by Shirley Jump
Kate didn’t answer. She took a step closer, and it seemed as if her gaze saw inside his brain. “Everything about you now is a carefully crafted image. The picture-perfect poses on the water or in the woods. The long, searching gazes you give to the camera when you’re on a hike, as if you’re spying some horizon no one else can see. Where in all of that is the real you, Trent? The guy I knew in college?”
So she’d looked at his social media. That flattered him and made him wonder if she still thought about the past. Then he realized she was a professional and had probably only done it to research her client. Ouch. “I’m the same guy. Just because I’m not some touchy-feely, pour-out-my-feelings-on-a-psychologist’s-couch kind of person doesn’t mean—”
“This book is about honesty, Trent. If we’re going to write this book together, you have to be honest with me. I can’t work with another grandstander who thinks he doesn’t have a single fault.”
Maybe she didn’t know him that well. Or maybe she’d forgotten the person he’d been in college. “That isn’t me.”
“Oh, yeah?” She clicked her pen and held it out to him, above the blank nondisclosure agreement. “Then prove it.”
Four
Kate managed to walk out of Trent’s office building with her spine straight, but soon as the elevator hit the ground floor, her legs shook and the confidence evaporated. She’d held it together during the meeting and had managed to feign a self-assurance she didn’t feel. Everything about being around him again set her on edge, made her heart stutter and her thoughts jumble.
Why did he have to look so good, anyway?
Trent had been the boy in the back of their American Lit class in college, hardly paying attention, only there to fulfill his English requirements. She’d been the one up front, asking questions, turning in assignments early. He’d usually strolled into class a few minutes after it had started, which made Kate’s brain short-circuit for a minute or two. With his mop of light brown hair that had a stubborn habit of dusting across his eyebrows, and his irresistible grin, almost every girl in class had paid attention when Trent had walked by.
The day before the first big test, Trent had pulled her aside after class and asked her to help him study. Bookworm Kate had been shocked the handsome athlete had noticed her, much less talked to her. She’d stuttered out a yes, and he’d asked her to grab a bite while they cracked the books. They’d gone to Chick and Cheese, and she’d fallen in love with his humor, his smile, and the way he didn’t even pretend to have it all together.
Now he was all grown up and the owner of a multi-million-dollar company about to go public. She was still a bookworm, but now being paid for her love of words. And her heart still stopped every time he looked at her.
Geez. She really needed to wear a lead shield or something next time she was around him, because her brain still short-circuited at the sight of him. His hair was shorter now, sandy brown wayward waves above eyes as blue as the deepest regions of the Pacific Ocean. Instead of a suit, he’d worn a pair of GOA khakis and a T-shirt that had hugged his muscles in all the right places. She was surprised she’d managed to string together a bunch of coherent sentences this morning.
Writing a book with Trent would be cramming for a test all over again, and she knew deep down inside the little dregs of bittersweet regret about the ending of their relationship could open a door in her heart again. Because she was a weak woman who couldn’t resist a crooked grin and a pair of blue eyes.
Kate slipped into her car and dropped her head onto the steering wheel. “This is a mistake,” she told herself. “A huge, huge mistake.”
And one she couldn’t afford to turn down.
She pulled out of the lot, drove across town, then ducked into a coffee shop just as it started to rain—one of these days, she’d remember to grab her raincoat—and sat down at a table by the window. Even though it was miles away, her masochistic self stared in the direction of Trent’s building and wondered what he was doing, if he’d been as upended as she’d been by seeing each other again.
Kate jerked her attention back to the present. She needed to work, not daydream about the past. She ordered a cappuccino, sprinkled the drink with extra cinnamon, and opened her laptop. Trent had promised to email the handful of pages and the beginnings of his outline. The email popped into her inbox. No message, no words from him, just the attachment. Disappointment flickered inside her.
What did she expect? Some rambling love letter about missing her and wishing she was back in his life? That would only complicate things and add a level of awkwardness she didn’t need on a job. He was a mistake she’d put in her past, which was where her feelings for Trent would stay.
She sipped her coffee and took a closer look at the file. What he had could barely be called a chapter. Snippets of thoughts strung together— nothing concrete. The outline was a list of bullet points. Okay, so this was going to be a lot of work in a very short period of time.
Which meant spending a lot of time with Trent. When he’d stood so close to her today, it had taken everything she had not to lean forward and kiss him. Somehow, she needed to slot him into the Client section of her mind and get him out of The Man I Used to Love section. Doing that was going to take some chocolate. A lot of chocolate.
The bell over the coffee shop door jingled as a woman stepped inside, closing her umbrella, giving it a little shake, then setting it against the others on the wall. Loretta again, like a stray cat following Kate everywhere she went. “Kate! I’m so delighted to see you again!” Loretta pulled out the second chair and plopped into it. “We must have coffee together and catch up. We didn’t have time in the bookstore, and I’ve been dying to hear more about how you do that ghostwriting thing.”
Kate swore she saw Loretta shiver in revulsion when she said the word “ghostwriting.” “Actually, I’m kinda working right now.”
Loretta waved that off. “Work, shmerk. You have time for a cup of coffee. Everyone has time for that. Let me order, and I’ll be right back.”
Kate started to protest, but Loretta was already at the counter, handing the cashier a bookmark as she ordered a caramel latte. She heard Loretta telling the poor barista all about her new book, but Kate tuned the words out and refocused on her computer. She started a new file for Trent’s book and began filling out the outline with some thoughts. She was about to title the first chapter when she heard her name being called.
“Kate! Kate!” Loretta waved at her. “I was just telling Carl here that you’re an author in the making. He didn’t know you wrote. I told him you have a novel in you that’s waiting to come out, like a butterfly in chrysalis.”
“Cool, dude.” The aforementioned Carl nodded. His bleached hair hung in shoulder-length dreads, topped by a rainbow beanie. “I wanna write someday too. Poems, mostly. Like dark stuff about the moon and planets.”
“Uh…that’s great.” Kate didn’t want to have this conversation, because all she had was a caterpillar of a novel, languishing in a dusty drawer of her desk. Three chapters that hadn’t grown by a single word in years.
Loretta grabbed her order and hurried over to the table again. Kate would’ve told her to leave, but Loretta had also ordered cookies, and if there was one thing Kate needed right now, it was sugar. “Are these chocolate chunk?” Kate asked.
“Of course. Us girls need to have our chocolate. Am I right or am I right?” Loretta nudged the plate in Kate’s direction.
They weren’t just chocolate chunk cookies, they were warmed chocolate chunk cookies, with ooey goodness in every bite. Kate ate a third of the first one in a single chomp. The sugar hit her palate, and the tension in her shoulders eased a degree.
“So, dish,” Loretta said, her voice all high and friendly. “What has happened to you since college? Did you get married? Buy a minivan? Have five kids?”
Kate let out a little laugh. She loved her quiet, predicta
ble life, but deep down she wondered if she was missing out by being alone and almost forty. “No to all of the above. I’ve done some freelance magazine writing, and the ghostwriting. That’s pretty much it. Nothing too exciting.”
“Oh, well.” Loretta’s long, dramatic sigh had a distinct pity ring. “As long as you’re happy.”
Kate was happy, wasn’t she? Sure, her life revolved around her cat and her grandmother, but there was nothing sad about that. Exactly. She ate another bite of cookie. “I’m just happy to be paid to do what I love to do.”
“Which is write other people’s books.” Loretta’s face pinched. “I gotta tell you, Kate, I don’t know how you do it. Isn’t that terribly…dull?”
“Sometimes. But some clients are a challenge, and I love that. The project I’m working on now will be a challenge, to be sure, which will keep me on my toes.” An understatement of epic proportions. Trent was unlikely to be the diva Gerard had been or the dictator the actress from last year had been. The challenge was entirely on Kate’s end to stop thinking about how tempting he looked and whether his kiss would be as amazing as she remembered.
Now the first cookie was all gone, and Kate’s nerves were still a jumble. Loretta hadn’t touched so much as a crumb, and Kate had had a very bad day thus far, so she justified nibbling—okay, biting deep into—the second cookie.
“Oh, do tell.” Loretta lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned in. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
How Kate wanted to unburden the entire insane story to someone. Just vent about her complicated feelings for Trent and how her heart tripped at the thought of working closely with him. How part of her wanted to run away and avoid him, and how seeing him again had aggravated a scar she’d thought healed long ago. If not for the things she wanted to do to help Grandma Wanda and the need for extravagant things like shelter and food, she would have walked away from the contract.
“I really can’t say anything,” Kate said, while the complex truth bubbled at the top of her throat. “Nondisclosure and all that.”
Loretta sipped at her latte and peered at Kate over the rim. “It sounds like a spy operation when you put it like that.”
“It’s nothing that sinister.” Kate laughed. “Only business.”
“Well, darn, because then you could write your own mystery novel.” Loretta looked down at the empty plate. “Well. Someone’s having a rough day.”
“Sorry.” Kate tried to give Loretta an apologetic smile around the last bite. “I should have shared.”
Loretta waved at her. “You go on and have all the cookies, Kate. Sometimes us girls just need a little sugar.”
A little? Kate would have eaten every single dessert in the glass case if she could have. Maybe after Loretta left, she could order another cookie. Or five.
“Oh! I forgot to share about me,” Loretta said, her loud, excited voice startling Kate and the guy at the next table. “I have two wonderful children and such a supportive husband. He’s an orthodontist, isn’t that great? We just bought a second home in Maui, in fact, although we can’t get there very often because the children have school.”
“Gee, what a bummer.” Kate gave herself a mental pat on the back for not rolling her eyes. Darn it. She’d eaten every last crumb of chocolate. “I really need to get to work, Loretta. So if you don’t mind…”
“Oh, of course not. We authors have to take every opportunity we can to hone our craft. Am I right or am I right?” Loretta gathered her things and got to her feet. She turned to go, but before Kate could breathe a sigh of relief, Loretta pivoted back. “Oh, before I forget. Are you going to the writers’ conference in town this weekend? It’s at the Hyatt.”
A vague memory of seeing something in her Facebook feed came back. As much as Kate loved writers’ conferences and wanted to go, the registration fee was something she couldn’t afford right now. And not because she’d bought a second home in Maui. Ugh. Why had she talked to Loretta at all? “No, I don’t think so. I have some work to get done.”
“All work and no play makes for very dull books and very reclusive authors.” Loretta smiled. “If you can’t make the conference itself, why don’t you come to the VIP cocktail party on Friday night? I have an extra ticket and would love to bring a friend along. You can hobnob with all the agents and editors.”
Kate started to decline, then thought of the networking opportunities and the unfinished novel sitting in her computer. Maybe chatting about fiction with agents and editors would jumpstart her writing. She might even nab a request to see it from one of the publishing professionals. Either way, it was a great opportunity she couldn’t afford to pass up. “That would be wonderful, Loretta. Thank you.”
“Anytime. As I always say—”
“Us authors have to stick together,” Kate finished with her. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the first step toward finally being able to legitimately put the word “author” beside her name.
If not, there was still a platter of cupcakes on the counter of the coffee shop. And a memoir she didn’t want to write that could pay the bills. Assuming she could keep her heart out of the whole complicated mess.
“This is even worse than I expected.” Kate shook her head. “Impossible” didn’t even describe what she had in front of her.
The day after their first meeting, Kate had agreed to meet Trent at his apartment after he got home from the office. They’d discussed different places to meet, and in the end, they’d decided his apartment would offer the quietest location to work. Curiosity had nudged her to offer to walk into the lion’s den, which put her altogether too close and too alone with him. She could have insisted on her apartment, or somewhere public, but a part of her really wanted to know the Trent of today. All grown up, successful…unmarried?
She shouldn’t care if he was single too. But it mattered to the part of her that had never quite forgotten him or the sweet, slow way he used to kiss her. So many years ago, but right this second, it seemed like yesterday.
As she parked in the lot and rode up in the elevator, all Kate could think was how alone they would be. Just her and Trent.
Of course, they were adults, so being alone in the same room for hours on end didn’t mean anything would happen. Even if everything inside her yearned for a touch, a glance, a smile.
She’d opted for jeans and a T-shirt this time, with a cute pair of low dark brown boots she’d found on sale last month. Epitome of writer at work, not woman who still got butterflies in her stomach whenever she was around him.
All business. No flirting. No getting caught up in memories.
That hadn’t stopped her from trying to puzzle together the man he was now, using his spacious, modernist apartment as a guide. Clearly, Get Outdoors Apparel was doing well, given the penthouse apartment with an expansive view of Elliott Bay. She could see the edges of Olympic Park and the trail that skirted the bay across the street. His apartment was warm but minimal, filled with eclectic treasures he’d picked up on his world travels. A pair of bikes hung on the entryway wall, and a small wooden shelf held a dozen pairs of running and hiking shoes. His paddleboard leaned against the far wall, a bright white slash in the soft gray décor. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, undercut by the warm notes of cinnamon and apples coming from a candle on the entryway table. No signs of a woman living there, nor any pictures of anyone other than his family.
Trent had set up a work area for them on his dining room table, an oval polished hunk of wood carved from a felled Sequoia, he told her. The swirled concentric rings echoed a fingerprint, with their ridges and whorls honed from an imperfect life. Thick repurposed branches formed the mighty legs supporting the heavy wood. It had to be one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen, and so evocative of the Trent she used to know. Sitting at the table almost felt like being inside a treehouse.
On the table sat a shoebox he
’d filled with notes and scribbles, the extent of his “research” for the book. He’d taken off the lid, unveiling the contents as if it were a prize to behold. Not so much.
“That’s what I have so far. I figured maybe you could piece something together from my notes.” Trent had opted for casual too, with a pale green GOA T-shirt and a navy company-branded fleece jacket. He looked like a magazine ad for relaxed and comfortable—as if she could curl up against him and nap for days. “Can’t you cobble my story together out of that?”
She held up one of the dozens of Post-It Notes crammed into the box and looked at him askance. She’d worked with lots of clients over the years, but none of them had been as ill-prepared as Trent. Coupled with the tight deadline, Kate worried she wouldn’t be able to pull this book off in time. “I’m not even sure I can decipher what this means, never mind figure out how it goes into the book.”
Trent took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers for a second and sending a tremor through her veins. He turned the yellow scrap left, right, his eyes squinting. “Oh yeah, I remember now. This is the story of my climb in Machu Picchu. It’s where I came up with the idea for GOA.”
She rose and peered over his shoulder. Why did he have to wear such tempting cologne, anyway? The scent reminded her of a deep forest at night. Alluring and dangerous. “There’s something that looks like a triangle and three words, Trent. That’s not a story. All it says is ‘Trash. Get Outdoors.’”
“Exactly. When I stood at the top of Machu Pichu, I saw beauty and amazingness. And a pile of trash a few yards away, left by some uncaring tourists. I thought of how the environment needed less trash, and people needed to go outside more often and appreciate the world. Hence, eco-friendly Get Outdoors Apparel.”
It was a great story about the foundation of the company, and Kate could already see how she’d spin it in the book. She had no doubt the rest of the paper scraps held similar nuggets—if she could dig them out of Trent’s brain. “And I am supposed to get all that from three words?”
