Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Oh, I love all of this, Verity,” Sheila cuts in, her smile looking a little waxy. “But let’s save some for later.”
“But I was just going to say that—”
“I think we’ve left them with plenty to chew on,” Sheila breaks in again, her gaze shifting to Sloan. “Thank you all for your time, but I should have mentioned that Verity and I have another meeting immediately after this and need to go.”
I literally have to bite my tongue to keep the barrage of words from spewing out. I sink my teeth into the lining of my jaw until I taste blood. I pinch the skin of my thigh, distracting my errant tongue with the pain.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Sloan pings her eyes onscreen between my agent and me. “Sure. We’ll think all this over, but I love this direction. We can refine some next time. Verity, you think you can have it tightened some for next week? There are a few other folks who I’d love to hear what you just shared. I think Black Pearl could be a marvelous first project for our partnership.”
“Amazing,” Sheila cuts in. “Verity, we really have to go.”
I nod and force a smile before logging off. I sit at my desk, hands shaking and stomach churning like a windmill.
That went well… until it started going off the rails. I wonder if anyone noticed the forced speech there at the end.
My phone rings, and of course it’s Sheila.
“Hey,” I answer, prepared for a tirade. Yelling. Admonishment.
“Are you okay?” she asks, the gentle concern so far from what I was braced for.
“Um, yeah.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “No. I’m not sure. Yes, right now.”
“Was that garbled answer supposed to reassure me?” She manages to sound vaguely amused instead of panicked.
“I’m not fully manic, but I’m not exactly… stable. The world just feels like my oyster right now. I haven’t bought Christmas gifts for the entire staff at my ob-gyn’s office yet, so there’s that.”
“You did that?”
“Um… no?”
After a beat, we both laugh because I think she realizes I did indeed once wipe out half my savings buying expensive gifts for all my medical providers.
“Was it really bad?” I chew on my thumbnail and close my eyes while I wait for her answer.
“No. It was kind of like… is there something going on here? Maybe yes, maybe no. I think we caught it before everyone realized you were not completely yourself.”
Something about that phrasing—not completely yourself—doesn’t sit right with me.
Of course I know what she means, but through years of therapy and living with this condition, I’ve had to accept that the manic is part of me. It’s the part of me that digs through my imagination for overlooked treasures, things I never would have otherwise. It’s the part of me capable of being bright and vivacious and optimistic. I can’t give it free rein, but it is part of me and there is value there, too.
My phone beeps with an incoming call.
Mel.
Shit. I didn’t call Tessa back.
“Hey, Sheila, thanks for the save. We’ll see what they come back with, but I gotta take this other call.”
“Sure you’re okay?” she asks, concern lingering in her voice.
“Yeah, I am. Um… I will be! Bye!” I switch over. “Mel? What’s going on?”
“Verity,” Mel says, her voice barely recognizable through the sobs. “You need to come to New York.”
Dread grips me by the throat and I can barely get the words out.
“Is it?” I croak. “Is she—”
“Just come. It’s bad.”
FIFTY-TWO
Verity
I bolt off the hospital elevator and sprint down the hall, following the signs to the room Mel said was Tessa’s. The glaringly white walls and antiseptic smell drag me back into the past. It all feels harsh and familiar. Memories of being the one in the bed at the end of the hall make me stumble, and for a moment, my feet are sealed to the floor.
“God, Gem,” I mumble, swiping at the tears rolling over my cheeks. “I should have been here.”
I force myself forward, one step after the other, until my gait smooths out and concern for Tessa eclipses my own fears. Mel emerges from the room, and as soon as our eyes lock, her face crumbles. She walks into my arms and collapses. We share a moment where our fear and sorrow and guilt commune. I don’t know if she’s rocking me or if I’m rocking her, but it’s a steady sway, a metronome that synchs and settles our heartbeats.
“How is she?” I sniff and pull back to search Mel’s face. “Tell me she… is she… because I can’t—”
“She’s okay.” Mel pulls back and her eyes are ravaged, like she’s seen hell. “Her mom’s with her.”
“I’m her SOS.” I press my face to her shoulder. “She called and I was going into a meeting. I didn’t answer. I was gonna call as soon as I was done, but then Sheila called, and I… Did Tess… Is that when she… It’s my fault, Mel. I should’ve—”