The Roughest Draft(61)

Chris laughs loudly. “You won’t,” he promises me. It’s a uniquely unreassuring reassurance. “Only a few contacts, just to start generating some heat. Trust me.” I squirm, feeling pressure I’m not used to. I notice Nathan’s eyes on me. He doesn’t look skeptical or critical, just genuinely confused. “Hey, and as soon as you have ideas for what you want your next book to be, let’s discuss,” he continues.

Next book? We’re not even done with this book. I once went go-karting with my siblings, and I did not enjoy myself—I couldn’t understand how others found the careening fun instead of frightening. It’s how I feel now.

“We have a couple concepts,” Nathan says, watching me. “Nothing we’re ready to share yet.”

“Fair enough,” Chris replies, massaging the words. “The sooner the better, of course. We’re going to want to keep this momentum.” I hear the new lilt in his voice when he speaks next. “Sound good, Katrina? How are you feeling about this?”

Nathan shakes his head, but he’s too pleased with the news to frown.

“I’m . . . a little shocked, honestly,” I say.

“I understand. You’ll need to adjust to this new period in your life,” Chris says. “Don’t forget, I’m here for you, Kat.”

At this, Nathan’s eyebrows rise. I have to admit, it’s a little much, even for Chris. “Thanks, Chris,” I say with stiff cheer. With nothing else to add, we say our goodbyes.

When I hang up the phone, I find Nathan looking stunned. “Wow,” he says, giddy again.

“I know,” I say. While I want to let him celebrate, I can’t shake my nerves. “We still have to finish the book, though. Who knows what will happen.”

“Right, yeah,” he says, sounding eager to the point of impatient. His eyes have gone starry. “But lead title? Movie rights? Kat, this is huge.”

My stomach knots. I hate how this feeling has taken hold of me, this wiry, jittery creature. But I don’t know how to fight it. “Let’s just not get ahead of ourselves, okay?” I hear myself say. “When we’re done, when the book is out, then we can celebrate.”

Nathan studies me. His earlier curiosity has returned, and I know he knows me well enough to have discerned I’m downplaying this on purpose. He only gives me a soft smile, though. “Sure,” he says. I would feel horrible for how he’s tempering his enthusiasm, except his expression is gentle. “We’ll wait until we finish the book. And hey, Katrina?”

I look up.

“Chris is there for you. Whenever you need.”

I don’t laugh. While Nathan’s remark has the timing and irony of a joke, something in his expression and the sharpness of his voice says it’s not one, not really. He’s looking elsewhere now, his smile wan and mocking. What’s more, my pent-up nervous energy doesn’t exactly have me in the mood for humor.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask, matching the edge in his voice. “That I’m Chris’s favorite.”

Nathan scoffs. “Favorite? More like he’s into you.”

My head jerks back. “What? No. No way.” Instantly, I wish our publishing success was the only thing making me uncomfortable. Not this outlandish suggestion.

“You’re joking.” Nathan puts on a sort of pitying incredulity. “He checks you out every time we meet with him.”

I flush, shuffling through memories of lunches near his office and drinks with our publisher. “He does?” I ask. I never noticed. Nathan did, though. I’m not sure what to make of that.

Nathan’s eyes widen a little. “Does the observation please you?” He shifts away from me on the couch, everything about his posture defensive. He’s acting . . . jealous.

“If it did please me, there’d be nothing wrong with that, would there?” It’s a loaded question. There can’t be anything wrong with my enjoying Chris’s interest, not where Nathan’s concerned. Because Nathan is married.

He pauses, like he’s following the paces my mind just went through. “An agent sleeping with his client?” he asks, recovering. “I mean, it’s vaguely unprofessional.” His emphasis says vaguely is an understatement.

“Right. That’s what bothers you.” I stand, having reached the end of my patience with his scorn and skepticism. This conversation has gone haywire, unraveling in ugly directions. It didn’t have to—we’ve received good publishing news plenty of times in the past—but for perverse, frantic reasons, I’m glad it did. I’m distantly guilty about ruining Nathan’s enthusiasm, and so much more gratified I have this fight to distract me from the bigger questions of the call with Chris.

I’ve started to leave the room when I hear Nathan’s voice behind me.

“Why else would it bother me, Katrina?”

I round. My nerves have wound up into something darker, less forgiving. “It’s my choice if I want to sleep with Chris,” I shoot back, leaning into my frustration. It’s not a direct response to his question, which is purposeful. I’m pissed he asked a question he wouldn’t answer himself.

He leans forward. “So you do want to.”

“Maybe! I don’t know.” I shake my head, exasperated. Honestly, sleeping with Chris has never crossed my mind. He’s objectively handsome, though. Considering it now, it’s not the least interesting idea in the world. But that’s not the point. We’re not talking about what we’re really talking about. I’m done with it. “Let’s get back to work,” I say. “This life-changing book won’t write itself.”