“Ms. Donovan has plenty of money,” Vero quipped. “And matters of her financial solvency, beyond the rent she no longer owes you, are none of your concern.”
“What is she talking about?”
I glared at Vero. She scrutinized her manicure, picking at the polish as she pretended not to notice. Steven had me penned in. I had to tell him something, or he’d take his burning questions about my assets straight to Guy. “I sold a book.”
“Two books,” Vero corrected me. A lump formed in my throat at the pride I saw in her fierce dark eyes. No one had ever treated my job as … well … a job. No one had ever defended it, been proud of it, boasted about it. It had always been me, alone behind my desk.
“So what’d that get you? Three thousand dollars?” Steven’s lip curled, the implication dripping so thickly with sarcasm I could have lubed my van with it. “What about the maxed-out credit cards? And the van payments? And her…” he said, hooking a thumb to Vero. “She must be costing you—”
“Ms. Donovan’s revenue is also none of your business,” Vero said, getting up in his face.
“Bullshit!” Steven glared down at her as he pointed at me. “There is no possible way she made enough money from those crappy books to pay down all that debt.” The blow hit me square in the chest. It knocked me back with the same suffocating shame I’d felt every time I opened an advance check in front of him. He’d placate me with a pat on the back, making backhanded remarks about how we might have enough to pay for a few boxes of diapers, or, if we were lucky, maybe some groceries. He gesticulated behind him to the front porch, where all the unopened mail had been stacked. “Those bills have been piling up for months. She owes me a lot more than…” His face fell. His forehead creased and his arm sagged, his eyes swinging through the house like searchlights. “Where are the bills?” He shouldered his way past us into the kitchen and rifled through the thin stack of leaflets and coupons on the counter with Vero tight on his heels. I could hear them bickering as I bounded up the stairs to my office.
I was done being belittled and made to feel like what I did wasn’t important. That I couldn’t take care of myself or our children. I was done being made to feel like I didn’t belong on the top shelf with people like Steven and Theresa. I opened my email, shoved a piece of paper in the printer, and silently cursed Steven as it started humming. When it finished, I snatched the paper off the tray and stormed downstairs, where Vero and Steven were nose to nose, ready to claw each other’s faces off.
I reached between them, slamming the paper down on the table.
Vero eased back and folded her arms, the painted edge of her smile so sharp it was practically cutting as she raised her eyebrow at Steven, daring him to look at it.
“What’s this?” he asked, reluctant to pick it up.
“My offer letter. You want to know what my crappy books are worth? See for yourself.”
Steven swiped the paper off the table. His blue eyes skimmed it like a laser, and I felt a flutter of satisfaction when they burned a hole through the dollar sign somewhere in the middle.
“What’s that number?” he asked.
“That’s the amount of my advance.”
His mouth moved, but his tongue was slow to follow. It might have been the first time I’d ever seen him speechless. He handed it back to me as he cleared his throat. “It’s about time they paid you a reasonable wage. But it’s still not enough to—”
“Keep reading,” Vero said, shoving it back in his face. “It’s a two-book deal. She makes double that, plus extra when she sells media, film options, and translation rights. That’s all before she collects her royalties. Do you want to do the math, or would you like me to help you with that?”
Steven dropped the offer on the table. He glared at Vero and shouldered past her for the door. He didn’t look at me. Maybe because he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to see me as anything other than a failure in years. It was as if he had forgotten how to see me as anything else.
“I’ll be back on Sunday with the kids,” he mumbled.
“Ring the doorbell next time,” Vero called after him.
He flipped her off without bothering to look back, and his dismissal of her pissed me off more than all the rest of it.
“Steven.” The command in my own tone surprised me. His feet paused just before the door. “You and Theresa might want to reconsider your custody suit. According to my accountant, we have the resources to fight it.”