Page 39 of Not a Strong Enough Word

A chuckle bubbles up out of me, riding up on the high of being able to help her do this simple thing. As if acting on muscle memory, I cup my hand behind her head, weaving my fingers through her hair, and kiss her forehead. It’s such a natural action—one I made countless times, years ago—that I barely think anything of it until my lips touch her skin.

“Because your big, beautiful brain is full of other things.” Suddenly very aware of our proximity, I take a step back quickly. “Besides, that’s what you have me for.” I try to put on a reassuring expression, but my lips are still practically vibrating from their contact with her.

Scarlett’s gaze drops, and her features contort with concern. “I didn’t have trouble remembering before this,” she mutters, probably to herself.

I respond anyway. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get you set up and back on track. No problem.”

Her eyes fly to mine, and the concern etched on her face is replaced with skepticism. “Why are you doing all of this? It’s Tuesday. Don’t you have, like, a job to do or something?” Like a cloud passing over the sun, her expression clears. “I guess I am your job now, huh?”

There is no world in which I wouldn’t help Scarlett get what she needs now that I know what that is. But I don’t have to tell her that. “Your book is my job,” I deflect.

“Well, I wrote the book, so it’s definitely in your best interest to make sure I write the next one they signed me on for.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it a million times, Scarlett. You’re more than your writing.”

She shrugs with an air of forced nonchalance, like a maladjusted teenager pretending not to care. “Yeah.” Then, she brightens a bit as her spine straightens. “Speaking of my writing, though, would you maybe want to read what I’ve got so far in this draft? I could use some feedback. It’s hard writing in a vacuum.”

“Shouldn’t you ask your critique partners before you ask your editor?” I tease, but from the way she winces, I know exactly what she’s going to say before she says it.

“I…uh…I don’t have any critique partners.” She shrugs in that jerky, uncomfortable way again. “I haven’t since, well, you know. It’s like they think mental breakdowns are contagious or something. Or they don’t want to be associated with someone on publishing’s blacklist.”

That’s when I realize she’s not just trying to rebuild a career. She’s trying to rebuild an entire life. One that collapsed in the wake of her decisions. She didn’t just walk away from her career and from me that day. She walked away from everything.

“You’re not on the blacklist,” I tell her, because starting there seems easier than trying to dissect the more complicated emotions rising in my chest. “In fact, Anastasios Martis wants to meet with you later this week.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not.” I try to reassure her, even though I’m not entirely certain about this myself. “That was him on the phone just now. He was asking me to set up a meeting with you.”

“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes skeptically. “When?”

“Whenever you’re available.”

Her arms lift from the sides of her body, as if they’re encompassing the entirety of her life. “As you can see, I’m completely booked, but I suppose I can squeeze something in,” she says with a healthy dose of skepticism. Then, she grows serious. “Maybe the end of the week? Or early next week? I’d like to get some shit together first, if you think that’d be okay.”

“I think that’d be fine,” I say gently. “And I’ll be there. I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or not, but—”

“It is,” she cuts me off before flashing me a half smile. “I’m glad you’ll be there for me.”

I’ll always be there for you, I want to say, but I don’t. I’ve crossed enough lines today. Instead, I grab her jacket from the hook next to the door and help her into it. “Let’s get your prescription, and then I want to read this next draft of yours.”

She shrugs into her jacket and pulls her hair loose from the collar. The dark strands fall over the green vinyl of her windbreaker. “You do?”

I jam my hands into my pockets in a feeble attempt to resist running my fingers over the loose ends of her hair. “Of course I do. I already told you I’ll read anything you write. Always.”

It feels like an admission, and the words hang between us. But when Scarlett smiles, it’s like a rainbow after the rain. And as we ride the elevator down from her apartment and step out into the spring sunshine, everything feels better. Lighter.

It doesn’t even matter that we aren’t together anymore. I’ll do anything to make her smile like that again. For as long as she’ll let me.

Chapter 20

Scarlett

“Do you want me to come with you?” Trina sounds distracted, even though she was the one who called me this morning before my scheduled meeting with Anastasios Martis at his office. It’s still unclear if she called to make sure I get my ass out the door or to ask—yet again—what this meeting is even about.

I switch over to speakerphone and rest my phone on the edge of my bathroom counter so I can try to do something with my hair. “It’s not like I need union representation, Trina.” My brush gets tangled up, and I curse as it pulls at my scalp. “Dammit, that fucking hurts,” I mutter.

“Are you tweezing those eyebrows finally?”