“But it didn’t work out?”
Cate’s fingers tighten on her knees. “No.” She swallows. “She went into debt because of it. She went part-time at work, so she’d have time to write. She spent money on courses and retreats, paid for freelance editing, and traveled to seminars. She made so many... sacrifices over the years.” Her voice trembles slightly as she adds, “But no matter how hard she tried, she just... couldn’t break through.” A sad laugh escapes Cate’s chest. “And here I am. Further than she ever got.”
Sienna studies the girl. “So you’re doing this for her?” she asks, trying to pin down the expression that ripples across Cate’s face before vanishing beneath the surface.
“Maybe I am.”
Sienna bites her bottom lip. She should let it lie, let Cate keep doing what she’s doing, or failing to do, and go back to her own work.
But she can’t.
“Look,” she says, “some unsolicited advice, from someone who’s learned the hard way. Working so hard for someone else’s dream won’t make you happy. You have to want it for yourself.”
Cate ducks her head, eyes shadowed by the hair that falls into her face. “You’re right,” she says, in a soft, sad voice, so Sienna adds, “Hey, you’ve obviously got the chops. I mean, you’re what,twenty-two? When did you sign with Eleanor?”
“Oh. Um.” Cate looks up. “A few months ago. She was the first agent I queried.”
Sienna struggles to hide her surprise. “Oh?” As if she didn’t send her work around for years. As if she doesn’t have enough rejection letters to paper a bathroom.
“Mad, isn’t it? I don’t know what I was thinking. I probably just wanted to get it out of the way. I didn’t expect to get an offer from the first agent I asked.”
Sienna flinches, jealousy sticking like a splinter. “But surely not your first manuscript?”
Cate flashes a sheepish smile, which is answer enough. Jesus Christ.
“Wow, that’s—” Sienna resists the urge to sayridiculous, and manages “incredible.”
Cate shrinks inside her cardigan. “I know. And now I feel a bit like a child flung into the deep end, without knowing how to swim.”
Sienna laughs. “I hate to break it to you,” she says. “But that’s basically publishing.”
Cate bites her lip and looks down at the array of paper, and maybe it’s that she looks like she’s about to cry, but Sienna finds herself adding, “Hey, in some ways, I think it’s easier at the start. When your whole career is still ahead of you. You don’t really know enough to know better. No offense.”
“None taken,” says Cate, and it’s funny, but comforting her makes Sienna feel a little better. It reminds her that she can do this, she’s done it before.
“My advice,” she says. “Whether it’s your first book or your tenth, there’s no secret. No shortcut. You just sit down and do the work. Or,” she adds with a smile, “you could try to find that golden book.”
Cate cocks her head. “You don’t think it’s real, do you?”
Sienna raps her thumbnail thoughtfully against her teeth. “Who knows? What I do know is that in this game, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.” She drops her hand. “There’salwaysa golden book. It might be a marketing plan full of things that never actually happen, or a shiny award that turns out to be a popularity contest, or a promise that you’re the next big thing, when the truth is, it’s anyone’s guess. You can spend your whole life chasing those things. Or you can focus on the work.”
Cate nods and hugs her knees to her chest, staring at the work scattered on the rug. Sienna rises, trading her spot on the floor for a plush leather chair. She sinks down onto the cushion and draws her legs up beneath her. She flicks the notebook open, rapping her pen against the page where it taps out a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Or a ticking clock.
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