by Abby Brooks
“If it sounds too good to be true, it is? What are you hiding in here?” She frowned, shuffling through the papers, looking for a clause she missed.
“I’m demanding. A perfectionist. I fight one sentence for weeks before I scrap the entire paragraph.” And I broke into her house this morning simply because I knew I’d write better here than at home. “You’re gonna earn that money.”
She stumbled into my life like she stumbled into the kitchen. Bare. Open. Eager for me to see all she had to offer…
The sentence went into my slush pile doc while Evie signed her name. “There you go. Consider me yours.”
I flipped to the manuscript open on my laptop, then spun the device around and slid it in front of her. “Read.”
“Read?” Surprise lifted her lovely face. “Now?”
I nodded. “Read.”
Her fingers splayed as she adjusted the laptop, gripping it with her thumb and forefingers, as if she’d dirty the thing by touching it. Shaking her head and blowing a long breath passed pursed lips, she leaned in and started the story. I watched her face, searching for the surprise, the fear, the enjoyment. As she wandered the twisty paths of the first seven chapters, I sought out any sign I’d elicited an emotional response. Her expression stayed neutral. Not the reaction I hoped for.
Maybe she had a poker face.
Maybe she was intentionally hiding her feelings.
Maybe…
“How honest do you want me to be?” She closed the laptop, her face completely, maddeningly unreadable.
“Brutally.”
“Do you mean that?” She sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. “Think before you answer. Do you really want me to be brutally honest? Or do you want me to pretend I’m being brutally honest while I tell you everything you want to hear? Because—”
“Damn it, woman,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Put me out of my misery already.”
No one gave feedback with a preamble like that unless they had bad news. I prepared for the worst even as I hoped for the best.
“The writing is great. But…” She licked her lips, and I died a thousand deaths.
“But?”
“The sentences are evocative. Beautiful, even. Each of them is technically perfect and pristine. But…” She took a deep breath and I considered removing the word ‘but’ from all of my stories. It was a vile thing that made me sick. “The plot isn’t going anywhere. It’s sterile. Nothing’s happened in seven chapters but technically perfect sentences.”
I dropped my gaze to the table. Swallowed hard as I rubbed my hands along my jeans. Even though it was the feedback I was expecting, I hated to hear it. That meant weeks of work would need to be revised. Maybe scrapped altogether. My eyes closed as I rubbed a temple.
I’d never missed a deadline before this. My publishers had already extended this one three times and Brighton made it clear patience was running thin. What the fuck was I going to do? My career was at stake and now I’d have to start from scratch because the pages I had been able to write were freaking “sterile.”
“Oh, God.” Evie cringed. “You didn’t want real honesty! Can this day get any worse? I’m so sorry…”
I placed a hand on hers, intending to calm her down but the action had the opposite effect on me, so I dropped it to my lap. This was not the time to yank her out of her chair and kiss her until I remembered how to write good stories. “You gave me exactly what I asked for. There’s a problem with the plot. I’ve known it, but just didn’t want to face it. That’s probably why I have writer’s block in the first place. I know something’s broken.”
“I wouldn’t go all the way to broken. Most writers would feel blessed to write something like that.” She gestured to my laptop.
“Right. Because everyone wants to write something sterile.” I sat back and met her eyes. “Don’t soften your words to protect my ego, Evie. Speak truth. Even when you don’t think I’ll like it.”
Her gaze held mine as thoughts ticked away behind her eyes. If only I could read her better…
“Okay.” She nodded like she’d come to a conclusion. “If you want truth, then so do I.”
And here it comes, I thought. She’s gonna ask me about being in her kitchen this morning. Or about the kiss last night. Holy shit. I’ve known this woman for three days and have already complicated the fuck out of everything.
Evie took a deep breath and I steeled myself for whatever came next as her eyes met mine. “Why are you, a man who surely has agents and editors and people way more qualified than I will ever be, paying someone like me to tell you these things? Why hire a stranger who got fired from a small newspaper to say something you already know? You are Lord and Master, Sir Alexander the Glorious, after all.”
Relief hit me hard. We weren’t going to talk about me breaking in and we weren’t going to talk about the kiss. She wanted answers about work. From this point forward, I’d keep things professional because the stress couldn’t be good for my creativity.
I sat back and crossed my ankle over my knee. “I hired you to tell me what my editors won’t. They think my brand’s big enough to keep me safe. That my name will sell books, even if they aren’t up to my standard. And because I’m so late with this story, they’re only going to tell me it’s wonderful, so I’ll finish the draft. I want someone who isn’t in that world to tell me what I needed to hear.”
That was only partly true. The reality was that I’d decided to hire her because I wanted access to her kitchen. The rest was just icing. My father would be so proud of me, sacrificing everyone else’s needs for my own.
“You wanna know what I think?” Evie folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin.
“I’d love to know what you think. Let me into that marvelous mind.”
A grin lit her face and she stood. “I think you’re in a rut, Mr. Prescott. I think you’ve written the same kind of books with the same kind of characters while living in the same house with the same people in the same town for too long.”
I blinked. “Is that so?”
“I think you hired me because you need something different.”
Well, shit. Maybe she was better at this than I thought she’d be. Every time I was around her, the story unlocked. Did that happen simply because she was a breath of fresh air in my stale life? Is that why it had been easier to write in this kitchen than my office at home? “And what do you suggest I do about that?”
She laughed. “You do realize I have no idea what I’m talking about and am still fighting a hangover, right?”
“You’re also making some good points.” I waved a hand. “Do continue.”
Evie’s gaze raked over me, her curiously brilliant eyes scrutinizing every aspect of my face and body. “I guess we need to break you out of your habits. Get you doing new things. Meeting new people. How can you write compelling characters in interesting predicaments if you’re living the same humdrum existence, day in and day out? When was the last time you had something new happen?”
I stared at the something new in question until her cheeks blazed.
“See?” she whispered. “You need things shaken up.”
Her words rattled around in my head, making more sense by the minute. She had a point and I needed to listen. “Your job description just expanded to include knocking me out of this rut so I can write again. And…go.”
“Now?” Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You want me to start now?”
“You just read my manuscript and told me it was shit. What else are you gonna do? Drop the mic and walk out of the room?”
“It’s not shit….”
“If you don’t stop placating me, I’ll remind you how many times you sexually harassed me last night.” So much for keeping it professional.
Evie’s jaw dropped and her cheeks pinked. “About that…”
“You said my eyes are warm like whiskey. And that we had a connection. And then you kiss—”
“Fine!” She put a finger t
o my lips. “I won’t placate you ever again. And as far as your rut goes…” She glanced around the room as if the answers were written on the walls. “I guess I’ll need to know what it looks like first. Show me your daily routine. Let me experience the rut with you so I know what to avoid.”
I liked the way her finger felt on my mouth way too much. It made me want to kiss her again, which I’d already decided was not gonna happen, so I opted to give her a hard time instead. “Wow, Evie.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I gave you a pass on the sexual harassment last night because you were drunk. I’m not sure what to do about it today.”
She rocked back, head tilted as if listening to the playback of her statement.
Her confusion was adorable, which was why I couldn’t stop myself from doubling down. “Maybe we should just call the whole thing off, if this is how you’re gonna be.”
“I don’t…I mean…I thought…” She put her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”
“You basically just asked me to date you. Dinner. Drinks. Long walks on the beach. Sounds like the most cliched version of dating out there.”
Realization landed. “And that’s how you generally spend your time.”
“Ten points for the lady with the pretty face.”
“I promise you; I’m not interested in cliches of any kind. Particularly the one where the girl loses her fancy job in the city, moves to a small town, and makes out with her boss on her front porch.” The blush in her cheeks and darting gaze said otherwise.
That shouldn’t have excited me as much as it did.
“If I can’t write, I’m screwed and you’re out of a job, which means you’re also screwed. In my opinion, the faster we get a move on, the better for both of us.” I stood and gathered my things. “I’m gonna pop back to my house and take a shower while you get ready. Feel free to come on over when you’re done. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just let yourself in.”
With that, I bounded outside and crossed our yards, humming to myself the whole way. Morgan greeted me, tail wagging while Larry climbed my pantleg. “Tell you what boys,” I said as I carefully unhooked murder mittens from my jeans, “today is shaping up to be one hell of a day.”
Chapter Fourteen
Evie
Alex closed my front door behind him, and I dropped to my couch with a sigh.
What kind of weird rollercoaster was I on? Lose Drew, gain Sugar Maple Hill. Lose a job, gain Alex and his friends here in Wildrose Landing. Up! Down! Turn! Turn again! And then the loop-de-loop to beat all loop-de-loops…my job description now basically included dating my sexy neighbor/boss…
…who just happened to be a New York Time bestselling author…
How was this even my life?
As Alex strolled back to his house, I grabbed my phone and buckled in. Amelia would be all for this ride.
Me: Hangover’s basically gone. Spent the day watching Alex not really work. Now he tells me part of my job is dating him.
Amelia: IDK, that kinda seems creepy?
Amelia: BTW, I totally knew he had the hots for you.
Amelia: Also. Trying to work through how I feel about this turn of events… Seems very sexual harassment-y
Me: We’re not really dating, and he doesn’t have the hots for me. I’m supposed to figure out how to get him out of the rut he’s in, which will include dinner, drinks, and long walks on the beach. I did kiss him while I was drunk last night. So, you know, the harassment goes both ways.
Amelia: I leave you alone for one day and look what happens!
Me: Wanna know the worst part? I opened the door to him while wearing my stupid tank top and underwear this morning.
Amelia: Was your boob out?
Me: OMG I DIDN’T EVEN CHECK
Amelia’s string of laughing emojis had me giggling—and swearing to pay more attention to what I wore to bed. With my mind awash in modest PJ options, I headed upstairs to get ready.
It wouldn’t take long.
After all, Alex and I weren’t going on an actual date.
Just a change of clothes. A touch of makeup. A swipe of the brush and a dash of perfume and I was good to go. Nice enough for an evening out with my boss, but still totally casual. Easy peasy summer breezy.
Except I checked my hair in every mirror I passed.
Then opted to change my outfit.
Twice.
When I got to Alex’s house, there was a note on the door reminding me to come on in. I pushed inside and Morgan skittered and clicked across the hardwood floors to greet me, while a black kitten bounced along behind him. Alex didn’t strike me as a kitten kind of guy. Guess I still had a lot to learn about the man.
Gee? You think? That’s a real shocker, considering you’ve only known him for a weekend…
I crouched to scratch Morgan’s ears. “Hey, buddy. Long time no see.”
He huffed and sniffed my face. The kitten bumped his head against my thigh, purr box rumbling, so I gave him a little attention, too. When both animals were sufficiently greeted, I straightened and peered around the foyer. The house was similar in style to mine, though the furniture was heavy and masculine instead of Aunt Ruth’s distinctly feminine choices. A quick perusal of the first floor showed I was alone, outside of the animals. The hiss and patter of running water upstairs said Alex was still in the shower.
Singing to himself.
Loudly.
And offkey.
I perched on the couch as I listened, scratching Morgan’s head while his tail wagged and the kitten curled in my lap. The more Alex sang, the more aware I was that he was upstairs, totally naked. Water slicing through his hair. Running down his body. His broad shoulders and proud posture suggested his jeans and T-shirts hid a model-worthy figure. For as much as I’d tried to forget our kiss last night, I couldn’t. The memory had been swimming through my mind all day and now it mingled with the image of a naked Alex. The longer I waited, the more my curiosity grew. The more my curiosity grew, the more a devious idea bloomed.
Alex had seen me in my underwear…
It was only fair to sneak a peek of my own.
“I’m just gonna even the score,” I said to the kitten as I shifted him off my lap. “So Alex can’t hold what happened over my head without getting a little something in return.” He’d basically threatened to blackmail me with my drunken shenanigans. Who wouldn’t want a little ammunition of her own?
The idea sounded better with each passing moment.
The kitten stretched and mewed his agreement while Morgan huffed an encouraging sneeze.
I crept through Alex’s house. Up a curved set of stairs. Down a hallway with plush carpet and rows of his book covers, framed and hanging on the wall. The sounds of the shower grew louder while Morgan paced beside me, his tongue lolling in anticipation. The water stopped, but Alex’s singing did not, and my grin widened as he mangled “Tainted Love.” The second I got close enough to hear the lyrics, Morgan tilted his head back and joined in, adding his howling voice to the mix.
I buried my face in his fur. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” I whisper-hissed, but he only upped his game, howling louder as laughter came from inside the bathroom. When the door cracked open, I realized I had no idea what I planned on doing. Was I going to jump out and scare him like some kind of stalker ninja? Peek around the corner and see what I could see? Or maybe I just needed to hightail it back downstairs before anything ridiculous happened.
You know, like a dog breaking into song with his owner while I snuck around like a common criminal.
What I should have done was get my ass back into the living room. What I did was dart around a corner moments before footsteps sounded in the hall. But what I got for it made the whole ordeal worthwhile—a glimpse of one fantastic rear end as Alex strutted down the hallway without a towel.
WITHOUT A TOWEL.
I stared.
Hard.
I wasn’t one to appreciate butts. Most of the time, they looked ridiculous
as they wibbled, wobbled, and sagged into thighs. But Alex…he took tushies to an entirely new level.
“Why didn’t you tell me he wanders around naked and looks like that?” I whispered to Morgan. He cocked his head and wagged his tail. “I know. You’re right. It is better I know what he’s hiding under those jeans.”
After making sure the coast was clear, I crept downstairs like the stealthiest ninja that ever ninja’d. Morgan, on the other hand, took them at a full gallop. I resumed my perch on Alex’s couch, humming “Tainted Love” as the kitten bumped his head against my hand, visions of perfect butts dancing in my head.
Chapter Fifteen
Alex
I heard Evie let herself into the house as I started the shower, so Morgan singing in the hallway surprised me. No way that dog would be upstairs when someone with perfectly good hands willing and able to scratch his ears waited downstairs. When I cracked open the door and she crouch-ran around the corner, I knew exactly what was going on. I saw her half-naked. She wanted to even the score. I didn’t blame her.
But I couldn’t let her off easy, now could I?
Where would the fun be in that?
I’d seen a boob, so she could ogle my butt cheeks. Seemed a fair enough trade. I strutted down that hallway like I belonged on a billboard, smiling to myself when a tiny, feminine gasp of approval floated along behind me. Under normal circumstances, I’d throw on whatever caught my eye before heading out, but with Evie waiting downstairs, I took a little extra time.
Favorite jeans? Check.
Black T-shirt that hugged my chest and arms? Check.
Fleece jacket that complimented my hair? Check.
Aware I sounded like the type of self-absorbed jackass I detest with the heat of a thousand suns? Check.
Grateful as hell no one could hear my inner monologue as I proceeded anyway? Double check, bolded and underlined, though the grin on Evie’s lips and the blush to her cheeks when I came downstairs made it all worth it.
