Page 58 of Wicked (Wicked Billionaires #2)

RAVEN

I eventually reach NYC and our small yet cool apartment. I make herbal tea with honey, and I walk onto the roof with my phone. I also carry my life with me, that being my small daypack. I sit as the sun rises, and I try to imagine myself navigating the chaos ahead.

Every way I look, there is chaos. Work life… general life… love life. A complete disaster.

How am I not a disaster, too, if my life is one?

I have to be a screw up, no good to anyone.

After a long shower, I catch up with Parker, and we talk about my disastrous life. Parker gives me a few pointers, and as always, she is cool. She does, however, tell me to be careful going forward.

Over the next few days, I avoid calls and messages from Dante. I also avoid calls and messages from his family members in Italy. It’s hard, especially with the calls from his grandmother and Bianca, his sister.

One day, I’ll explain why, but for now I’m in a dark place. A bad, bad place.

I miss Mom, and I feel broken inside. It’s the combination of Dante breaking my heart, from feeling abused at work, and for feeling trapped by the universe.

I didn’t ask to put down Italy, and I didn’t ask to be sent there. I did what I had to do. I was put in a horrible corner, and I’ve done nothing wrong.

I gave all I had to keep the castle, too.

To further compound my screwed-up life, I get rejection emails from every one of the publications I sent my manuscript to. That is not the worst of it. My credit card is maxed out, and I’m financially ruined.

I will need to get a job soon, any job. I feel like a complete loser, and I do all I can to not cry every few hours alone in bed.

The travel publication company I worked for owes me a month of pay, but I don’t know when that will arrive. Asking my boss for it is a terrifying concept.

My harsh email to her when I quit was likely a bad move.

Another…

Last but not least, the Italian rental car company just emailed, informing me I owe thousands of dollars.

I crawl further into my dark hole, and I feel broken. I cannot see a way out. I’ve never had trouble breathing, but now I find myself short of breath. It’s likely anxiety, and I tell myself to not take much on.

To also stop being perky, light, and positive. Life is not a good or safe place. It does not look after you, and it is full of traps and holes.

I decide my one true love of writing is a waste of time. I am clearly a bad writer, and I am close to giving up on it, forever.

I have trouble getting out of bed during the day, and even Parker is worried about me.

I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. I’ve never hurt anyone. I’ve always been positive, and I’ve helped build people up. I’m the sunshine girl.

Was her… but now I’m down… broken… and I’ve got nothing left.

As I make yet another herbal tea with my head down, Parker pulls me aside, and she gives me a hard time about Dante.

“Look, I get it!” she says, ending her rant. “But we’ve all made mistakes. It’s not as if he’s fucked anyone else, right?”

I see red, and the idea makes me sick.

“And have you looked about? The men in our sphere are not much to write home about,” she asks with her mom brow.

I sigh. She is not wrong about the last part. Yesterday, when I walked to the supermarket, I kept my eyes open. Not one guy in a hundred came close.

Heck, maybe she’s right, and maybe he’s not so bad.

But, NO! No way!

Images of him flash hard and fast. Yelling at me, calling me a stupid girl, are burnt into my soul.

Telling me I can’t recognize my own love? That was way out of line, and it still is. It always will be!

I head away with my tea, and I can’t go back there. Dante does not respect me, and he likely never will… End of story.

I decide to try a few, cheap, last-ditch things, and I send the draft of my novel to Dad in Virginia. Better he sees it, rather than another publisher who will ignore it or tell me it’s no good.

I have not read the ending since writing it at the airport either. I still have no clue what I wrote. I likely botched it, and that’s an extra reason no one likes the thing.

I’m down to three hundred in cash I kept hidden in a book in my room. That will buy me another two weeks of food, and thank heck, I pay our affordable rent in advance.

Depressed, during week two of being home, Parker pulls me aside, again. We talk on the roof, and she tells me that I should demand my old employer redact my name from the previous article. Then, publish my second positive article. She also says I should request an apology.

Online and in public!

“There is no way in hell they will!” I blurt, amazed.

“You need to stand up, girl, and demand it. And while you’re at it, grow a backbone.” I pace, and she unleashes more. “You could also, carefully, imply you may expose their creepy advertising deal with competing destinations.”

That ignites something inside me, and I stop on the spot. I know she is onto something, but I need to be careful.

“And you should threaten a lawsuit,” Parker says, hands on her hips.

I decide to tell her there is more. That yes, I wrote the draft they published, but there were a few added sentences in the article. Extra toxic, extra damning for Italy, and they were not my work.

“You have to be kidding me!” Parker says, furious, before unleashing another rant.

After listening, I pace and snap. Screw it! She’s right. Enough!

I walk into our living room, and I hit my old boss’s number and pace. I’m still in my PJ’s, and it’s hardly corporate battle gear. Too bad.

“What?”

My old boss answered faster than I imagined.

On the spot, I think fast, and I talk just as quick.

“My legal advisor advised I start a lawsuit. You set me up, and you just demolished my reputation in the industry. The suspect advertising revenue you bring in, if you burn the opposition, that’s likely illegal.

That article I sent you was a draft, and you could have pulled my name and made a name up.

No harm done. However, you used my name, and you tricked the writing up.

It’s not all my work. You ruined my reputation! ”

I pause for effect, to catch my breath, and let my brain plan ahead.

“Now, pull my name from the first article. Publish the second positive article word for word and publish an apology!”

“Or?” my old boss says, slow and evil-like.

“Do not push me,” slips from my angry lips. “You just destroyed my writing career in travel, and I have nothing to lose. You, however, have everything on the fucking line!”

There is silence.

“And…?” she asks, slightly on edge.

My eyes squint, and I’m on a roll. “You have a week.”

“It will cost you any money owed to you. The action will erase your owed salary.”

“Just do it,” I say and hit end. I toss the phone down on the couch as if it’s on fire.

I fight to breathe and I pace. I cannot believe I just stood up to the bully.

In saying that, I just kissed several thousand dollars goodbye. At least my friends in Italy will realize I’m not a complete snake. And the beautiful family I’d met will know I’m a good person, with a heart and soul.

I then think of Dante, the man who broke my heart. I quickly think of Tito, and the dear dog who has never hurt me. He is one of the few, and I owe him nothing but love.

Oh, God! How will I get him and Tito out of my brain?

Over the next few days, I tidy my room, live in my PJs, and I do little else. Parker is, however, proud of me, and we discuss my dilemma.

I have no idea if and when my ex-boss will act. I had bluffed, and now I have no money. I also have no plan.

As I think about leaving expensive NYC and heading to a small town to take any job, I think about paying off my debts.

I have a small student loan on top of the credit card, and then there is the rental car bill. I have trouble thinking, and it’s as if the walls just keep getting smaller and smaller.

Just as I’m having trouble breathing again, my cell phone chimes. It pulls me from my anxious state, and I check the screen. It’s likely the bank, but I can’t keep hiding. It’s time to face the music. Sitting, I hold my old phone up.

It’s just an email from a pal from college. She’s in publishing, and she was the last person I sent my novel to. When I was desperate in Rome’s airport…

When I was running.

I gulp, and nervously I open the email.

Dear Raven,

Loved your novel and showed it to my boss. They want you to come in.

Email me back and ASAP. They want to move fast with a deal.

P.S. How did you hide that crazy and brilliant mind all the way through college?

Email me now, babe!

Congrats! This is it!

My eyes pop, and I gasp. I email back fast, and my excited nervous fingers are clunky. I keep it short, so unlike me, and then I push send.

I buzz and pace the rest of the day, but I do not tell Parker. I do not want to jinx it. Knowing I have one chance in the universe makes me feel electric. There is a small chance I’m not such a complete screw up or fully broken.

That night, an email from the publishing company arrives.

I’m on edge and unable to sit down as we eat dinner on the rooftop.

Parker finally pulls me up for acting weird, and I have to come clean.

I explain the email that came in, my reply, and I tell her I have a shot.

Parker tells me to sit and open the new email.

She is likely right. I cannot eat, and I am a complete mess.

I pace more, then she raises her brow under her now cold lasagna.

“Open the darned email, you fool.”

“Too much is at stake,” I say, pacing and shaking my hands like a lunatic.

“Open it, or I will!”

I pounce on my phone next to her, and I know if anyone should jinx it, I should. Nervously, I open the email and mumble to God, the universe and to Gaia. My eyes skim fast as I hold my breath.

The company wants to meet tomorrow. They also tell me their entire team love the book and that they think I have a unique voice.

I scream, tell Parker, and we leap about like morons. That night, I hardly sleep because I am so on edge. As I lay awake, I wonder about tomorrow. I then think of Tito, and I think of him.

I then think of things we did together, and I think of things he did to me.

I have not had an orgasm since running from Italy, but I have thought about kneeling in the dungeon. I remember Dante commanding me to do things. To not come, and to come for him.

I sigh and check the time. It’s the middle of the darned night… still.

Rolling over, I tell my mind to go to sleep. It doesn’t because I can’t control myself.

Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

“Figlio di puttana!” I mumble low. It’s the only swear word I know in Italian, but it slips out.

Motherfucker.

I’m anxious at the meeting, but the Manhattan publishing team seems chill and inviting. They also seem cool, and they get the energy in my novel. I explain I rushed the end of the book, and I need to tidy it. To maybe even change it.

For some reason, they fall silent.

I realize I’ve screwed up, but suddenly the team explain that was their favorite part, and they request I do not touch it.

The head of the team even tells me she thought it was cosmic, edgy, and even pure genius.

I feel emotional, and the situation is ludicrous. The ending streamed from my broken heart, not from my mind. It was unplanned. It just came…

I want to burst out and explain what happened, but I cannot afford to come across as a crazy lady. It’s complete madness, and I force myself to hold my mouth.

As I push a sharp fingernail into my palm to create pain and not cry, they make me an offer. My heart surges, and it’s great.

A really great offer!

The deal includes a second book, and I jump on it. I do not even play hard to get or tease I have other offers. There and then, I stand and shake.

I hug my friend long and hard, and the team likely realizes I’m an emotional basket case.

A basket case that can write.

The next two days are intense, but I end up signing their long agreement. Because a lawyer pal knew I needed money fast, she added a payment clause and a tight date.

My immediate financial problems are gone, and I have a writing career!

I am, however, still heartbroken, and deep down, I know I’ll never do this… I’ll never love again .