Page 46 of Kill Your Darlings

I said calmly, “In other words, you sold us to the highest bidder.Believe it or not, I understand your reasoning.But don’t pretend that it was anything other than that.Don’t talk about preserving legacy and making tough choices for the good of all, because it’s bullshit and everyone at Millbrook knows it.”

Bullshit?I was more tired than I’d realized.

Millicent lost all color in her face, so that her carefully applied bronzer stood out like camo paint.

For a few moments she didn’t seem to have an answer.But as each second passed, she got angrier and angrier.

She whispered, “Howdareyou talk to me like this, Keiran.You’re not a W&W employee yet.You still work forme.”Her voice shook.

The pulse behind my eye was now a throb.I could feel pain sparking through the net of nerves at the back of my skull.

I said calmly, “If you didn’t want to hear the truth, Millicent, you shouldn’t have started this conversation.You asked me for a favor.I’m explaining to you why my answer is no.For years you refused to listen to your leadership team and eventually you ran the company into the ground.Then, when we offered an employee buyout—which would have actually preserved the jobs of people you claim to care about,as well asprotected Millbrook’s legacy—you promised to consider our offer, but not twenty-four hours later went ahead and accepted Vaughn’s.”

Across the table, the members of the W&W leadership team watched us with riveted expressions.Talk about a floor show.

Danny Nguyen, Millbrook’s soon-to-be-unemployed art director, said quietly, “Keiran’s right, Millie.”

Millicent threw him an angry look, whispered hotly, “I-I needed to make a decision.You couldn’t have matched that offer!You know that.”

I said, “And now, when people are upset about your decision—because it affectstheirfinancial future—you want me to advocate for you, you want me to persuade everyone that black is actually white.It’s not.And I’m not going to pretend it is.”

She dipped her head and whispered fiercely, “I could fire you right now.I couldendyour career in publishing.”

“There are worse things.”

I caught the flicker in her eyes.Oh, right.Until the “merger” was fait accompli, I was still an asset.I was reasonably well liked, reasonably well respected.No doubt there was a perception that if I was going along with the amalgamation of our two companies, it wasn’t the worst move in the world.At this moment in time, firing me was not in anyone’s best interest—particularly Millie’s.

I smiled faintly and sipped my water.

Millicent turned her back toward me and tried to engage Whitney Brown, one of our soon-to-be-unemployed editors in conversation.Whitney was not feeling chatty, and had no hesitation about showing it.

Eventually, our plates were swept away and dessert began to be served.

Danny asked if I wanted another drink.I declined and pressed my fingertips to my right temple.

Was this dinner from hell never going to be over?

Danny’s brows drew together.“Are you feeling alright?”

“Not…entirely.”

Not at all, in fact.The argument with Millie had been the final straw.

“Excuse me,” I murmured and pushed my chair back.

The restroom was empty, thank God.

Spots floated before my eyes as I shoved into the last stall, barely managing to lock the door before I dropped to my knees and retched violently into the toilet.

Perfect.Perfect end to a perfect day.

Except the day wasn’t over.

Dry heaves followed—painful, utterly unproductive.I gasped for breath between spasms.By the time it was over, my throat was raw, my eyes stinging with tears, my body drenched with cold sweat.The pounding behind my right eye felt like pain was trying to tunnel its way out of my skull.

Monthly injections of a CGRP inhibitor usually kept my migraines at bay, but now and again, one broke through.The stress boiling in my gut, the long harrowing drive with headlights in my eyes, the blow out, the…the…so many disasters in one day I was losing count.Oh.Right.The fact that someone was maybe—probably?—trying tokillme?

The last twenty-four hours had provided the recipe for disaster—and this evening was delivering the pièce de resistance.