Page 40 of The Challenger

He found me bawling in his boardroom last December, when the pressure of Christmas and the stalker, round one, had broken me. He did the gentlemanly thing and offered me a Xanax with a vodka chaser and a shoulder to cry on, but I should have known better than to reveal everything. Nathaniel files weaknesses away to deploy them against you when you least expect it.

“I decided I needed some sun.”

“You live in a desert. How much more sun do you need?”

Oh, God. Here we go. Just say it. It’s your life, not his.

“I met someone, and he invited me to Australia. I’m Down Under for the next two weeks. It’s nine in the morning and I have to run,” I lie. “I’m late for breakfast.”

The number of times I’ve gone off the rails and done something completely whack? Exactly never. But leave it to Nathaniel to motor on like a life-altering decision of mine doesn’t require any follow-up.

“I need to get back to Amazon with a yes or a no, sugar. Come on, I can get you six figures. Maybe seven.”

I shut my eyes. Feel the pressure build in my temples. This is where I crack. The bright-eyed twenty-one-year-old who queried the overlord of non-fiction, who’s been yanking my chain ever since. It’s time for all gas, no brakes.

“It’s a no, Nathaniel.”

Pin-drop silence. The kind you might hear in heaven during nap time. Or at my funeral, which I might be forecasting, the longer he says nothing.

“Who is this guy?” he finally demands, as if another male could ever measure up to his 5’10” white-flab supremacy. “Maybe he’s only after you for your money.”

“Maybe he likes me for who I am.”

“Ilike you for who you are.”

“Maybe you like me because I makeyoumoney.”

I sit up, dragging the sheet higher to cover me. He’s ten thousand miles away and still manages to make me feel exposed.

“Since when did you become an ungrateful bitch?” he snivels.

Wow. A little pushback and here come the dirty gloves. I’ve seen and heard this side of him, but only when we’ve been on the same side of the negotiation table. Mr. Ice-in-the-Veins steamrolling hapless publishers like a RAM TRX screaming down on a Smart car. I considered switching agents last year after the same Labor Day gala when his wife made a play for me and he laughed off my discomfort, shoving another glass of champagne in my hand and telling me to loosen up.

“Thanks for that vote of confidence. I don’t care if the Amazon deal comes with a crown. My answer is still no, and I’m officially going off grid. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

“Flin Flon,” he says in that threatening tone he pulls out as a last resort. “You won’t be in demand forever. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot over a cock. You will regret it.”

Says the man who met his wife by plucking a set of keys out of a bowl at a swinger party. Good grief. Has he no shame? I probably shouldn’t have hung up on him without saying goodbye, but I did. Instead of the, What the hell did I do,scaries eating me alive, Nathaniel vanquished leaves me sitting in the dark with a smile forming. I am legendarily bad at sticking up for myself with him, but maybe Chavez and his attitude are rubbing off on me. And his ears must be burning because he is already up and texting me.

CD: Morning mamacita. Coffee?

He’s got balls. Mr. Business as usual. Like I’m not dying here.

FD: Hi.

FD: Yes, please.

CD: Meet downstairs in twenty?

FD: Thirty. I just woke up.

CD: Don’t be late.

By the time I've showered and thrown on some clothes, I have the ultimate revenge planned. Today we work on serve and return, and Chavez will eat a hundred short and wide ones until he is blue in the face. Ready, and with a spring in my step, Coach Flynn heads for the elevator with my nose buried in a raging Reddit debate over mothers who steal their daughters’ boyfriends. When the car arrives, I step inside without looking up.

“Flynn. What a pleasure.”

Oh, shit. I pocket my phone and fake a smile. “Hi, Brandon. How are you?”

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