“I haven’t written it up. In fact—”
“Okay, I get it. You need more time. I can hold them off a little longer, but they’re anxious. With the movie coming out, your name is white-hot right now. They want to capitalize on that—we all do. And with the subject matter of this book? It’s going to hit the Times list for sure. In fact—”
I give up waiting for an in and just give him the bottom line. “I’m not writing the book, Mitch.”
For the first time since I answered the phone, there’s silence on the other end. “You’re not writing the book?” He sounds skeptical, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“No, I’m not.”
“You have to write the book.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Yes, you really do. You’ve got a contract. They’ve already paid you a high six figure advance. Not to mention all the time you’ve put into it—and the fact that you don’t have anything else in the pipe right now. Your career is white-hot at the moment, but if you disappear for another two years—”
“I’ll pay the advance back. And I’ll figure something out for the next book—”
“Pay the whole advance back?” he stutters out. “Have you lost your goddamn mind? What the hell did Veronica Romero say to you?”
Too much. Not enough. I want inside her head, I want to know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. That’s not the profiler talking, either. It’s the man. She was a mess last night, understandably, and the idea that she’s out there today, suffering, and that I’m not with her…it makes me want to break another glass door. Makes me want to punch something and keep punching until my knuckles are bloody and the pain is so bad I can’t think anymore.
I don’t tell him any of that, though. Mitch might be one of my closest friends as well as my agent, but what goes on between Veronica and me is none of his business. Her secrets are nobody’s business but hers. “My decision has nothing to do with Veronica.”
“Bullshit,” Mitch snarls. “You’ve been all about this book for almost three years, man. Three years spent researching, gathering evidence, doing interviews. And now, less than a week after you meet with a woman whose role in the story is small but pivotal, suddenly you don’t want to write it anymore? I’m not stupid, you know. Of course it has to do with Veronica. And I get it, I do. She’s famous and whatever you managed to get out of her could damage her career and credibility. But what about your career? Your credibility?”
“This has nothing to do with her,” I repeat. I’m working damn hard not to snarl back because I get why he’s upset. I do. I’ve pretty much just given him the shittiest job a client can give his agent and of course he doesn’t want to go back to the publisher with what I’m telling him. We’ve both worked damn hard through the years to get me where I am right now and this book, this story, could totally take me to the next level. It could take my career from hot for now to guaranteed hot for the foreseeable future. That’s what pretty much every author wants, and yet…“I can’t do the book, Mitch.”
“You mean you won’t do the book.”
I think of Veronica, of how shattered she looked when she told me her story. Of how broken. “If that’s how you want to put it, then fine. I won’t do the book.”
“Why not?”
Because she’s already been betrayed by so many people. People who were supposed to have her back. People who were supposed to protect her. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be just one more.
When I don’t answer immediately, Mitch starts talking again. “I can’t just go back to the publisher with Ian’s changed his mind. They’ve seen the first half of the book and they’re salivating over it. Ripping it away from them in the eleventh hour…Your career will be over. So give me something to work with here. Something that will help them understand what’s happening. Hell, I’ll take something that will help me understand what’s going on.”
Fuck. I know he’s right—I do owe him an explanation. But at the same time, I don’t want to betray Veronica. It’s a fine line to walk and I’m fucked up enough right now that I’m not sure I can manage it. Still, I’m smart enough to know I have to try. “This story…it’s ugly, Mitch.”
“Of course it’s ugly. That’s kind of the point. We’ve known that all along.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But now you care about her, so it seems even uglier.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just that the truth is uglier than I ever imagined it would be. It’s not my story to tell.”
“Then whose story is it?” he demands. I don’t answer, but then I don’t have to. The silence stretches between us for long seconds before Mitch blows out a long breath and continues, “Okay, look. I get where you’re coming from, I do. You don’t want to use Veronica in the book. Fine. What about not going there?”