In Too Hard (Freshman Roommates Trilogy, Book 3) Page 19

  “Okay. Yeah, it all sounds doable.”

  “Super. We plan on making the deal announcement this week. I’ll work with Nora on that. We want to get the buzz started. So you’ll probably want to get some statements ready. I know you’re at that college place for a little while longer, but we’ll have time to sit down and talk it all out once you’re back in the city.”

  I didn’t expound on her “that college place” statement. I didn’t want to share my Bribury adventure with Adina. Or Nora. It felt special to me, private. But maybe I was melding my whole experience this year with my feelings for Syd.

  Then a thought came to me. “When you make the deal announcement, are you going to put in a synopsis of the book, or just announce the deal?”

  “Not sure yet. Why?”

  “Well, as I’m sure you realized, I have yet to name my protagonist.”

  “Oh, thank God. I was so hoping you weren’t married to ‘Esel.’”

  I laughed. “No, it was a placeholder. I’m back and forth on the name.”

  “Okay. If we do a synopsis, we’ll do it without a character name. Keep it vague. That might heighten some mystery actually. Just make sure you have it before I get your edits back, we’ll be going to galleys shortly after that.”

  “I’ll have it by then,” I said. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

  She’d loved it. So had Nora. And Syd had loved what she’d read of it. It had sold for three million. Maybe I could get away with using Esme. Fuck the haters.

  I remembered Syd’s words about my original Esme/Rachel character notes and how they compared to Salinger’s Esme.

  Practical. Unsentimental. Wise beyond her years. Very matter-of-fact. And yet you know she’s going to rip your heart out.

  I opened my laptop and pulled up Flames. Yep, a quick find and replace and I had the name of my protagonist set.

  I looked at my tablet again, checked the time, then called Corrine Patterson to see if the dean had time to see me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Syd

  Jane walked with me to class one morning a few weeks after I’d seen Billy for the last time, which was unusual. I didn’t think she even had class until eleven on Tuesdays.

  She’d been dealing with her own stuff with Stick lately, and though I didn’t know what all had gone down, there was a period in there when she was a total bitch to be around. I mean, way worse than usual. But, the last couple of weeks she’d been flying high and it seemed like they’d worked it out.

  She’d even been on television. An interview she did with her father and Caro Stratton had aired and Jane was getting a lot of attention on campus. Which of course she hated.

  The three of us had taken the train to Manhattan last weekend to shop and have a girls’ weekend—part of Jane’s birthday gift from her father and Caro. We’d done a bunch of shopping at Barney’s for Jane’s upcoming stumping on her father’s campaign trail gig. But she’d also taken me to a cool vintage shop she liked and I’d gotten a few things.

  I now wore my new purchases and was…okay with the fact that I didn’t look like all the other girls as we walked across campus. In fact, I kind of reveled in it.

  “Listen, I saw something online this morning, and I thought you should know,” Jane said. She shrugged. “Maybe you already do know, but my guess is the way you’ve been moping around lately that you’re not in the loop much.”

  Ah, the reason for walking with me. “What did you see?” I’d tried to hide my heartbreak from Jane and Lily, because then I’d have to tell them about Billy. And I just couldn’t. So, I didn’t think Jane would be sharing with me something she’d seen online about Billy. Like he’d reunited with his lost love Diandra Scott and was now engaged.

  “Remember our prof from last semester? That hottie Montrose?”

  A cold wind swept over my heart. No. He couldn’t have. “Yeah?” I said, trying to sound uninterested.

  “I guess he sold his next book. Big time deal. Like a three million dollar advance or something.”

  Emotions rushed through me and I swallowed hard. He’d finished Down in Flames. He’d sold it. And for a huge advance, which would only be given if they’d loved the book and thought it would be a huge best seller.

  Pride and elation ping-ponged in my heart. I’d known it the moment I’d started reading it. To know that the publishing world saw it too… My throat barely worked as I said, “Is that so? Good for him.”

  Jane gave me a sidelong glance and a snort, both of which I ignored. Did she know? Why else would she even mention it?

  “You know, I finally bought and read Montrose’s big, supposed masterpiece,” she said.

  “You did?” I asked genuinely surprised. “What did you think?”

  She shrugged. “Meh.”

  “Meh?” I was shocked. I knew Jane and I had different tastes in…well, everything (except wanting to sleep with Billy, we’d once shared that), but how could Folly not have affected her? How could—

  “I mean, I kept waiting for the gangsters to show up. There wasn’t even one gangster.”

  Oh, my God. I stopped in my tracks. Jane had to be smarter than that. “Jane, the gangster is a metaphor. It’s supposed to symbolize Aidan’s—”

  “Ha. Got ya,” Jane said, nudging me and continuing to walk on while I stared after her. “I got the metaphor, Syd, I’m not an idiot.” I started walking again, catching up to her. “And yeah, I can see what all the fuss is about. Is this new one as good?”

  “I don’t know,” I honestly said. “I read about three quarters of it before I…we—” I realized what I had just admitted. I stopped again, and this time Jane stopped with me. She didn’t say a single word, gave no sign of knowing that I had read Billy Montrose’s newest book. But if she’d been fishing, I’d taken the bait.

  There was such a look of understanding from Jane, and just a little sympathy too. I stopped trying to figure out how Jane Winters knew everything. Sighing, I said, “Yeah, I think it probably is as good. Maybe even better. But, I didn’t get to finish it.”

  She only nodded. “Well, sounds like you’ll get to right around Christmastime. Hey, I already know what to get you.” A little chuckle, then she slung an arm around me, squeezed and we continued walking.

  “Very funny,” I said, but I knew I’d be the first one at the bookstore the day Down in Flames dropped.

  When I got out of class I checked my phone like I always did and almost dropped it in shock as I saw a text from Billy.

  Do you have some time this afternoon? I have one last piece of the project I need your help with.

  Had he found another box? Had I messed something up? He’d texted a half hour ago, so I wasn’t sure if he’d see my response right away, but I told him I could work this evening if he’d just leave it on his desk.

  Can’t with this one. I need to explain it in person. I’m in my office all afternoon. Can you make it?

  God, just when it wasn’t completely devastating to think about him. To see him again. In his office where we’d spent so many hours. But, I had been paid to complete this project for him, and I was eternally grateful for that opportunity. I’ll be there shortly. I’m nearby.

  Because of the money I’d earned as a literary assistant, I would be able to spend the summer here, and even take a few classes, so I could stay in the dorms. Mrs. Otterbein had said she could use me and I’d probably get nearly forty hours a week at the admin building for the whole summer.

  When we’d been in New York last weekend, I went to see my brothers in Queens and to let my mother know that I wouldn’t be home for the summer. It hadn’t gone well with her, but it did look like she had stepped up—or perhaps my grandmother had stepped in—and Duncan and Liam were being taken care of. It had been great to see my little redheaded leprechauns and I’d brought them both Bribury sweatshirts. They’d cried when I’d left and then I’d cried the whole way back to Manhattan, but I knew I wasn’t the only big sister out there who went off to c
ollege.

  As I walked down the hallway in Snyder Hall, I was happy to realize that I hadn’t even once thought about going back to the dorm to change into my more…Bribury clothes.

  But yes, I did run a hand through my hair and put on some lip gloss before I knocked on his office door. I waited to hear a “come in,” but instead the door almost instantly opened, as if Billy had been right there waiting for me.

  It had been so hard to see him a few weeks ago when I’d come to tell him how I felt. This time…yeah, it was still excruciating, even if I had gotten myself kind of back on track emotionally since then.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey.” He stepped back and I entered the office and had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Boxes were everywhere.

  “Did you find another set of notes?” I asked as I moved into the room and he shut the door behind me. I heard the quiet snick of the lock and wondered how many times that sound had made my skin start to heat and my pulse race.

  “No. These aren’t notes. This is the stuff from my office. I’m packing it all up.”

  Oh, right. He’d be leaving soon. Duh. I turned to face him and said, “About the job?” just as he said, “You look different.”

  I raised my hand self-consciously to my hair, which I had stopped straightening recently. The loose waves had grown on me, plus it saved a ton of time in the mornings.

  He took a step toward me. “I mean good. Different good. You look good.” He ran a hand across his chin, a gesture so familiar to me that a lump formed in my throat. “Jesus,” he whispered more to himself than to me. “And I call myself a writer.”

  The book. Yeah, that was safe. “I heard about your book deal. Congratulations,” I said.

  “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you knew. I wanted to call you when it sold, but…” A pained look came across his face. He looked tired, but I supposed wrapping up his classes, getting ready to move, and selling a book would tend to take its toll on a man. Tired, yes, but he still looked amazing to me. His hair was a little longer and I remembered how I’d liked to sink my hands in it right at the base of his skull. Now, my hand would probably come to the bottom of his neck.

  Not that I’d get the chance to find out.

  He wore jeans and sneakers, with a black tee that only seemed to bring out the grey of his eyes. He watched me look at him and I knew the heat I was feeling being this close to him was creeping up my neck. “So, anyway, the job?”

  He looked at me a second longer, then seemed to snap out of it and bring his focus back. Another familiarity that was both sweet and painful to remember. “Right. Right.” He moved past me and his bare arm brushed mine. “I have an early galley from my publisher that I need proofread.”

  “And you want me to do it?” He nodded. “Don’t they do that for you at the publishing house?” I asked.

  Another nod. “They do. But the final look is on the author. And I don’t trust myself, having seen it so many times. I need fresh eyes on it.”

  “Not entirely fresh eyes,” I pointed out.

  “No, but I think you’ll be surprised how different it is from the version you read.”

  A little tingle of pride rippled through me. “Did you use some of the Gangster’s Providence text?”

  A laugh, rich and throaty and so good to hear, came from him. “Oh, yeah. I used most of your suggestions. You’ll see yourself all over this version, Syd.” He picked up a huge stack of paper from his desk and walked toward me. It looked like an entire ream that you’d take out of the package and put in the printer, but when he got closer I saw that the outside margins were huge, with the text being the size of an actual book with page numbers and folios and everything, just centered on regular printer paper. This must be what a galley looked like.

  I reached out to take it from him, but he held it back. “I couldn’t have done this without you Syd. None of it. I mentioned you in the acknowledgements, but it will never be enough for what you did for me.”

  I was in the acknowledgements? I reached again for the manuscript, curious to see if acknowledgements were included in publisher’s galleys.

  “But you can’t take it with you. I really need to have it in my possession the whole time. I had to sign a waiver and everything. They’re really afraid of leaks before publication.”

  “You think I’d leak it?” I said, but he was already shaking his head.

  “No. Of course not. But I told them I’d keep it with me at all times. They’re being really paranoid about it. I guess there’s a bunch of online leaks happening for anticipated books lately. Like the whole book, not just excerpts. Ebook pirating, all of it.”

  “Oh, okay. So, how do you want to do this if you need to be in possession of it?” God, was he going to sit here while I proofread? No way would I be able to concentrate on his manuscript.

  “Well, do you have some time now? Why don’t you take the desk and start in on it. I’ve got the last of my class papers to read, and I can do that on the couch.” He turned and grabbed something from his desk. “Oh, here,” he said, handing me my scarf. “You must have left this here that last night that—”

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing the fabric from him. I’d known it was missing of course, even knew when I’d left it, having searched for it the morning after we broke up. There was no way I was going back and asking him for it, though it pained me to not have at least the scarf as a physical reminder of our time together.

  “So…can you start now?” He didn’t seem to be waiting for my answer. Moving across the room, he picked up a batch of student papers from the credenza and made his way to the couch, where he plunked down, crossing one long leg over the other, ankle to knee.

  “Uh, yeah…I guess,” I said and walked around the desk, then took a seat. He just nodded and then started reading, red pen in hand. Something was off about this whole thing, but I couldn’t figure out what. How was I even a qualified proofreader?

  I studied him for a while, selfishly soaking in the sight of him while he was distracted. When he looked up and caught me, I just held up the manuscript in a “yep, I’m gonna read it now” kind of way. He just gave a tiny nod then returned to the paper he held.

  A galley apparently is exactly what you see in a book, just in loose-leaf form. The title page with Billy’s name was first, followed by the copyright page. Next was the dedication, which was to his sister, and very sweet.

  On to the acknowledgements. First his editor, then his agent. His parents were thanked. And then…

  A special thank you to Sydney O’Brien, who worked as my assistant on this book. She offered great feedback, advice, ideas, and the occasional kick in the ass when needed. I smiled and read on. This book would not have been written without her. That was nice. And… She certainly earned the right to have the Down in Flames protagonist named in her honor.

  Wait. What?

  I quickly flipped to the next page in the stack.

  Chapter One

  Nobody had ever met a woman like Sydney Cassidy.

  Same opening line I’d read two months ago, except then it had been Esel. When Jane told me about Billy’s book deal I’d briefly wondered if he’d gone with Esme or Rachel, or something else entirely.

  He’d chosen Sydney.

  My head snapped up to find Billy staring at me. “Why?” I asked.

  He put the paper he’d been reading down on the couch and rose, then walked over to the front of the desk, putting his hands down and leaning over so that he was at my eye level, the desk between us.

  The desk, and a whole lot of other shit stood between us.

  “Do you remember the conversation about my character being Salinger’s Esme?”

  “Yes,” I said. It had been the first of many conversations about his characters. “Vaguely.”

  “You described her as, and I quote, ‘Practical. Unsentimental. Wise beyond her years. Very matter-of-fact. And yet you know she’s going to rip your heart out.’ Sound like anyone we both know?”
>
  “I…I…” I was speechless and by his smile, he knew it.

  He leaned a little further across the desk. Still not touchable from where I sat, but maybe if I scooted—“I didn’t write you, Syd, but your name fits this character. To a tee. And it was a name I wanted around me always.” He pointed to his book. “It’s not carved in stone, but it will definitely be in print and on bookshelves.”

  I ran his words (my words, actually) through my head. “But I didn’t rip your heart out,” I said.

  He put both his hands over his heart, white and stark against the black of his T-shirt. “From the first, you ripped my heart out. I’m just so sorry I did the same to you.”

  He took a step back away from the desk and I held my breath. Was he going to go back to his couch and start reading again? Was I supposed to just thank him for naming a character after me and return to work? Did knowing his heart was broken like mine help?

  “Did you even really need me to proofread?” I asked.

  He smiled, but it was small and faint. “No. I just wanted you to see it before it came out. It was true that I’m not supposed to let it out of my possession, so this seemed like a good way to get you here.”

  Oh. So I wouldn’t be spending torturous hours only steps away from the man I loved but who didn’t love me back. I held back a sob, cleared my throat and said as I rose from my chair, “Oh, okay. Well, it was a lovely gesture, thank you.”

  A look of panic came across his face. “No. No, I didn’t… Shit, I messed this up.” I was rounding the desk now and he took a step over to stand in my way. “Syd,” he said, and started to reach for me, when a knock came at the door.