I’d signed it in Sue’s office like an idiot. I can’t tell anyone the truth about Noa Callaway.

Suddenly, I feel my torment focus into a single vector: Sue.

Peony’s president and publisher sat there as I signed the NDA, and told me to buckle up. I feel betrayed by her, her poise and calm and cardigans. To be fair, I don’t think she’s ever actually met Noah, so she may not know his particular shade of self-obsessed. But surely, she knows he’s a man. Why doesn’t it present a crisis of conscience for her?

Silly Lanie. Naïve Lanie.

Money.

That’s why.

But what about Alix? If I am a good boss and a mentor to Aude it’s because Alix taught me how to be good. Why didn’t Noah’s identity ever seem to bother her? I’ve tried calling Alix, but her mailbox was full, and my emails have gone unanswered. So I’m left to wonder:

Is it different because Alix discovered him? Signed his first novel with Peony? What if she crafted his pseudonym herself? Is this why she really gave her notice—to finally make peace with The Lie?

I need to talk to Sue. There’s got to be another, more honest way to publish these books. Something between unmasking Noah for the asshole he is and perpetuating a fabrication to millions around the world.

But the thought of going into Sue’s office, making any such request with no manuscript to show for my provisionally promoted self . . . it would be tantamount to asking Sue to fire me.

I need ammunition. I need a watertight concept from Noah and a delivery date I can hold his ass to. Then, I can think about next steps.

I begin to sprint. My legs and arms pump with sudden optimism. My muscles burn as I enter Central Park.

I didn’t know I was headed here until I stop to catch my breath and find myself in the center of the Gapstow Bridge. I put my hands on the stone railing and let it center me. I take in the big, beautiful city in the dusk.

Pink clouds stretch across the sky like spun sugar. There’s still snow on the north side of the Pond. In the distance, windows glitter gold as the sun sets, a shining fence around the park.

Used the city up. I roll my eyes, recalling Noah’s words. It isn’t possible. I don’t believe him. Something else is going on with Noah, something I can’t see. Whatever it is, I’m not going to let it wreck my life. I’m going to pull one more book out of him. Then I’ll figure out what to do about his pseudonym.