Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,32

Theo could hear.

Ring.

Steven, my editor, currently owned me. They could sue me for advance money. They could sue me for worse than that. Six months behind was nothing, but given my other bullshit? I’d been on my last leg when I hobbled into the contract. Never mind now.

Ring.

My agent was going to kill me for going around him, but my sense of urgency had created an emergency that couldn’t wait. I had to do something, and I had to do it now.

Ring.

I looked at Ma, her eyes brimming with tears and brow furrowed in concern, then at Theo, who looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Between bailing me out and coordinating with the celebrity oral surgeon we’d probably paid a wildly inflated fee for speed and discretion, he probably hadn’t.

Ring.

“Tommy,” Steven answered in lieu of a greeting, my name flat and weighted with frustration.

“Hey, Steven. Listen, I wanted to talk to you—”

“What’s left to talk about? You got fired, Tommy.”

I paused long enough to swallow. “I know I fucked up—”

“Fucked up? You brawled at one of our own events, right in front of God and the press and everyone. It was hard enough to get approval to take you on in the first place, and that was under the promise of the cash cow that accompanies your name. But for us to get paid, we need a book. All you’ve given us is a publicity nightmare that’s had our entire floor in crisis mode all day. You have held up a grand total of zero part of our bargain. And after last night’s antics, there’s not a damn thing I can do but call this what it is. Finished.”

I dragged a hand down my face, wincing against the pain in my mouth. “Tell me how to fix this, Steven. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

A heavy sigh filled the room. “Tommy, there’s no way you can turn the Titanic around. And even if you could, I don’t have a manuscript to sell.”

“What if I told you I could get you a manuscript in a few weeks?”

A pause. “I’d still say your image is a problem for my entire department.”

“And what if I told you I could turn that around, too?”

Now, a laugh. “I’d say you’re full of shit, Tommy. Listen—”

“I mean it, Steven. Give me one month. One month to fix my image. One month to get you a complete manuscript. If I could do that in four weeks, would you be willing to give me one last shot?”

When he paused again, it was long and thick with his thoughts. The creak of his chair sounded as he shifted in his seat. “A complete turnaround. No models. No pop stars. No more Bad Boy Bane. I’d need you to be a fucking saint, Tommy. Obscene donations. Saving the children. Kissing the babies. Oprah-endorsed, good-guy public reform. If you can do that? I’d not only reinstate your contract, but I’d throw an extra zero on the end.”

I drew a painful breath, my brows knit together in determination. “You know I was trying to save that girl from that son of a bitch.”

“I know. I was there. But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is what they think. And the only thing that matters to me is that manuscript you owe me. But they’re not going to sell it if you’re not squeaky fucking clean.” Another creak of his chair as I imagined him leaning back. “Four weeks. Consider yourself on the most severe probation of your life. Call me in twenty-four hours and let me know what you’re going to do. Show me you’re committed to this with a gesture so grand, you can see it from space.”

I nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

That earned me a disbelieving laugh. “We’ll see.”

The line disconnected without a parting word.

The three of us shared a pregnant look. Theo’s eyes shifted to Ma, and so did mine. I reached for her hand, trembling and small in her lap.

Because this was the real fear, the reason for everything. I had to take care of her. She’d done everything to take care of us.

I swallowed hard. “All right, now—what kind of publicity stunt will be strong enough to turn this around?”

Theo’s shoulders sagged, his eyes ringed with gray from stress and lack of sleep. Because of me. “I don’t know, Tommy. I don’t know what it’ll take to fix this.”

Ma turned her hand under mine, clasping mine palm to palm. “They