This is ridiculous. I’m not working with JMP anymore; I’m not beholden to their insane deadlines and strict timeline. I’m no longer required to pump out two bestsellers in less than a year or answer to editors who believe that tearing me down is the best way to build me back up again. So why can’t I just enjoy it this time? Becoming flew out of me. There was none of this second-guessing myself. The last time I felt that good about a book was when I wrote my debut. When I was writing for the love of it, before the publishing industry decided my only worth was the money I made for them and disguised it as a boon for me in the form of a giant contract that essentially asked me to sign my life away on the dotted line. And smile while I did it.

The contract that had been Ryan’s idea. Because he thought more money would soothe these wounds, not cause a million more problems.

I can’t call him. I don’t want him to know I’m barely better off than when we were together. The last time we talked, when he was standing here with my handwritten notes, I was well adjusted and able to handle this job. I don’t want him to think otherwise. And I certainly don’t want him to think that offering me more money would fix anything. I can’t do that again.

My thumb drops a half inch to Trina’s name. I push hers instead and put her on speaker so I can stand over my counter with my back to my laptop and lodge my fingers in my hair.

“How’s my favorite writer doing today?” she answers cheerily.

“Tell me not to delete everything I’ve written.” My voice is weaker than I thought it would be. When was the last time I ate anything?

“Scarlett…” Trina’s tone immediately drops into worried territory. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I moan. “I was fine, Trina. I was doing fine.” With each sentence, I clutch at my hair a little more, letting the pain in my scalp bring me back to Earth. “What the fuck happened?”

“Is this about Ryan? Because I told him to keep it professional with you, but if he so much as said one word out of line—”

“No. God, Trina, what did you say to him?”

She groans, and I wince at how loud it is coming through my phone speaker. “He was all mopey. Totally distracted. I was trying to tell him about your idea for the new book, and he was barely even listening to me.”