I took a deep breath, knowing that flying off the handle wouldn’t help.
‘Fallon is the writer. She’s the one who came to me with this idea, and she’s the one who’s putting the work in.’
I heard Tony get ready to interrupt. I spoke louder, ‘More importantly, she is the only one I trust to do this. So it’s her or no one.’
‘Why are you so set on this woman?’
A phantom hand wrapped around my lungs and squeezed.
‘It’s her or no one,’ I repeated, ignoring his last question.
Tony hesitated. ‘Fine. I’ll find a way to keep her on the project.’
That’s all I needed to hear. I hung up before he could suggest anything else and immediately scrolled through my phone for Fallon’s number. It was twelve-thirty in the morning. With all the coffee and Red Bull this woman drank, no fucking way she was asleep.
Hey, this is Fallon. If you’re not Rosie, then please text me. I don’t like talking on the phone.Her voicemail clicked off.
She was ignoring me. I couldn’t blame her. I wanted her to be mad. I wanted her anger. I didn’t want her to roll over and take whatever bullshit I gave her just because of who I was. But that didn’t stop my frustration from piquing.
Me: I’m going to keep calling until you answer me. I’m a dipstick, remember?
I waited for a minute, then called her again. It took two more attempts before a message popped up on my screen.
Fallon: I can think of a million more words for you. Dipstick is frankly the kindest.
Me: Please answer. I’ve got news.
Pressing the call button again, I stared at the soundlessimage of a humpback whale swimming underwater until it connected.
‘Thank you,’ I said, the note of relief in my voice more obvious than I meant.
‘What for?’
My chest collapsed at hearing her quiet voice.
‘Picking up.’
‘You were gonna keep calling until I did, and I worried that my phone would throw itself off the table to get away from your incessant calling.’
Damn, this woman could make me smile even when she was pissed off.
‘I’m dedicated.’
‘What do you want, Oliver?’ she sighed.
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologise. To say that the things I’d said were awful and I didn’t mean them. But they stayed swirling around my mouth like acid. If I were going to apologise, I would do it in person, not over the phone, where she could quickly write it off as something I didn’t mean. She needed to see my face. I needed to make sure she knew I meant it.
‘Tony called.’
‘And?’
‘He’s found someone who wants the rights to the book. There’s a meeting about the deal tomorrow.’
‘Oh, wow. That’s great, Oliver. Which publisher?’
‘Morgenson.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘That’s great; let me know how it goes.’ There was that high-pitched voice again.
