“How did you combat it?”
“I have a very loyal readership,” I tell him with a soft smile, my heart ballooning in my chest. “They’re hungry for what’s next, and they give me the strength to keep going. With success comes the ugliness of any industry, but I wasn’t expecting it, you know?”
Tom nods, his forearm flexing as he leans against the tabletop. “What else?”
“The escalated bullying on social media led me to hire an assistant, but she doesn’t know my name. We strictly communicate through email.”
“Do you talk to anyone on the phone? Does anyone have your personal cell phone?”
“No, just Bailey. My editor and I communicate through email or comments in whatever project I’m working on. If I get stuck, I talk it out with Bailey, or sometimes Roan.”
“What?” Colt asks, surprise and a fair amount of hurt painted across his face.
“I pay him to put up with me,” I offer, trying to lighten the mood. Roan snorts and a ghost of a smile crosses Tom’s lips.
“I’m going to make a phone call. Why don’t you go pack your stuff and we’ll head to your house. Hopefully I’ll have more information, and we can start putting a plan into place.”
Dipping my head at Tom, I skirt around the table and make my way up the stairs. I can hear Colt call my name, but I need a minute.
A lot of minutes.
How long am I going to do this?
The question is one I’ve asked myself nonstop over the last year—the constant worry that I’m sacrificing my health for a book.
Several books.
My eyelids flutter shut as a wave of emotion threatens to overwhelm me, and single tear escapes from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek.
I’ve worked so hard for my success. I crave the comments and messages from readers that offer a play-by-play of their reading experience. They are the ones that make the isolation bearable. Because when I’m Sloane Daniels, the only connections I can have are the ones that barely break the surface.
But is this life worth it if I can’t be meat all?
Colt never asked me to hide my identity when I told him I wanted to branch out with my writing. He was supportive, but I’d heard enough chatter when he first got signed about how important his golden-boy image was for his career. And they were right because years later, he’sstillthe boy next door with a huge smile and bigger heart. He’d avoided scandals and public heartbreak, all of it.
And I won’t be the one to tarnish it.
But how will I ever be able to balance this?
I don’t want to give this up.
I don’t want to make myself less.
I don’t want to let this person win.
But maybe, I don’t have a choice.
5
TOM
After a heated round of goodbyes, it’s well into the evening as I followed Kat in her small white sedan out of Ironwood and into a smaller Chicago suburb. The homes here are modest with kids playing in the front yards and people walking their dogs on the sidewalks.
Colt mentioned privately that he’d been trying to get Kat to move into the vacant house in his development that he had built specifically for her. He wanted her close and safe in his gated and heavily guarded neighborhood—the one that only had a few residents.
Namely Colt, Roan, and the lead singer of the rock band, Descending North, Garrett North.
So far, she’d refused, but I’m not surprised.
