Anastasios clears his throat. “Did they offer you a higher position over there for this information, Ryan? They seemed very interested in this book and whatever she was going to do next—”

“No, they did not offer me anything, and even if they did, there’s no way in hell I would have taken it.”

“Revenge, maybe?” he suggests. “I know you were involved in her deal at JMP.”

My gaze flies to Casey, who has the good sense to look sheepish. I shake my head. “I would never want revenge on Scarlett. I…” I trail off. It’s not against the rules for editors to be romantically involved with authors, but I could get taken off this book if they found out. It reeks of bias.

As my eyes meet those of everyone in the room in turn, I make a decision. Fuck it. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it. If Scarlett goes down, I go down with her.

“That picture is from six years ago. I don’t know how anyone got it. We had done an impromptu photo shoot for her social media, but all of that has been deleted.” I take a deep breath to steady myself before continuing. “Scarlett and I had been in a romantic relationship at the time. It was why I was so involved in that deal with JMP. When Trina submitted Becoming here, I had no idea it was hers. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since the day she left.”

“I can attest to that,” Trina chimes in, looking wide-eyed at me.

“Being a spurned lover doesn’t exactly make your case for not wanting revenge,” Meri offers matter-of-factly.

Is everyone just out to clear their own names by implicating me? I shoot daggers in her direction, but I manage to calm myself before speaking again. “That’s true, but Scarlett and I recently rekindled our relationship.” Looking squarely at Anastasios, I add, “I loved her then. I’ve loved her for the entire time she was gone. And I love her now, sir. I would never hurt her. Not knowingly, and certainly not like this.”

Casey slumps in relief. I can’t believe he or Trina ever thought for a second that I had something to do with this, but I’m going to have to deal with that later because Anastasios runs a hand through his graying hair and grumbles.

“That’s a bit of a problem, Whitlock.” He sounds tired.

“I know, sir. But it’s not this problem.” I indicate Casey’s phone, which has gone dark on the table.

“No, it’s not,” Anastasios agrees.

“Did JMP hear about this from that post?” I ask.

“The caption on that photo would suggest no,” he says. “And it didn’t sound like it when they called this morning, but there were a lot of words. Most of them were unkind and vaguely litigious.”