“Aside from the fact that it’s a conflict of interest to have a romantic relationship with one of your authors?” Casey twitches an eyebrow up in challenge.

“You think Martis gives a shit about that? We weren’t together when she signed, and if it’s that big of a deal, I’ll step aside for the next book.” It would have gutted me to let her work go if we weren’t seeing each other, but now I suppose I can have the best of both worlds if it came to that.

Casey narrows his eyes at me. “She has kind of a fraught history with her mental health. And with you.”

“She’s different now,” I say without thinking.

“Different enough that you had to bring her food to get her out of a tough spot? It feels like you’re conveniently ignoring a lot of what she was like before she bailed on JMP.”

“You’ve been talking to Trina,” I accuse him.

He shoots me a look. “I will neither confirm nor deny that. Don’t try to weasel out of this, Ryan. I’m concerned.”

“Don’t be,” I say harshly, but I soften a bit as I chew on a corner of my mouth. “The more I hear her side of it, the more I realize that we were the ones who wronged her, not the other way around. She deserved better.”

“Better than a seven-figure publishing contract?”

“It wasn’t about money.”

Casey shakes his head. “It’s always about money.”

I furrow my brow so hard that I’m squinting in disbelief. “That is fundamentally incorrect. Anastasios Press was acquired on the idea of better work-life balance after JMP took a hard look at their practices.”

“It’s still capitalism,” he says with an air so casual, it seems forced. “We still have to sell books. If this book sells well—and I’m sure it will, especially when people find out who wrote it—they’ll want more and more. The cycle continues. What are you going to do then, Ry? What if she disappears again?”

I don’t want to admit it, but Casey is voicing something I’ve been thinking about off and on since she ghosted Charles at the restaurant a week ago. But every time I consider the possibility of her leaving again, I remind myself that things really are different now. She’s more open about her feelings, and I’m there every night to make sure she shuts the computer down and recharges. Last time, I let her work herself to the bone. I was distracted by dollars and didn’t see the harm in it. I won’t make that mistake again. I know the signs now, and I also know what I need to do to help her.

Shaking my head, I reply, “She won’t. I know what I’m doing this time.”