Kathleen
I ease down into the chair on the opposite side of Katrina’s desk while she shuts the door to give us more privacy.
After she sits down, I watch as she bites her bottom lip. She looks nervous, like she’s trying to muster up the courage to tell me something I’m not going to want to hear.
“We have a program here that works with college students. There’s an annual competition for up-and-coming junior journalists and authors where they submit an exposé, and they stand a chance of winning cash to put toward their tuition. As you can imagine, the competition is fierce. I’m able to freelance and rent out my own office here because I’ve spent years building my following. Writing, journalism, even blogging—they are all extremely competitive fields. From the beginning of a writer’s career, until the day he retires, it’s cutthroat. It doesn’t take long for students to realize just how brutal this business can be. They either develop an edge, or they quit the game early because they can’t handle the ruthlessness of the industry.”
“Yeah, you just happened to make your money off Novak’s life story.”
Katrina’s eyes squint and her demeanor goes cold. Knowing immediately I have said the wrong thing, I wait for her response.
“Let’s get this straight right now. I based my novel on Novak, but it was fiction. Half that fucking money became his when he forced my hand in marriage. Novak is no angel in this game we’ve played together. I was an established writer before I ever met your husband’s cousin. Granted, lines were crossed when writing that story, but for your information, I only used one sex scene from his diary. I may have capitalized on it, but the rest of that story was mine. Novak made a lot of fucking money for being my muse. He used the fact that I took his one paragraph and treated me like I had committed some unpardonable sin, forcing me to marry him in retribution.”
“Well, it was plagiarism, even if it was only one paragraph,” I reply, refusing to back down from my beliefs.
“You’re right, and I have anguished over that. I’ve asked his forgiveness for it as well. I made a spur of the moment decision that was wrong, and I take full responsibility for it. I republished the book and named him as co-author. I would never do anything like that again. We’ve all made mistakes, Kathleen. I stood up and told my readers that paragraph was Novak’s writing. My readers see it the same way as I do—a dysfunctional, fucked-up, heinously beautiful love story. I love my husband, and the games we subject each other to are nothing but aphrodisiacs for bedroom play. You know how these guys roll.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I’m not insinuating you steal people’s work to write your books. It’s obvious you’re talented. It all worked out in the end, and it isn’t like he didn’t make a ton of money riding on your coattails. It’s tit for tat as far as I’m concerned. I’m well aware Novak is no innocent victim in this scenario. If he hadn’t wanted that book to still be in publication, he would have destroyed your reputation, had it removed from every bookshelf in the country, and sued you; he could have possibly even killed you. Clearly, he read it, and even knowing the only thing you used was the one paragraph about kink, Novak saw it as a chance to blackmail you. He fell in love with you and used the plagiarism the same way Glazov used a gambling debt against me. Bratva men don’t come at women with champagne and roses. They come with black roses, Glocks, switchblades, and game because they just take what they want.”
I watch her lean back in her chair like she’s satisfied with my answer. She’s a talented author and doesn’t need Novak or anyone else to be successful. I had only been playing with her, but I respect her even more now for standing up to me. More than that, I respect her for the fact that she owned her mistake and came clean with her readers. I know they love her more for it as well.
I’ve been watching her from the sidelines, and I stalk her social pages. She takes the time to answer her fans and to make posts for them, thanking them for believing in her dreams. I have seen firsthand how much her readers mean to her, and even Novak doesn’t get in the way of her relationship with them. I don’t have a hard time believing it was important to her to come clean and right her wrong in the eyes of her followers. She makes herself accessible and real; they love her all the more for it. Her voice interrupts my musings.
“I’ll give you three guesses what Logan is doing her exposé on.”
A wave of nausea rushes over me.
“Oh, God. Please, no, no, no.”
Horrified, I watch as Katrina nods her head, confirming my fears.
“You got it… Russian gangsters and their various Bratva cells.”