EMILY
"I don't care what his rate is, I need him on the phone in the next ten minutes."
I'm pacing the studio in yesterday's clothes, phone pressed so hard against my ear it's going to leave a bruise, and Marcus, my lawyer, the one who usually handles nothing more dramatic than a vendor dispute, is telling me in his careful lawyer voice that his cease-and-desist guy is on another case in Seattle.
"Then get me someone else. Anyone else. The article has been up for fourteen hours, Marcus, every hour it stays up is another buyer pulling out, I don't have time to shop around for a—"
"Emily."
Derek is in the doorway.
I wave him off and keep pacing.
"Emily."
"Give me a minute, Derek, I am literally on the phone with—"
"Emily. Hang up."
Something in his voice makes me stop. He is pale.
