“I hear the margaritas are pretty good here.”
“Sounds great. How do you like yours?”
“Strong.”
He laughed. “Got it. Anything else?”
“On the rocks, no salt, please.”
“Coming right up.” He turned toward the bartender and ordered two margaritas, and as he did so, she noticed the five o’clock shadow on his face. It was salt and pepper, like the thick hair on his head—and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch it.
Just then Brandon looked at her and smiled, and she wondered if he’d caught her staring. She quickly looked down at her hands and wished her nails looked better. “So, what brings you to New York?”
“Nothing too exciting. A client is suing a company that infringed on one of its patents.”
“I’m guessing that’s about all you can say about it?”
He smiled. “Exactly. Sorry to be so secretive. Sort of comes with the territory.”
The bartender set their margaritas in front of them, and Brandon handed Cassidy’s drink to her. Again, she was impressed by his manners.
“Welcome to New York. I hope your secret mission was a success.” She held up her margarita for a toast.
“It’s nice to be here.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To old friends who never actually knew each other.”
She sipped her drink. “High school’s strange that way, isn’t it? I knew who you were, of course, but I don’t think we ever met.”
He nodded. “We met.”
“We did? When?”
“Senior year I went to a party at Krista Nelson’s house. You were there.”
“You did? I was?”
He nodded again. “We talked for a minute or two, but then you took off.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You bolted like your hair was on fire. I may not have been the best student, but I have a really good memory.”
“Then you’re the exact opposite of me. We’d probably crush it on a game show.”
He laughed. “Talking to you is a refreshing change from the deadly serious types I deal with at work all day long. One of the attorneys at my firm has been there for four years and I’ve never seen him crack a smile, much less a joke.”
“Well, even though it was twenty years ago, I’m sorry I ditched you at that party. Will you accept an extremely belated apology?” She certainly hoped she hadn’t been rude. Knowing her, she’d probably bailed on their conversation because she got flustered, fretted briefly about how awkward and nervous she got around boys in social situations, then blocked out the entire experience and gone about her business getting straight As at school.
But still, how could she have done that to a boy who would one day grow up to look like the man sitting across from her now? She silently kicked her teenage self.
He winked at her. “It took a few therapy sessions, but I think I’m over it now.”
She felt her cheeks flush. “I know I was on the timid side back then, but sometimes I also wonder if people thought I was a bit of a snob because I didn’t know I needed glasses.”
“What do you mean?”
“Krista once told me she thought I was rude because I never waved back at her from afar on campus, but then we realized that it was because I couldn’t even see her. I got contact lenses soon after that.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re clearly not rude. Famous, maybe, but definitely not rude.”
“I’m hardly famous.”
“You’re a little famous.” He half smiled, and it was all she could do to keep herself from staring at his lips.
“What about you? What were you like in high school?” She tried to maintain her focus on the conversation.
“Me? I was clueless. That pretty much sums it up.”
She smiled. “I doubt that.”
“I wasn’t a jackass or anything, just a typical teenage guy. Too much gel in my hair, too little time spent on my homework, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds like my brother. He put way more effort into his after-school activities than school itself. Total social butterfly, even joined the prom committee. My mom used to joke that she’d felt him fluttering in the womb.”
“Who did you go to our prom with?” Brandon asked.
The question caught her off guard, and she froze. “I, uh, I didn’t go to the prom.”
He looked surprised. “Why not?”
She took a sip of her margarita and forced a smile. “If you think about it, you can probably figure it out. But just as well—this way I’m assured no embarrassing photos of me in an awful taffeta dress with crimped hair will pop up on the Internet.” She cringed slightly. She was trying to act nonchalant about it, but she was mortified that her single biggest disappointment from high school had just been revealed.
Just then she heard a beeping coming from her purse. Oh frick. She reached inside and pulled out her phone to silence the alarm. She was grateful for the interruption but not thrilled that another of her shortcomings was on display so soon into the evening.
“Important call?” Brandon asked.
“Reminder alarm. I told you my memory sucks.” She glanced at the display and saw Send Dad birthday card!! “I’m sorry about that.”
He gave her a curious look, and she was afraid to know what he was thinking. She wracked her brain for something interesting to say, but before she could come up with anything he broke the silence.
“Do you like being a writer?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “Honest answer?”
“Of course.”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. I’m not sure how it is for other authors, but when I’m working on a book, I tend to suffer from low-grade anxiety throughout the entire process.”
“What do you mean?”
She shifted on her stool. “I mean that until I get some positive feedback from my editor, I’m usually secretly afraid that what I’ve spent months writing might in fact be terrible.”
He laughed. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a very good writer. I enjoyed your books, and I’m not just saying that.”
“Thanks.” She briefly cast her eyes downward before looking up and adding, “It’s actually worth a lot to hear that—when I’m huddled in front of a computer screen by myself, it’s easy for me to lose sight of the fact that I’m creating something I hope real people out there will enjoy.”
“I know I’m not the target audience, but I found them quite entertaining. I mostly read nonfiction, so it’s fun to get lost in a novel once in a while, especially ones with characters worth rooting for. It’s nice to see good people win, especially when it comes to romance.”
When he said the word romance, she flinched. She wanted to be honest with him about her writing, but the truth was that the romance in her books helped fill a void in her own love life, and that wasn’t information she felt like sharing. After revealing the dating desert that had been high school, she hardly wanted to draw more attention to her personal life by confessing her pattern of literary wish fulfillment—much less the reasons behind it.
Perhaps sensing he’d struck a nerve, Brandon changed the subject. “You worked in advertising before you became a writer?”
She gave him a curious look.
He smiled. “It was on your website.”
She felt her neck get warm. He’d read the bio on her website. He’d read all her books. He knew way more about her than she knew about him. All she knew about him was that he was a lawyer, and that he was divorced.
And that he was nice.
And funny.
And interesting.
And gorgeous.
He’s so gorgeous.
She sipped her margarita and prayed he couldn’t read her m
ind. “I wrote my first two novels while I was still working, but eventually I quit my job to focus full-time on writing.”
“And it wasn’t easy. Took a few years to get published, right?”
She smiled, the tequila beginning to calm her nerves. “Also in my bio. I see you did your homework.”
“I always do my homework, at least now I do. As I mentioned, high school was another story. But back to you: I can’t imagine writing an entire book; that’s so impressive.”
She shrugged. “Impressive is relative. I can’t sing, and I draw stick people. I can barely keep myself alive in the deep end of a swimming pool, and I rarely remember what I ate for breakfast. The thought of arguing in court makes me want to throw up, and don’t even get me started on the being a surgeon thing because I have fainted at the sight of blood. Should I go on?”
He laughed. “I’m serious. Writing an entire book is a huge accomplishment. How do you do it?”
“You mean how do I come up with the ideas? Or how do I make myself sit down to write that many pages?”
“Both.”
She felt herself relax more as the conversation moved into territory she was comfortable discussing. “Well, to be honest, coming up with the initial idea is the hardest part, and I’m still not sure how that happens. It just…does. But before I get to that point, I always go through a bit of a freak-out period when I think I’ll never come up with anything ever again and that I’m going to end up on the street, starving to death.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Starving to death?”
“OK, it probably won’t come to that, but you get the picture. Anyhow, I always worry for a while, but then eventually something occurs to me, and I think, I could write a book about that. And after that it’s just a matter of sitting down at the computer every day and seeing what happens.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I’m serious. That’s how it works. Although this time around…” Her voice trailed off.
“This time around what?”
She wondered how much to share, then decided to be forthright. “Well, this time around, as usual, the plot is unfolding in my head, but…it’s not exactly unfolding the way I expected it to.” Or wanted it to.
“Is that a bad thing?”
She took a sip of her margarita. “Well, I thought it would have a happy ending, because as you know, all my books have happy endings, but now I’m not so sure. Now I’m thinking maybe this one should end with something a bit more…realistic.”
“And you’re afraid your readers won’t like that?”
“Yes…and…”
“And what?”
She considered just telling him the truth, that she wanted to write a happy ending for herself. There was something about the way he was looking at her that told her he wouldn’t think any less of her for the admission. But then a completely separate thought came to her, a detail for a scene she’d been struggling with earlier that day. She held up a finger and reached for her purse. “I’m sorry, something just occurred to me for the chapter I’m working on right now.” She fumbled around inside her bag and pulled out a small pack of sticky notes. “If I don’t write it down, I’ll never remember it.”
He laughed. “You weren’t kidding about that memory.”
“It’s really quite tragic. Hang on a sec.” She jotted down a quick sentence, then tossed the sticky notes back into her purse. “I need to use every trick in the book, no pun intended.”
He picked up his glass. “Give yourself some credit. Memory tricks are one thing, but there’s also something to be said for a little thing called talent. I know a lot of people who talk about writing a book, but you’re the only person I know who’s ever actually done it.”
“Thanks.” She couldn’t help but think how different Brandon was from buttoned-up Dean, an ambitious banker who had always made her feel a little irresponsible for having abandoned the security of her advertising job to pursue a living as an author. On the list of risky career choices, novelist had to be close to the top.
“What’s the hardest part of the writing process?” Brandon asked.
She pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “Again, I’m not sure how it is for other writers, but I always find that getting started is the hardest. Developing the characters, making them believable and sympathetic—or not—is challenging. But once I have that down, the characters begin to tell me the story, and then I sort of just listen to what they have to say.”
“How do you get the ideas for the characters? Are they all based on people you know?”
“Some are, but some are completely made up. I’ve actually come up with a fun game to create them, or at least a way to generate some ideas for them.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A game?”
She explained how the character game worked, then glanced over his shoulder and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “See that woman sitting alone over there?”
“Can I look without totally busting us?”
“Yes.” She laughed and noted his discretion—more points in his favor.
He stole a quick peek at the woman, then turned back to Cassidy and smiled. “OK, now what?” His gray eyes were poking holes in her resolve not to get nervous around him, but she did her best to stay composed.
“What’s her name?” Cassidy asked him.
He pointed to himself. “You want me to name her?”
“Yep. What’s her name?”
“OK…Amanda. No, Audrey.”
“Audrey what?”
“Audrey…Winston.”
Cassidy nodded. “Audrey Winston, got it. Where’s she from?”
“Um…Alabama.”
“Nice. What does she do?”
“I say…lead dancer in a Broadway musical.”
Cassidy smiled. “You’re already good at this. OK, what makes her angry?”
He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “When people ask her how old she is. That really ticks her off.”
Cassidy laughed. “Nice. What makes her laugh?”
Brandon scratched his chin. “Hmm…I’d say…when people trip on the sidewalk.”
“Oooh, so she’s mean. I like it. What’s her pet phrase?”
“Her pet phrase?”
“Yes. Something she says all the time, like the way Patti always says stop it to me, or the way my editor likes to say cool beans.”
“Ah, got it.” He paused to think, then snapped his fingers again. “How about she calls people darling?”
Cassidy nodded. “Nice. She really does sound like a bitch. OK, last one for you. What’s her secret talent?”
“You mean besides keeping her age under wraps?”
“Yes, something totally random. For example, I can stand on one leg for like an hour.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to see that. OK…how about…she can touch her nose with her tongue?”
Cassidy applauded. “I think your secret talent might be playing my character game. Well done, sir. Maybe you can help me with my next book.”
“That sounds way more exciting than writing legal briefs, although then again, pretty much anything is more exciting than writing legal briefs. Except maybe reading legal briefs.”
She held up her palms like the scales of justice. “I’d call it a tie. Equally boring.”
He smiled and sipped his drink. “Do you like living in New York? I think it would be fun but exhausting.”
“Fun but exhausting pretty much sums it up, actually. I love it, but yes, it can be draining. There’s just so much going on all around, all the time, which can be a good thing and a bad thing.”
“How so?”
She gestured around the bar, which was now nearly full. “When you feel like going out for a margarita on a Wednesday night, the ener
gy buzzing every which way is great. But when you have to elbow your way through a sea of pedestrian traffic just to buy a carton of milk on a Sunday morning, it gets a little old. And then there’s the subway, which is superconvenient but an absolute nightmare during rush hour. I mean, who wants to be forced to stare into a stranger’s armpit on a hot summer day?”
He chuckled and picked up his glass. “Thanks for the visual. Would you ever move back to the Bay Area?”
“I know I will.” She answered without hesitation, which surprised her. Would she?
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my parents are there, and my brother and his family. In the back of my head I know I’ll end up there, it’s just a matter of when.” She wondered what had triggered the conviction in her voice, but regardless, they’d been talking about her long enough. “OK, that’s more than too much about me, so I’m officially turning the tables. At the reunion you said you have two sons?”
“Yes, twins. Jack and Henry. They’re five and a half.” His eyes brightened when he said their names.
“Wow, twins. How do you get any sleep with twins? You must have been a zombie when they were babies.”
“I’m still a bit of a zombie. You don’t want to know how much money I spend on coffee.”
She briefly wondered if she should play dumb about his marital status, then realized that would be…dumb. Instead she opted for a more mature approach to the topic, which was to be direct. “How long have you been divorced?”
“It was final about a year ago.”
She stiffened. Only a year? Was he ready to be dating?
“Not that long, then,” she said.
“Long enough.” He held her gaze as he said the words, and she felt a little buzz somewhere deep inside her.
“OK,” she said softly.
The bartender interrupted the moment, or whatever it was. “Would you two like another round?”
Cassidy looked at Brandon, determined to follow his lead.
He pointed toward the dining part of the restaurant. “Are you hungry? Can I buy you dinner?”
Cassidy Lane Page 6
