Page 7 of Falling Into Forever
Thank you, stupidly expensive lawyers.
When her eyes glint with malicious intent, it hits me with sudden clarity. Her father doesn’t give a shit if this book bombs on the charts. Malimar couldn’t keep me under his thumb, so he’s starting a war.
When I remain silent, she digs in. “Did you base their lives on your own family?”
Her lips curl into a nasty snarl. She thinks she can break me but doesn’t know I’m already damaged beyond repair.
My nails dig into my right palm while my left hand cradles it from view.Focus on the pain, Sass. If you cause it, no one else can.
“You receive criticism for the heat level in your books.” She changes the topic without giving me more than a second to reply. “You write words that could easily describe a pornography scene, yet you openly promote children’s literacy and programming as your charity of choice. There must be mom groups all over the world angry at you for dragging children into such sexually explicit material.”
“No, I don’t. That’s not what—”
“And it is explicit, Miss Thompson. Graphic even. Where do you get the inspiration for that?”
Heat coats my spine, and I’m pretty sure my camera-ready smile is only a baring of my teeth at this point.
“What kind of research did it take for thosesteamyscenes in your last novel,Come September?”
What the hell kind of question is that?I open my mouth, but she wastes no time finishing her attack.
“Are the rumors true, and it’s autobiographical? Do you regret pushing away yourone true love, Dante Greer? I’m sure the world is curious about that relationship and how it relates to the characters in your book, Sara and Danny.”
Rage has my hands trembling. My stories are not porn. But Dante? How the hell does she have that information? I’ve spent years refusing to acknowledge why we chose each other’s surnames as pseudonyms, but her words make images of him flood my mind. They swirl like a whirlpool, and curse words sit on the tip of my tongue.
“Is it true that the love child is his? Is that why you’re no longer together?”
Love child? What child? My stomach heaves, and I take a fortifying breath to keep my breakfast down.
Children’s literacy. Focus on children’s literacy.
That’s what I’m here to freaking talk about. My nails break skin, and moisture beads in my palm. I let my body focus on that while I build my retort.
“Why are you asking this?” My voice is deceptively calm—a miracle in itself. “Did you ask Steve Bigby if he murdered fourteen people before writingOn The Fifteenth Night? Did you ask Marla Montrey if she rode dragons to the seventh ring? I find your line of questioning offensive, ignorant, and lazy.”
My words don’t deter her, and she keeps talking, but the darkness is creeping in and all I hear is static.
She shuffles some papers in front of her and reality comes crashing back in violent waves. “It confuses me that you write such explicit material but are so vocal about championing children’s causes. It’s almost like you believe those two worlds should be connected somehow. Do the parents of these kids know what you write?”
“I don’t write pornography, and I don’t write for children. All my novels are very clearly written for adults and marketed to adult readers. I’m here to discuss how people can help children access current and culturally relevant reading material. What I write is—”
She laughs, and it’s cold, almost maniacal. “I apologize. Most people aren’t ashamed of what they write.”
What the fuck?
“We’ll go back to your family and why you go to such lengths to hide your identity from your readers.”
Her sneer is evil—all fake softness and camaraderie have vanished.
Air whooshes in my ears as I fight back a panic attack.
“You’ve utilized extensive measures to keep your history and your sister’s untimely death from the public. Or perhaps it’s what happened after the accident that you’re hiding? It was a terrible tragedy, but it seems like someone also went to great lengths, expensive lengths, to keep the story out of the mainstream news.”
She has no qualms about blasting my private life to the world. It’s written all over her face.
She’s not interested in an honest interview. This attack was premeditated, and her father is my executioner. I’ve heard the rumors. How he blackmails and strong-arms his talent, and no one is safe from his particular brand of encouragement.
But I thought I’d found the loophole.
