I see three dots start to appear, and I look up, only to find that Frankie is trying to get a glimpse of my phone. She seems to recognize the invasion and leans back. My phone dings. My mother texts: Maybe? There were so many it’s hard to keep track. Why? Long story, I reply, but I’m trying to figure out if I have any connection to Evelyn Hugo. Think Dad would have known her? Mom answers: Ha! No. Your father never hung out with anybody famous on set. No matter how hard I tried to get him to make us some celebrity friends. I laugh. “It looks like no. No connection to Evelyn Hugo.” Frankie nods. “OK, well, then, the other theory is that her people chose someone with less clout so that they could try to control you and, thus, the narrative.” I feel my phone vibrate again. That reminds me that I wanted to send you a box of your dad’s old work. Some gorgeous stuff. I love having it here, but I think you'd love it more. I'll send it this week. “You think they’re preying on the weak,” I say to Frankie. Frankie smiles softly. “Sort of.” “So Evelyn’s people look up the masthead, find my name as a lowerlevel writer, and think they can bully me around. That’s the idea?” “That’s what I fear.” “And you're telling me this because . . .” Frankie considers her words. “Because I don’t think you can be bullied around. I think they are underestimating you. And I want this cover. I want it to make headlines.” “What are you saying?” I ask, shifting slightly in my chair. Frankie claps her hands in front of her and rests them on the desk, leaning toward me. “I’m asking you if you have the guts to go toe-to-toe with Evelyn Hugo.” Of all the things I thought someone was going to ask me today, this would probably be somewhere around number nine million. Do I have