Page 100 of Player For Hire
“Iona!”
“It’s true. I know that corporate speak. I get those emails every damn day when people come to me with their tails between their legs because Frankie is blowing up and now they want her clothes in their stores.”
“I haven’t even talked to him. But it’s a job. And I don’t have one of those. My package is almost over, and then what am I going to do?”
“You get a job. You sell that book for a shit-ton of money, of course. Until that happens, you get a regular job. Something that doesn’t tax your brain and lets you write on the off time. You don’t go back to Chicago where they will probably find a reason to screw you over.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to go back.”
“That too. But I can feel it. It’s not the right play.”
I sighed. “I have to talk to Charles at least. To see what they’re talking about.”
“You leave him on read and let them come at you with an even better offer then.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can. You have the power here.” Iona yanked me out of my seat. “You don’t grovel, regardless of what happens.”
“Iona. Hang on.” She was dragging me back to the party. I stumbled after her, only stopping when she halted in front of the wine table.
She opened one and poured a large glass for herself and one for me. “You are better than Webster Publishing, dammit.”
I knew I was, but I didn’t even have a finished, polished product.
“Who’s Webster Publishing? Do they want your book?” Dahlia turned in her seat. “That’s awesome.”
“No, they are not.” Iona took a big gulp from her freaking goblet. “They’re her old boss.”
Dahlia’s brow furrowed. “You work for a publisher? Or past tense.”
I sighed. “I used to be a tech writer. I got downsized.”
“Oh.” Dahlia tipped her head. “And now they want you back?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Sounds it.” I glanced over at the other corner where Callahan and Colder were talking. My guy was gripping the back of his neck as he talked to him.
God, had he already talked to him about leaving Lonegan’s?
“He loves me, Iona,” I said softly. “He just told me he loves me.”
“And you’re still going?” She drained her glass and then took mine. “Are you freaking crazy?”
“He said he’d come with me.”
Iona blinked at me, then she took another gulp of wine.
“Give me that before you’re completely trashed. I need you clear-headed. I don’t know what to do.”
“I just got you back, Nay. I selfishly don’t want you to go back to Chicago. I like having you around. I don’t even care if you pay rent at this point. I want you here. Starving artists are a thing.”
My eyes welled. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”
She took the glass from me, but instead of sipping from it, she set it down and gripped both my arms, shaking me lightly. “You could. Hell, you could work at Lonegan’s a few nights a week for groceries if you felt guilty. Don’t go.”
“I’ll think about it.”