Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Dash eyes him and me. “Carter Carson?”
“It is Carter,” I confirm and somehow, I’ve managed to inhale most of my sandwich.
“He’s a super nice guy,” Dash says. “We’ve gone to drinks with him. Was he really an asshole that day or were you just that Bella.”
Tyler surprises me by coming to my defense. Sort of. “She was a bitch, but he deserved it. She probably had more money than he did at that point in his career and yet he acted entitled. He talked down to her, but he wanted her to manage his career. He was shocked when she left the room and when I supported the decision. Bella was a reality check for him he would have gotten from someone else down the road, with harsher results.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you compliment Bella,” Dash replies, his eyes narrowing on Tyler.
“Then you weren’t listening,” Tyler replies, and then the tension between the two men crackles.
“Speaking of reality checks,” I interject quickly, and both men look at me.
Now I have to actually finish that sentence when I had no idea what I was going to say and finish it in a way that draws attention away from the idea of me and Tyler sleeping together.
Chapter Sixteen
Bella
Tyler saves me.
“Yes, a reality check,” Tyler states. “There’s a moral to Carter’s story, Dash. You write books, but the art of doing so has a business side. All business has its ups and downs. Those who know this are the savvy ones who operate like The Rock and create a brand that is many things, not one thing. When one is down, other aspects are up. Create a brand everyone wants to get on board with.”
“He’s right,” I say. “You know what Mom said. Diversity is king.”
“Yes, she did,” he agrees thoughtfully, his fingers thrumming on the table. “And you both think this true crime gig is the way to do this.”
“I do,” I say.
“As do I,” Tyler says. “And this isn’t about making us more money. We could sell the studio on someone else. That’s not a good outcome for you, though.”
“You know that trade sales are down, Dash,” I add. “But yours are not. What if next year, the industry stays down and you sink with it? I’ll say it again. Diversity is king.”
“I’ll do it,” he says, and much easier than expected. Obviously, Allie worked him over pretty hard. “If,” he adds, “you both go away and let me write, I’ll do it.”
Unintentionally my gaze goes to Tyler’s and we share an incredulous look before our attention turns to Dash. “You’ll do it?” I confirm.
“Yes,” he agrees. “I’m going to hate it, but I love what I do. I’ll do what I have to do to support my writing career. And I don’t want to start thinking I’m too high up to fall. That makes the fall hard.”
“The studio wants to have a Zoom meeting today.”
“I was told,” he says. “Allie had a lot to say on the topic. Brief me while you eat, but I really need to get what is in my head on the page or there is no new book to benefit from this.”
“There’s no real prep for this,” I say. “Come see me fifteen minutes before the meeting but essentially, they’re going to ask you how you feel about doing a television show.”
“I’m going to have limits,” Dash replies.
“Just remember that sometimes the truth is dangerous,” Tyler says, as someone sets a new cup of coffee next to him.
He’s right. The truth is dangerous in so many ways.
At least where we’re concerned.
“But so are lies,” I say, and there is this undertone in the conversation that is not about Dash and the studio, but me and Tyler, and it’s acutely uncomfortable. “Use noncommittal words and statements,” I add, “that show interest but say little to nothing interesting, and tell me more, that kind of thing. We’ll do the bulk of the talking.”
“We’ll use the contract to set limits,” Tyler adds, and that’s it. That’s my limit. I’m done with this conversation.
“I need to run. I have a client call in half an hour.” I slide my purse onto my shoulder. “Be at the office at four thirty.”
“That’s not fifteen minutes,” Dash challenges.
“Pretend I said thirty.” With that, I grab my purse, leave my cupcake—that’s how desperate I am to get out of here—and head for the door.
I exit into the wind again, hug myself, cut to my right, and start the walk, my heart thundering in my chest at the memory of Tyler’s words, “We’ll use the contract to set limits.” Exactly what he did to me.
I’ve only made it just past the bakery windows when I hear, “Bella!”
It’s Tyler’s voice, and my body quakes, nerves jittering inside me. I keep walking, but he persists. “Bella, stop.”