Lovegame(102)

I never got an answer. And while I can tell myself over and over again that she’s fine, that she’s processing, that she just needs time, I know there’s no chance I’m going to be able to relax until I hear her voice. Until I see her face.

Until I can judge for myself what kind of shape she’s in.

Which is why I’m currently pacing my hotel room floor, doing my best to miss the pieces of shattered glass from my fit of temper two nights ago. I should probably start cleaning the mess up—and let the management know about the broken sliding glass door, but right now I can’t concentrate on anything but Veronica for longer than a minute.

Then again, how can I when the sheets on the bed still smell like her? When I still smell like her despite the shower I took after getting back here this morning?

I’m swiping across the display on my phone yet again, checking my text messages yet again, when the thing vibrates in my hand. It’s so unexpected, and so goddamn welcome, that for a second I just stare at the thing, mind blank.

But then it registers that it isn’t Veronica calling me and my jumpy stomach settles back down. I almost let it go to voicemail—she’s the only one I want to talk to right now—but it’s my agent and I’ve got something to say to him and it should be said sooner, rather than later.

“Hey, Mitch,” I say, as soon as I swipe to accept the call.

“Ian! How are you?”

Fucking terrible. “I’m good. How are things going with you?”

He laughs. “Good, good. I’m not going to lie—they’ll be better once I’ve got an estimated completion date for the Red Ribbon Strangler book. Your publisher’s breathing pretty heavily down my neck right now.”

Of course they are. Of f*cking course. “I was actually going to call you. I need to talk to you about that.”

“Okay.” He sounds wary. “How are things going with Veronica? I know she cut the interview short—do you need help finding another in? Maybe I can pull some strings—”

“I don’t need an in. I’ve already spoken with her.”

“Oh, yeah?” He loses the wariness, sounds excited again. “How’d that go? What did she say when you told her about the connection? Have you written that piece up yet? I’d love to see it—”

“I haven’t written it up. In fact—”

“Okay, I get it. You need more time. I can hold them off a little longer, but they’re anxious. With the movie coming out, your name is white-hot right now. They want to capitalize on that—we all do. And with the subject matter of this book? It’s going to hit the Times list for sure. In fact—”

I give up waiting for an in and just give him the bottom line. “I’m not writing the book, Mitch.”

For the first time since I answered the phone, there’s silence on the other end. “You’re not writing the book?” He sounds skeptical, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“No, I’m not.”

“You have to write the book.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you really do. You’ve got a contract. They’ve already paid you a high six figure advance. Not to mention all the time you’ve put into it—and the fact that you don’t have anything else in the pipe right now. Your career is white-hot at the moment, but if you disappear for another two years—”

“I’ll pay the advance back. And I’ll figure something out for the next book—”

“Pay the whole advance back?” he stutters out. “Have you lost your goddamn mind? What the hell did Veronica Romero say to you?”

Too much. Not enough. I want inside her head, I want to know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. That’s not the profiler talking, either. It’s the man. She was a mess last night, understandably, and the idea that she’s out there today, suffering, and that I’m not with her…it makes me want to break another glass door. Makes me want to punch something and keep punching until my knuckles are bloody and the pain is so bad I can’t think anymore.

I don’t tell him any of that, though. Mitch might be one of my closest friends as well as my agent, but what goes on between Veronica and me is none of his business. Her secrets are nobody’s business but hers. “My decision has nothing to do with Veronica.”

“Bullshit,” Mitch snarls. “You’ve been all about this book for almost three years, man. Three years spent researching, gathering evidence, doing interviews. And now, less than a week after you meet with a woman whose role in the story is small but pivotal, suddenly you don’t want to write it anymore? I’m not stupid, you know. Of course it has to do with Veronica. And I get it, I do. She’s famous and whatever you managed to get out of her could damage her career and credibility. But what about your career? Your credibility?”

“This has nothing to do with her,” I repeat. I’m working damn hard not to snarl back because I get why he’s upset. I do. I’ve pretty much just given him the shittiest job a client can give his agent and of course he doesn’t want to go back to the publisher with what I’m telling him. We’ve both worked damn hard through the years to get me where I am right now and this book, this story, could totally take me to the next level. It could take my career from hot for now to guaranteed hot for the foreseeable future. That’s what pretty much every author wants, and yet…“I can’t do the book, Mitch.”