I glared at Roman, who sat in the back seat in a burgundy button-down, a black jacket, and sleek black loafers.
I was going to let Wes buy me a new fucking phone.
I raised my hands in exasperation. “No! You are a literal psychopath.”
Roman smiled. “That’s one of the first times I’ve heard someone use the wordliteralaccording to its traditional meaning.” He made another beckoning motion, unbothered by the onlookers eyeing us with mild concern. “Get in the car, Nova. We’re going to go get you what you want.”
My vision tunneled. I took a step toward him, then another.
I slid into the backseat. “You’re going to take me to Lorelei?”
Roman reached over me, pulling the door shut and sliding my seatbelt into place in two fluid movements. His face was blank, a single brow raised. “We’re going to meet with your dream publisher.”
Dread and confusion and excitement all warred in my body, battling for supremacy.
“What?” I asked. “That’sthe reason you think I joined The Circle?”
The car started moving, and I panicked. Not only had I broken my promise to Wes, but now, I was alone with someone who had the power to kill me and cover it up with ease. Not to mention, he’d just admitted to me he was apsychopath.
“How would you even know who my dream publisher is?” I asked. My mouth was dry and my throat tightened. I needed to get out of this car. The driver was a brick wall of a man, bald and stoic as he headed toward the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.
“We all want you to succeed, Nova,” Roman said. “Jayne hasn’t stopped raving about your new book all week, and she’s been talking about your business sense for longer.”
Of course. Of course, Jayne and Archer reported to their most valuable source of funding. I shouldn’t have revealedanything about the part of my life I held most sacred. Why the fuck had I mentioned the publisher by name? I’d been put on the spot and rambled.
“We’re meeting with an executive editor at…”
I closed my eyes, a shocked breath leaving my lips when Roman said the publisher’s name.
This was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
When I opened my eyes again, Roman’s lips were curved slightly, but his eyes were dark, calculated.
I shook my head. “I didn’t earn this. I don’t have an agent. They haven’t even read my writing. This has nothing to do withme.”
This was all about him.
Roman’s eyes narrowed, as if irritated by my response. “Theywillread it. And you’ll get an agent. It’s not a done deal. But if the book is as good as Jayne suspects, they will make an offer.”
The way he said it, his lips in a smirk, his posture relaxed, gave the distinct impression itwasa done deal. Who would saynoto a Graves, the heir to the platforms that kept the entire publishing industry afloat?
Roman sighed. “Nova, if you want to make it, you’re going to have to let go of these childish constructions of how the world works.”
I frowned, bracing myself for Roman’s frightening nepo baby worldview.
“The world does not dole out success based on fairness. No one earnsanything. They justdo. Countless talented artists die having never been noticed, and plenty of your industry idols merely knew the right person or seized the right opportunity. It doesn’t mean they didn’t deserve it. But analyzing the world through the lens of whatyouthink isdeservedis irrational and will get you nowhere.” He paused, softening his condescending approach. “You’re a compelling character, given your past andevolution as a woman, so I’m sure the characters you write are just as intriguing.”
The Circle knew too much about me, and yet, they didn’tknowme. This was all just a fucking game to them.
“Publishers aren’t fairy godmothers,” he continued. “They’re just businesses. None of it is ever personal. I know you want to be chosen and told you’re special, angel, but that’s not their job. It’s mine.”
My stomach soured. He thought I could be bought just like he bought this publisher for me.
“I’m not an idiot, Roman,” I hissed. “I know they’re businesses. But they still choose indie authors based on sales data, on merit and market potential. I want to make iton my own.”
Roman shook his head with a laugh. “By the time clueless publishers are fighting to acquire an independent author, that author no longer needs them.”
I stared at my hands in my lap, something inside me deflating. He was speaking to a truth I knew on some level but didn’t want to face.
