Sadie shifted her weight but didn’t retreat from his harsh tone.
“Jess thought you needed a developmental editor to help finishEchoes of Ash. The deadline was…”
“I know when the bloody deadline was,” he cut in, jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck tensing. “What I don’t know is why she thought sending someone to hover over me would magically produce words that aren’t coming.”
“I don’t hover,” Sadie said, her voice level. “I collaborate.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat.
“I don’t do collaboration. I work alone. Always have,” he insisted, shaking his head.
“That stops now.”
The simple statement hung between them. Corbyn straightened from his casual pose, wincing as his spine protested before he moved behind his desk, his left hand clenched into a fist at his side.
“Ms. Reed…”
“Sadie,” she corrected.
“Ms. Reed,” he continued, gritting his teeth. “I appreciate that Ms. Harper is in a difficult position. The publisher wants the book. I’m contracted to deliver it. But having a stranger in my space, telling me how to write my own characters, frankly, is not going to work.”
Sadie, to his amazement, stood her ground, steadfast in the face of his frustration. She was several inches shorter than him, but a certain defiance in her stance made him wonder just how hard he would have to push before she simply threw in the towel.
“I’m not here to tell you how to write your characters,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked up at him. “I’m here to help you navigate whatever’s blocking you from finishing this book.”
His scowl deepened as he made a point to study one of the half-written pages lying on his desk.
“Nothing’s blocking me except the constant pressure from people who think writing is like flipping a switch.”
“From what I understand, you’ve been stuck at chapter fifteen for months,” Sadie replied, her voice closer now. She’d moved toward him, scanning the paper that had grabbed his attention.
Corbyn whipped around, eyes narrowing as the truth of just how screwed his writing was washed over him.
Leaning forward, his hands rested on the surface of the desk as he argued, “She had no right.”
“She’s the one ensuring your book gets published,” Sadie insisted, a hint of steel beneath her calm exterior, and she matched his stance on the opposite side. “And she believes in this book. In you.”
“She believes in her profit margins,” he countered, but the words didn’t quite ring true. Jess was the only reason he still had this opportunity, allowing him time to heal even though he was under contract. She had defended him to the board when deadlines slipped, fighting for extensions he didn’t deserve, all while he did everything to make Jess and her team’s lives as difficult as possible.
“Let me be clear about something,” he told her, his voice dropping to a lower register as he leaned closer still. “I don’t trust editors. I don’t trust their so-called ‘process.’ And I especially don’t trust that.”
He pointed to the tablet he saw peeking from her bag. When she turned her head, a familiar scent he couldn't quite place hit him. Realizing how close they were, he shifted back quickly.
“My tablet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when she straightened her posture and looked back up at him.
“Aside from my phone, technology and I aren’t on speaking terms.”
“So I’ve heard, though that might be difficult in this century,” she quipped back, a little smirk tugging at her lips.
“I manage,” he replied, his tone making it clear the subject was non-negotiable. That smirk of hers had drawn his attention to her mouth, and his gaze dropped to look for a moment all on their own, much to his irritation. “Pen and paper first. Typed after, but nothing gets saved to your magical cloud, emailed, or put anywhere else someone might gain unauthorized access.”
He watched her consider his words, her head tilting a bit when she said, “Jess mentioned you had some issues with…”
“An intern hacked into one of the editor’s emails,” he cut her off, his voice tight. “Three chapters of my last book were leaked online before it was even half-written, to be torn apart by anyone with a web browser. Do you have any idea what that does to a writer?” His right hand slammed against the desk for emphasis, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
The sudden movement caused Sadie to jump. Shame flooded him almost instantly, hot and unwelcome, and he stepped back and moved to the window. He’d never been that man. The one who acted out angrily, causing fear in those around him.
Sadie straightened her shoulders, quickly regaining her composure.
