Page 77 of Between the Lines

As she folded forward, she thought about that. And then again about Darcy. Had she given up whatever game she’d been playing? Or was this new group taking up more time than she’d expected?

Either way, Paige was happy. She got to her feet, rolled up her mat, and headed for the locker room.

She opened her TikTok app on the way. The comments were coming in one after another. It seemed her partnership with Luminelle had been well received.

She smiled and tucked her phone away. Things were looking up.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Here we go again, Blaise thought. But after yesterday’s video call, she felt more confident going into this one. More confident and less nervous. She was practically a pro at this now.

She set her laptop on the kitchen table and adjusted the angle by a fraction, then again, just so the light was good and there was no glare on the screen. Outfit-wise, she was wearing the exact same thing she’d had on yesterday. Why not? It was comfortable and it had done the job.

Beau wandered by on his way to his bed, where the first sunbeam of the day was already warming his spot.

She smoothed the collar of her top, took a sip of water, and glanced at her list of questions that were also from yesterday. She had a pen at the ready. She logged in through the link the publisher had provided and sat waiting.

When the call connected, an older woman appeared on the screen, impeccably styled with thick, black-framed glasses. She was seated in what looked like a glass-walled office with a city skyline behind her. A few awards lined a shelf on one side. Blaise didn’t recognize any of them.

“Blaise, hi, there you are. I’m so glad we could connect,” the editor said, smiling wide and professional. “I’ve been looking forward to this. I’m Denise.”

“Nice to meet you, Denise,” Blaise replied. This was the woman she’d emailed with.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries. How are you, how’s the weather, how much everyone appreciated the proposal. The editor leaned forward slightly, enthusiasm dialed just a notch higher than felt real. At least to Blaise.

She’d seen that kind of overexaggerated interest before, but it had been a while. The last time, it had come from a new designer trying to get Blaise to walk in his show for half her usual fee.

“I’ll get right to it,” Denise said. “We think there’s a real opportunity here.”

Blaise nodded, listening. “That’s great.”

“What you’ve lived through,” the editor continued. “Not just your marriage and the public aspects of that, but the loss of Jay and the unfortunate incident that followed, that aftermath—there’s a hunger for that kind of honesty right now. Readers want the truth. The unfiltered version.”

Blaise felt the first prickle of discomfort, subtle but unmistakable. She hadn’t filtered anything. If she had, the writing would have been a lot easier.

“We see this book as not just a memoir but also as a cultural moment. A sort of snapshot of the late ’80s and early ’90s. A slice of that whole scene,” the editor said. “For us, this is a book that doesn’t just tell your story, but names names. Explores the betrayals. The fallout. The parts people usually keep quiet.”

Blaise kept her expression neutral, but inside, all kinds of red flags had just started waving. “That’s not really the direction I’m interested in.”

The editor brushed that off gently, as if Blaise had simply misunderstood. “Of course, of course. I’m not talking about being unkind. I’m taking about gritty honesty. About making a real impact. The kind of visibility this could bring...” She shook her head and smiled. “This could be very big.”

“I’m not interested in a tell-all,” Blaise said, more firmly now. “That’s not what I’m writing.”

The editor paused, studying her. “But you do understand that your name is part of the appeal. It’s the hook this whole thing hangs on.”

“I do,” Blaise said. “It’s not the point, though.”

“People will have a certain expectation going in.”

“I’m sure that could be managed in the way the book is marketed, though.” Blaise knew better. They wanted scandals and rumors, not a cautionary tale. Not a real-life love story. Not the truth about how hard it was for a woman of her age to get a second chance.

“We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t explore how far the book could go,” the editor said. “Controversy drives interest. And interest drives sales.”

Blaise felt her entire body tighten. This was not what she wanted. She glanced briefly at her notes, then back at the screen.

“I think we may be looking for different things,” she said. “And that’s okay. I just don’t want to waste your time.”

She reached toward the laptop, prepared to end the call politely.