ways my life could have been different.
Her sigh is heavy and comes far too quickly. “You have to do the interview tomorrow,” she says.
“No way, Kate. Rebecca Henshaw is Malimar’s daughter! She’ll probably do something shitty.”
“We know she will. Malimar has the world’s worst God complex, and no one has ever successfully broken a contract with him. He will attempt to make an example out of you, but if you play nice, and keep your attitude in check, they’ll have nothing to use against you. This is an opportunity to show the publishing world and Malimar that you’re not afraid of him. It’s the last piece of the contract you’re obligated to fulfill, then we can terminate it with limited repercussions. Her broadcasts receive millions of views every week. The interview stays.”
“Fine. I’ll play nice at the interview. But only because it gives me a chance to pimp First Pages. She will let me talk about my literacy program, right?”
“There’s no format for her segment. It runs live and is more of a round table discussion, so you should be able to promote your little literacy initiative too.”
Little. Yeah, making sure children have access to currently relevant reading material is little.
“Ten a.m. You can do this, Sass. And you’re doing it from home. You don’t even have to come into the city. You’ll be fine,” Kate says right before she hangs up without a goodbye.
I’ll be fine? How long has she freaking known me? There’s a reason I don’t do interviews. There’s a reason I don’t do public events in general.
I’m a liability to myself.
“I know,” I mutter. And I do—sort of.
* * *
“Miss Thompson?”Rebecca asks, interrupting me again. She says my pen name like we share a secret, and I clench the edges of my latest book.
That tone makes me want to duck for cover. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t been able to get three words in about my literacy program, and the snark I’ve been trying so hard to keep in check is bubbling to the surface.
I bite the inside of my cheek.Be professional. Get through this interview, and then you’re free. Keep the sass in check. That last one is the hardest to control, though.
Her lips thin into a cruel smile, and I straighten my spine as a chill works through my body.
“Would you say you pull from your own life experiences for your stories?” Her voice is too silky, too sickly sweet. She’s trying to give me a false sense of security.
I shift in my chair, crossing then recrossing my legs as words of warning play on a loop in my mind. “I think there’s a level of storytelling that allows an author to incorporate real-life events or emotions, and it wouldn’t be realistic to say that my life doesn’t filter into the stories occasionally.”
“That’s so interesting,” Rebecca coos. She leans forward in her seat as the camera zooms in on her face. “InApril Rain, your heroine was an orphan.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t answer, but I do swallow hard. There’s no way she knows about my history. Right?
