Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“Yes. I was there when he asked Reese to help him do what was right.”
“Wow,” she says. “Just wow. I hope they get her.”
“Me too. I really do.”
We talk for a good half-hour, and right when we’re about to hang up, she says, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m exhausted. I’m writing my column and just mentally drained.”
“Is something up with you and Reese?”
“No. Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure and you sound better, by the way.”
“I am,” she says. “It’s crazy and sudden. I was sick all the time. Now I’m not.”
We hang up five minutes later, and I ask myself the same question she asked me. Is something wrong with me and Reese? Maybe it’s just dysfunctional me, looking for a problem. I shake off that thought and go back to my closing statement but I end up staring at the page. Nothing comes to me. I force myself to start typing:
The system worked today. You are innocent until proven guilty. Nelson Ward was not proven guilty. But justice is not done until the crime is solved. It’s time that we the people demand that the crime be solved. Demand justice for Jennifer Wright and her unborn child. Until then, —Cat.
There. Done. Marked off my list.
From there, I plan out next week’s columns, and I’ve just finished up when my cellphone rings again. I look down to find Liz’s number on caller ID. “Hi Liz.”
“I just heard from your publisher,” she says.
I glance at the time. “At eight o’clock on a Friday night?”
“Yes. The trial ended. They’re in a panic to sign you. They raised the offer to seven hundred thousand. Five hundred for the trial book as long as Reese Summer signs on as a consultant. His compensation is on you. The second option book, will be two hundred thousand, which is double your last book.”
As long as Reese signs a consulting form. That knots my stomach for no good reason. He will. I know he will. “Okay.”
“Okay? I just said seven hundred thousand dollars and you said okay? I know we said seven-fifty but this is close.”
“I know. I’m exhausted. It’s been a crazy week.”
“You and Reese have issues.”
“No.”
“No?” she presses.
“No.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yes,” I say. “Is this better than taking a proposal out to the masses? I don’t like their connection to Dan.”
“I believe it is for this reason: If you walk away from your option publisher and don’t get more, your option publisher won’t take you back at this price. This is a lot of money to gamble with.”
“Right. I’ll let you know Monday.”
“Sunday night,” she insists.
“Okay.”
“I don’t like ‘okay,’ Cat.”
“Okay.”
She makes a frustrated sound. “I’ll call you Sunday.” She hangs up. I send my column to my editor that appears to be hanging in my browser and consider starting on Monday’s, but Kelli’s arrest would change it completely. Instead, I research what I’m going to write about post-Nelson Ward. Maybe post-Reese Summer. I pinpoint a few interesting cases and start doing research, two of which I’d like to sit in on the trials when they begin.
It’s nine, and the coffee shop is empty and closing in half an hour when my phone rings with Reese’s number, and I breathe out, nervous to answer when that is not what I feel with Reese. “Hello.”
“Hey, beautiful. Are you at home?”
Home. Which home? His home? My home? “I’m at the coffee shop.”
“I’m in an Uber. Hold on.” I can hear him giving the driver this address. “Okay. On my way. Nelson gave a statement about Kelli before getting on a plane and out of town.”
“Out of the country?”
“No. He agreed to be within reach if needed. Kelli was taken in for questioning.”
“How do you think that will play out?”
“I think she’ll lawyer up and be tough to break, but Nelson is going to file for divorce and pile it on her all at once.” His phone beeps. “Hold on.” He is gone a moment and returns. “That’s Royce. I’ll see you in ten.”
“Okay.”
We disconnect and I sigh. I seem to be the queen of “okay” tonight, when I’m not sure I’ve said that word this many times in my life. I’m simply not that agreeable. I yank at the tight knot at the back of my head and free my hair before I start to pack up, and suddenly Dan is sitting in front of me. “You’re writing a book with Reese, I hear.”
“You heard wrong. I’m writing a book. Reese agreed to be interviewed. Would you like to be interviewed?”
“I’ll tell my story my own way.”
“Of course you will. Because you are so very predictable.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means an asshole never lets someone else tell their story because they don’t want to be called an asshole. Hopefully your writing is better than your ability to present evidence.”