“Oh!” Her eyes popped wide. “You have to get online right now.” She grabbed my hand and yanked me into the office, all but shoving me into the chair while she brought up YouTube full screen and typed Noah’s name.
“Hazel,” I warned her softly. The last thing I needed was to see Noah on video, traipsing around New York like he hadn’t broken my heart in a million pieces.
“It’s not what you think.” She clicked on a video of a popular morning show, and I tapped my toes impatiently through the five seconds of ads before it began playing. “Hold on, it doesn’t start until about halfway through, and I damn near spit out my coffee.” She clicked toward the middle of the video, skipping the first ten minutes.
“—does he think he is?” the female anchor asked her partner, who shook his head. “You don’t do that to Scarlett Stanton. You just don’t.”
“I’d have to argue that the publisher must have known what they were getting when they hired Noah Harrison to finish it,” he countered.
“Oh God,” I whispered, my stomach dropping out of my body and off the face of the earth. Knowing Noah might get some negative press for my choice and seeing it were two different things.
“It gets worse,” Hazel muttered.
“How much worse?” I wasn’t sure I could take it.
“Watch.”
“I’m not the only one to cry foul,” the anchor said, putting up her hands. “Early review copies are out, and spoiler alert: it’s not pretty. Publication Quarterly calls it, and I quote, ‘An egotistical attempt to outshine the foremost romance novelist of her day.’”
The audience booed, and my hands shot up to cover my mouth. “That’s not fair!” I said through the gaps of my fingers.
“It gets worse,” Hazel repeated.
“How? Are they going to burn a cardboard cutout of Noah?” I challenged.
“Would it bother you if they did?” she asked with mock innocence.
I shot a glare her way.
“The New York Daily took it a step further, saying, ‘Scarlett Stanton is rolling over in her grave. Though incredibly well-written and emotionally moving, Harrison’s blunt disregard for Stanton’s bestselling brand of feel-good endings is a slap in the face to romance fans around the world.’ And I can’t disagree.”
“Make it stop.” My hands slid from my mouth to cover my eyes as they flashed a picture of Noah.
“One more minute.” Hazel yanked the mouse out of my reach.
“The Chicago Tribune weighed in with, ‘Not since Jane Austen has a romance author been so internationally loved, yet so disregarded by men. Noah Harrison’s painful, emotionally sadistic ending to Scarlett Stanton’s own love story is unforgivable.”
“Oh, Noah,” I groaned, letting my forehead fall into my hands.
“But maybe the best review, as always, comes from Scarlett Stanton herself, who said, ‘No one writes painful, depressing fiction masquerading as love stories like Noah Harrison.’” The anchor sighed. “Honestly, what was the publisher thinking? You don’t bring a man into a corner of the industry that women had to claw out for themselves amid the slut-shaming mommy-porn jokes and let him walk all over the very thing that defines the genre. You just don’t. Shame on you, Noah Harrison. Shame on you.” The anchor pointed to the camera, and the segment ended.
“At least they didn’t set him on fire,” I muttered, staring at the computer screen in horror.
“They just had your gran do it,” Hazel noted.
“They’re not being fair to him. It’s a beautiful, poignant ending.” I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “It’s a fitting tribute for what she went through in real life. And he had nothing to do with trashing the genre. That was all me!”
“News flash, G. No one reads romance for real life.” She sighed. “Also, that man is so in love with you that I can’t even…anything. I can’t.” She perched on the edge of the desk and faced me.
“Don’t,” I whispered as my heart cracked, the hastily constructed scabs breaking open.
“Oh, I’m going to.” She moved so I couldn’t look away. “That man just trashed his career on an international stage for you.”
“He trashed his career out of contractual obligation,” I countered, but the damage was done. My entire body ached with missing him just like it did every day. Add on the hatred he was getting over my choice, and I was ready to bury myself in a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.
“Keep telling yourself that.” She shook her head. “He’s Noah Harrison. If he wanted out of the contract, he would have gotten out. He did this for you. To prove that he would keep his word.”
“He lied, and for no good reason.” Frustration welled up, doing its best to overpower the pain. “I wouldn’t have kicked him out in December if I’d known he’d finished the book. I was already in love with him!”
My hands flew to my mouth.
“Ha!” Hazel jabbed her finger at me. “I told you!”
“It doesn’t matter!” My arms fell to my sides. “The ink isn’t remotely dry on my divorce. It hasn’t even been a year!” My spine stiffened. “Isn’t there a rule somewhere that you have to take some time for yourself before shoving all your baggage at the next man?”
“Okay, one, there’s no rule. Two, I’ve seen Noah’s arms. He can carry all your baggage and then some.” Her face scrunched.
“Shut up.” She wasn’t wrong.
“Three, you’re not your mom, G. You’ll never be your mom. And honestly, you were pretty much alone in the six years of that shitty marriage. You’ve had plenty of time for yourself, but if you think you need more, then take it. Just do the world a favor and tell the man.”
I sagged against the back of the chair. “It’s impractical. We live on opposite sides of the country. Besides, it’s been three weeks since he tried to call. He’s probably over it. His rebound rate is astronomical.”
“If by rebound rate, you mean he’s only been seen in public with his sister, then I agree.” She arched a brow at me. “I love you, but you have to get out of your own damned way. He loves you. He screwed up. It happens. Owen screws up every three days, apologizes, makes up for it, and then screws something else up three days later. You figure it out as you go along.” She glanced at her wedding ring and smiled.
“What do you screw up?” I asked.
“I’m perfect. Besides, we’re not talking about me.” Her phone rang and she stood so she could get it free. “Hey, babe. Wait. Say that again. Colin did what with the scissors while you were in the bathroom? How short is short?” Her voice pitched shrill.