Mr. Valentine

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Sounds good.” She regarded him with interest. “I guess I didn’t know you as well as I thought when we were growing up. You never seemed to take anything very seriously. I had no idea you wanted to write.”

  “Neither did I. The only reason I went to college was because they offered me a football scholarship. Then I took a writing class because somebody said it was an easy credit. That class hit me like a lightning bolt, and I suddenly knew how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.”

  “Then why on earth did you drop out of college? I would think more classes—”

  “Nope.” Jack shook his head. “My writing teacher was very unusual. She said I had a gift for storytelling, and too much time in creative writing classes might screw that up. She suggested I spend a few years gathering experiences and reading all kinds of popular fiction instead of sitting in classrooms. I think she was right.”

  Krysta frowned. “I’m not sure I agree with that advice, but I can’t argue with the results.”

  “We don’t know what the results are yet,” he reminded her, his anxiety returning.

  “Oh, yes we do. They want this book, Jack.” She pushed back her chair. “You sit here at my desk and I’ll use Rosie’s so we can see each other and give hand signals.” She pointed to a desk directly across the room that faced hers. Then she pushed a button on her telephone. “I’ll use that line. When I give you the thumbs-up sign, you pick up the receiver, very, very carefully.”

  His hands had begun to shake. “Maybe I shouldn’t try to listen in.”

  “Nonsense. I want you to hear all the wonderful things that—” she consulted the paper in her hand “—Stephanie Briggs has to say about your writing.”

  He sat at her desk while she crossed to Rosie’s and settled herself there. Then she grinned at him and started to dial.

  He gripped the arms of her chair as if he were in a rocket about to launch. Eager for distractions, he skimmed a glance across her desk and noted the monogrammed desk accessories, a bud vase with a single pink rose—probably from Hamilton—and a framed photograph taken at the beach of her brothers and her father. Jack remembered vividly the winter sixteen years ago when her mother had died. It had been his first funeral. At the ripe-old age of eleven, Krysta had taken charge of the family of four younger brothers and a handicapped father. No wonder she was such a dedicated little caretaker.

  Then he heard Krysta give her information for the collect call to the long distance operator, and he looked across the office, his stomach churning. She raised her fist, thumb pointed at the ceiling.

  Although he doubted he’d be able to hear anything over the roaring in his ears, he reached a shaky hand toward the receiver.

  “Ms. Briggs?” Krysta said, sounding cool and professional. “I’m Candace Johnson.”

  Jack fumbled the receiver and cursed under his breath.

  Krysta winced at the noise. “Sorry about that, Ms. Briggs. These darn shoulder gadgets for the phone are a nuisance, aren’t they?”

  Jack brought the receiver to his ear in time to hear Stephanie Briggs laugh.

  “I take it you’re calling from an office, then,” said the senior editor.

  “Yes. I work for Rainier Paper here in Evergreen.”

  Jack frowned. He wouldn’t have volunteered that. Too much information might be dangerous.

  “Really?” Stephanie said. “So you’re one of those stalwarts who works a day job and writes by night.”

  “That’s right,” Krysta said, glancing across at Jack. “Existing mostly on sugar and caffeine.”

  Jack made a face at her and she winked back.

  “I’m always impressed with the things writers sacrifice for their craft,” Stephanie said. “But now comes the reward for all that lost sleep, Candace. Uptown Girl is wonderful. You’re the hands-down winner of our Valentine’s Day new author contest, and I’d like to make you an offer on your book.”

  Jack nearly dropped the receiver, and even Krysta lost her cool for a second as she yelped into the phone and punched her fist in the air.

  Stephanie’s tone was indulgent. “I rather thought you’d be pleased.”

  Krysta took a more professional tone. “Yes, I am. And I’m delighted that you like Uptown Girl. It’s special to me, too.”

  Jack drew his finger quickly across his throat to signal Krysta to shut up. She was getting carried away with the moment and heading straight for trouble.

  “I can tell that it is,” Stephanie said. “That scene when they both fall in the drainage ditch and later wash each other clean is incredibly sensuous. I wondered what your inspiration was for that.”

  Krysta’s eyes snapped open wide and she looked straight at Jack. “Uh, well, you know we have a lot of water here in western Washington, Ms. Briggs.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Call me Stephanie. And of course you’re right. That explains all the water images. The rain scene, and the time they make love beside the waterfall in the park. You have a deft touch with love scenes, which is critical to our readership.”

  “Th-thank you.” Krysta focused on Jack, her gaze curious.

  He kept his expression purposely blank.

  “I also wondered if Candace Johnson is your real name or a pseudonym?”

  Jack sat up straighter.

  “It’s a pseudonym,” Krysta said smoothly. “But I plan to use it as my professional name, so you may certainly call me Candace.”

  Jack relaxed a little.

  “Then if it’s not your legal name at this point, would you consider changing it slightly?” Stephanie asked.

  Krysta lifted her eyebrows as she gazed at Jack.

  To what? he mouthed to her.

  “To what?” Krysta repeated to Stephanie.

  “Well, your first name actually started us down this road. Our vice president in charge of marketing suggested Candy instead of Candace.”

  Jack winced. He’d pretty much accepted the idea of using a feminine name, but Candy was a little further than he’d planned to go.

  “I personally prefer Candace,” Krysta said.

  But then again, Jack decided, he’d be Minnie Mouse if it would help the sale of the book. He got Krysta’s attention and was about to signal her to accept the nickname when Stephanie spoke again.

  “Well, it would be up to you, of course, but marketing has a whole campaign mapped out, and it’s going to be dynamite. By this time next year Candy Valentine’s novel will be the talk of the publishing world.”

  Jack stared at Krysta, who stared right back, obviously in shock.

  “Excuse me?” she said at last.

  “Candy Valentine. We hadn’t thought of it until we looked at Candace and started tossing ideas around. Sure, it’s hokey, but that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay for this Valentine’s Day promotion we have lined up. And believe me, with Valentine as a pseudonym, you’ll own the holiday, hands down.”

  “But—but won’t the book be on the bottom of the racks, shelved under V?” Krysta asked.

  Stephanie laughed. “No, dear. You’ll have your own thirty-six-pocket display dump in the front of the store.”

  Krysta looked frantically across at Jack for some direction. Bless her, he thought. Despite the lure of a thirty-six-pocket display dump, she didn’t want to sacrifice his precious pseudonym without his permission. He closed his eyes, silently apologized to his parents and nodded his assent. Candy Valentine. Good Lord.

  “Well, in that case, I guess Candy Valentine it is.” Krysta made a face at Jack.

  “Good. That kind of team spirit will come in handy during the next year. And speaking of that, let’s get to the nuts and bolts of this offer. We’ll pay you half the advance upon signing the contract, and the second half when the book is accepted for publication.”

  “Isn’t it already accepted?” Krysta asked.

  “Essentially, but I have some revision suggestions, and I’m turning the book over to an assistant editor, so I’m sure she’ll have some suggestions, to
o. Once you’ve completed the revisions and they’ve been accepted, the second half of the advance will be paid.”

  “But you’re planning this big campaign, even though the deal isn’t really final?”

  “Oh, we have to, in the interests of time. If, in the end, the book isn’t acceptable, we’ll just have to change our plans. I doubt that would happen, but this is how the publishing world works, Candy.”

  “I see.”

  Jack watched Krysta’s expression become intent. She’d obviously slipped into her business mode.

  “And what is the advance?” she asked without a quiver of uncertainty in her voice.

  Stephanie named an amount that Jack thought sounded quite fair considering it was his first book.

  Krysta tapped her pen against the blotter and let a full three seconds elapse before she answered. “That’s quite low, wouldn’t you say, Stephanie?”

  Once again Jack had to make a grab for the receiver, which he almost dropped. He pushed back his chair and stood, waving an arm frantically at Krysta.

  “Low?” Stephanie seemed at a loss for words. “It’s our standard advance for a first book.”

  “That may be true, but you said Uptown Girl is wonderful. And you’re planning to put it in a thirty-six-pocket display dump. Surely you expect to make a lot of money.”

  Jack moved around to the front of the desk and as far as the telephone cord would reach in an effort to get to Krysta before she ruined his life. The cord was a good six feet too short.

  “The book is wonderful, and we hope to make money,” Stephanie said. “But—”

  “Would you say it’s better than your standard first book?” Krysta asked.

  Jack danced, waved and cursed silently. Krysta gazed at him for a moment before swiveling her desk chair around to face the wall.

  “Yes, I suppose it is better than the usual,” Stephanie said.

  “Twice as good?”

  Jack closed his eyes. He was doomed.

  “Perhaps,” Stephanie said cautiously. “But I warn you that overpaying on a first book can backfire. If you don’t earn out the advance, then—”

  “It will earn out,” Krysta cut in. “And I want twice your original offer.”

  Jack stifled a groan of despair. The chance of a lifetime, and it was slipping through his fingers because he’d allowed Donald Trump to negotiate the deal.

  “I’ll have to discuss this with a few people,” Stephanie said.

  “That’s fine.”

  No, that’s not fine, Jack raged to himself. It’s over.

  “I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

  “Good. I’ll still be at the office then. You can contact me here.” Krysta gave the number of Rainier Paper and her extension. “It was nice talking to you, Stephanie.”

  “Same here, Candy. We’ll be in touch.” There was a solid click.

  Jack practically threw the receiver into its cradle. “Are you insane? You killed my sale!”

  Krysta swiveled around to face him, replaced her receiver with care and steepled her fingers. “You were ready to give that book away for nothing, weren’t you?”

  “Yes!” Jack shoved his glasses back on his nose with a vengeance. “Because it would have been a beginning! A huge beginning! My own display in the front of the store! The money doesn’t matter.”

  “The money always matters. If you don’t value what you do, others won’t value it, either.”

  “This is not the time to take a stand on money.” He pointed a finger at her. “I can guarantee you they won’t call back. They’ll choose another winner for the contest, and next week the manuscript will arrive in the mail, just like all the rest, and—”

  “No, it won’t. Weren’t you listening to her? They like the book, Jack.”

  “Not twice as much, they don’t.” He paced in front of Rosie’s desk. “I can’t believe you did this. I wonder if you could call back and say that you’d had a little out-of-body experience just now, and you’d be willing to accept the original offer.”

  “I’d refuse to do that, even if you were dumb enough to ask me! You’re lucky you had me call. If you’d done it, they’d immediately figure out they had a pushover on their hands and they’d probably take advantage of you.”

  He spun to face her. “And I wouldn’t care. I want my name—or Candy’s name—on a book jacket, Krysta. I’ve wanted to publish a novel for years. If Manchester will do that, they can push me over as many times as they’d like.”

  “Which is precisely why you need someone to take care of business for you.” She folded her arms. “You’re going to thank me for this, Jack. Now, shall we put all this aside for the time being and go down to the cafeteria and grab a quick bite?”

  He stared at her. “How can you even think about eating at a time like this?”

  “Relax.” She stood and came around the desk. “They’ll call back and you’ll have more money. Trust me, this is the way to handle contract negotiations. Don’t forget, I’ve spent two years in the contracts department here at Rainier, and I know this end of the business inside and out. You operate from strength, not weakness, independence, not neediness.”

  He had forgotten, in the excitement of having her agree to call for him. Belatedly he remembered that she’d made a point of saying a contract was never accepted without negotiation. He’d glossed right over that little statement of hers.

  If he’d been paying better attention, he might not have asked her to make the call, although God knows who else he could have asked. Since taking this job and focusing on his writing, he’d given up all claim of having a social life. No, Krysta had been the only one he could turn to, and she’d shafted him. Unless by some miracle she was right. But he didn’t think so.

  “Come on.” She took him by the arm and guided him toward the door. “You can even have cake and coffee today and I won’t say a word.”

  3

  HARD HATS WERE REQUIRED on the shipping dock, so when Jack saw Krysta approach him without one, his stomach churned. She was looking straight at him and not paying the slightest attention to what was going on around her. He hurried forward and guided her out through the double doors into the main part of the building. Once inside the tiled hall, he took off his hard hat and his safety goggles.

  She turned to him. “Jack, I came to tell you—”

  “I know what you came to tell me,” he said in a voice tight with strain. He didn’t want to hear this, but he especially didn’t want to hear it in the hallway, where one of his fellow workers was heading toward them after a trip to the break room for a cigarette. “The foreman’s office should be empty right now, since he’s on the dock. We’ll go in there.” He indicated a gray metal door stenciled with Bud’s name and position. “I don’t think he locks it.”

  Fortunately Bud had left the office open, and they slipped inside the small enclosure that was barely big enough for the metal desk and the couple of chairs that occupied it.

  Jack closed the door and put his goggles in his hard hat before tossing them on a chair. Then he faced her and steeled himself for the bad news. “Okay, what’d they say?”

  She looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “They went for it.”

  “You’re kidding.” His brain refused to assimilate what she was saying. He’d decided during their brief lunch that he was incapable of staying angry with Krysta over this. It was his game, and he’d gambled and lost. The best thing to do was forget it and go on.

  “No, I’m not kidding.” She was so excited she was trembling. “Now, listen carefully, because maybe you’ll learn a valuable lesson from this. Stephanie said she was impressed with my bargaining skills, and that she liked working with someone who valued her own talent.”

  Jack adjusted his glasses, as if that might make him hear better. “You’re sure you understood her right?”

  “They’re buying it, Jack.” Her voice hummed with delight. “For twice the amount.”

  The truth finally hit him,
and without thinking, he grabbed her and swung her around, nearly colliding with the desk in the process. “They went for it! I sold a book! I really sold a book!”

  “You sold a book!” she echoed, hugging him tight.

  He glanced down at her. Her mouth was so close and he was so damned happy that he couldn’t stop himself. A moment like this came once in a lifetime, and it deserved to be celebrated. As his lips touched hers, he knew this kiss would beat a bottle of Dom Pérignon any day.

  He claimed her with all the triumph he felt, and she responded. Good Lord, did she respond. Within seconds he forgot about the book sale, the shipping dock and even Rainier Paper. There was only Krysta, coming alive in his arms, making him ache with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

  Then, just as quickly, the moment ended as she eased away from him. Her face was pink and she lowered her gaze. “Congratulations.”

  He took a moment to get his bearings. Wow. “Thanks.”

  “Stephanie said she and the assistant editor would get their notes together on the revisions and send you a letter,” she said, still not looking at him. “But you’re not to touch the love scenes.”

  “Oh?” His heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Why not?”

  Krysta lifted her head and tried for an impersonal gaze. She almost succeeded. “The love scenes are luscious, I believe she said.”

  “Mm.” His arms and chest still felt the imprint of her body, and her scent filled his nostrils. He’d better usher her out of here before he really overstepped his limits. He had to remember that she’d pushed him away. Nothing had really changed between them. “Well, I can’t thank you enough. I guess we’d both better get back to work.”

  “I guess so. But there is one other thing, and I’m not sure what you want to do about it.”

  One other thing. He should have known. “They’ve decided not to publish the book for another three years?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. They want to stay on schedule with the Valentine’s Day promotion next year, just like Stephanie said on the phone. But before I hung up, she asked for a bio.”