Written on Her Heart

by Paige Rion

  Forty minutes later, they had the basic query written. They had a hook, but something about it wasn’t quite right, and every time they read through it, they found something to change. She rubbed her damp palms on her pants, knowing she was out of time, but also knowing they couldn’t throw in the towel yet. Thirty minutes wasn’t near enough time, and every time they re-drafted it, the better it got.

  She checked her phone and saw several texts from Peter. She didn’t have to be with him to know he was nervous about her not making it.

  When are you leaving?

  I haven’t heard from you. You’re still coming?

  Andi, what time are you leaving? I should’ve heard from you by now. Are you on the road yet?

  Andi bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing what to do.

  “Everything okay?” Ford asked.

  She glanced up at him. He stared at her with concern, and she briefly wondered if Ford were her boyfriend and not Peter, how he would react in the same situation.

  She shoved the phone in her pocket, along with the thought. “Yeah, fine,” she said but she sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears.

  They were so close. She could feel it. A few more minutes and she would have an amazing letter. Just a few more minutes…

  When she left Ford’s office just under an hour later, she was already ten minutes late for the dinner. She braced herself for what she would see when she glanced at her phone. Racing down the walkway to her car, she pulled it from her pocket, almost afraid to look.

  Are you still coming?

  You’re late!

  Andi? Where are you?

  Andi typed quickly. Sorry, on my way.

  She jumped in her car, imagining Peter’s face and the anger she would see when she arrived. She imagined him sitting at the table with the committee members, their wives, and no one but his research assistant, with her own date, beside him. Then she imagined telling him the exciting news, that Ford’s agent was taking her book on vacation. She had just needed to wrap up one tiny detail first. He would understand. And if he didn’t, she would just have to make him understand.

  She started the engine, wishing for a shortcut into the city and praying for a miracle. Peter, I’m coming. I’m coming.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Andi all but ran into Cedars. One thing she had forgotten about, living in a small town and on campus, was rush hour traffic in the city. By the time she entered the restaurant and began searching for Peter’s table, she was almost two hours late.

  All eyes seemed to follow her as she weaved through the dining room. She tried not to feel conspicuous in her work attire. All the patrons were wearing the same thing. Jacket and tie for the men. Basic black dress for the ladies.

  She moved between tables, color flooding her cheeks, wishing she had Peter’s dress on. Her eyes searched the room until she spotted him in the back. Alone.

  Shit. She paused and tightened the grip on her purse, then closed the distance. She came to a stop in front of him, shifting on her feet while Peter ignored her. He said nothing, shaking the tumbler in his hand, rattling the ice in what appeared to be a glass full of whiskey, his drink of choice when he needed a release. It was what he drank the day he almost got the president’s seat in the psychology department at OSU last year but lost out to someone ten years his senior. He drank an entire fifth himself when his mother was diagnosed with MS a few months ago. And it was what he’d been drinking that day two years ago when Andi had walked in on him grieving in his office over the breakup of his fiancé—the first time she’d seen him as more than just her professor.

  Classical music played in the background, and nothing but candlelight and the chandeliers lit the dining room. The mellow atmosphere was a sharp contrast to the tension at the table. Peter took a long drink of the whiskey, hissing at the burn as he lowered his glass.

  She swallowed, sliding into the seat across from him. “Are you going to look at me? Say anything? Or keep on pretending I’m not here?”

  “I don’t know. Why are you here?” He removed a pocket watch and opened it, glancing at the time, then snapped it shut. “You’re just under two hours late.” He took another swallow of his drink.

  Willing him to look at her, she ducked her head to try and catch his gaze. “How much of that have you had?”

  Peter snickered. “Not enough.” He drank the last of the whiskey, then signaled to the waiter for more. “Three more fingers, please,” he said, then turned back to Andi. His blond hair was a mess, and he stared at her from red-rimmed eyes.

  “Peter…”

  He held up a hand. “Don’t. You don’t have a right to say my name like you care when you clearly don’t.”

  Andi searched her mind for the right thing to say. She had to make this better. Because that was what she always did. She knew Peter would be upset—disappointed even—but this? She hadn’t expected this.

  “I can explain.” But even as she said it, she wondered whether her reasons would be enough for him.

  The waiter returned, setting a fresh glass of whiskey in front of him. Peter took it, rolling the tumbler in his hand, but didn’t take a drink. He fixed his gaze on Andi for the first time, his blue eyes darker than usual. “Nice outfit.”

  Andi glanced down at herself, touching the hem of her blouse, feeling even more ridiculous under his harsh gaze. “I didn’t have time to stop home for the dress.”

  He nodded. “Please do explain yourself.”

  Andi released her pent-up breath. He was willing to listen. Good—a step in the right direction.

  “I was getting ready to leave for the dinner when I found out Ford’s agent was intrigued by his pitch and wanted to read my manuscript. But she’s leaving tomorrow on vacation, and so I needed to draft a query letter to send first—”

  Peter’s dry laughter stopped her. “Of course.” He took the first sip of his fresh drink.

  “What?” She blinked.

  “Ford had a hand in this. I should’ve known. Actually, I did know the second you sent me that text saying you were running late. But I thought…” He pursed his lips. “No, give her the benefit of the doubt. Surely she wouldn’t let him get in the way of something so important, something that means so much to you. But as it turns out, my initial instincts were right.”

  Andi leaned forward and grabbed his hands, though they clutched his glass of whiskey. “I am so sorry I missed the dinner. You have no idea. I wanted to be here for it—I did. And I would have, had this not come up. But this was so important. She might be asking for an exclusive, and Ford was willing to help.”

  “That’s just fabulous.” Peter smirked.

  Andi stiffened. He wasn’t listening to anything she said. He wasn’t even giving her a chance. She sighed and removed her hands from his, wishing she had a drink, too. Suddenly, she was feeling far more tired than she had been just minutes ago.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Are you blind?” He pounded a fist on the table, making her jump. Several patrons turned their way, mouths dropped at the appalling behavior. “He’s in the middle of everything.” Anger flashed in his eyes, a raging blue. “Every time I turn around, it’s Ford this, Ford that. He’s every-damn-where and he’s ruining us, Andi! He’s ruining us.” He spoke the last words between clenched teeth.

  “That’s not true. These last couple weeks, other than the restaurant incident, were great,” Andi said, her voice shaking. “There were no problems at all.”

  Peter rolled his eyes, and the gesture provoked something inside her. Scorching fingers squeezed her chest. Her jaw tightened and she clenched her hands into fists. “Why are you making this so hard?”

  “I’m making this hard?” He held his glass mid-air, one finger pointing at his chest. “You’ve got that the wrong way around. Do you have any idea how I felt being the only one without a date? The committee, the chairman, they all had their wives here. Because their women have their backs. They actually care. And I kept
making excuses for you when they continued asking where you were. I bragged about you, told them you’re working for a big-time author and that you just finished your own book. Then you stood me up, and I had to fake an emergency for you. Meanwhile, it was just that you were with him, working on some letter I’m sure could have waited till morning. Unbelievable.” He shook his head, his mouth pressing into a firm line. “And you want to know why I’m making this so hard.” Taking another sip of his drink, he set it back down with a clunk. “You don’t care about me. That much is clear.”

  Andi stiffened. “That’s not true. You’re not being fair. You don’t understand.”

  “So make me. Because I’m trying real hard.” The anger in his eyes softened into something sadder, and for a moment, the vice on her chest loosened.

  “You don’t realize how close I am to having everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve dreamed about.” She grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his glass and clutching to them like a lifeline. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid. And it’s all within my reach now. I just needed this damned letter to get it, and he insisted I get it to her tonight. If I would have waited, she would have moved on to the next book. This industry is volatile, and so competitive that you can’t afford to close a window after someone cracks it open for you. I’m sorry I missed your dinner. I know how important it was to you, and I promise to make it up to you. But my career is important to me, too. It’s just as important as yours! I had to take this opportunity. And I just, for the life of me, don’t know why you can’t see that.”

  Peter said nothing. His gaze moved over her face, then dropped to her hands, which held his. He pulled his own hands away and stood. “It’s a little hard, considering the fact that in all your pleading for understanding, you never once asked how my meeting went. You didn’t ask if I got the grant—nothing.”

  The small measure of control Andi still held onto snapped. She gestured in the air with her hands. “Why is it always about you? Why?”

  “Me?” He pointed at his chest with wide eyes. A vein in his forehead pulsed. “They’re deciding between me and one other person for the grant. I was a nervous wreck because I needed you by my side, and your absence put me off my game.” He stood and took a step away from the table. “But please, do blame me.”

  “It’s an experiment with people watching porn! I’m sorry I’m not a hundred percent on-board. It’s not all that fucking important.”

  Peter’s eyes widened.

  Andi stood, chest heaving. She clenched her teeth until they throbbed. Stepping forward, fists balled at her sides, she moved until she was toe to toe with him. “Why should I care about your stupid experiment? You don’t care about my opportunity tonight. I’m so sick of you trying to make me feel bad. I’m not the selfish person you make me out to be. You’ve already got your career. You’ve made it. I’m just beginning. You talk about me supporting you, but I don’t get even a semblance of support from you. You don’t care what I want. You’re too busy trying to constantly change me and mold my future into what you think it should be.”

  “That’s ridiculous. And I wonder why I don’t want you doing this job,” he hissed.

  She thought of Ford and all he had done for her. She thought of the gold Mary Janes. The way he praised her work. How he spoke to her of his life, things he hadn’t told anyone else. And then she thought of Peter. The boring black dress he’d bought her that was not one bit Andi. The way he diminished her work and talked down to her.

  For once, she was tired of calming the choppy waters of their relationship. She may have dropped the ball tonight, but he had been fumbling it all summer. This—whatever was going on with them—was his to make better.

  Shaking her head, she glanced down at her hands. “I’m so tired of you blaming Ford. He’s done a lot for me. A whole lot more than you have. And no, I’m not just referring to him calling his agent. He actually cares. He asks me questions, listens to me—”

  Peter reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He counted some bills and threw them on the table, but Andi grabbed his arm and stopped him from moving.

  “Don’t bother. You should stay and have another drink. I’m leaving.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Andi placed the folded cardigan in her suitcase and let her gaze drift to her phone.

  Her mother moved to her side and rested her hand on her back. “Still haven’t heard from Peter?”

  Andi shook her head. “No.”

  Her mother touched the side of her face. “Just hang in there. He loves you. He cares. That’s why you two have been fighting so much.”

  Andi bit her lip and nodded, but she wasn’t so sure, and she didn’t want to tell her mother that she actually cared less than she should have. “Maybe.”

  “Trust me.” Her mother grabbed a pair of jeans off the pile of clothes on her bed and folded them. “It’s when you stop fighting that you need to worry. He’ll come around in his own time. You’ll see.”

  “And what if he doesn’t? What if he keeps on like he has?”

  “Then I guess you’re not supposed to be together.”

  Andi forced a smile for her mother’s benefit. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” She leaned forward and pecked Andi on the forehead, placed the jeans in her suitcase, then turned toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Come say goodbye before you leave, and don’t forget to stop by the mill and say goodbye to your father.”

  “I will.”

  Her mother paused in the doorway. “We’re proud of you, kiddo,” she said, then disappeared.

  At least someone is.

  She shook off the thought and picked up her phone and dialed Peter’s number one last time. Again, she got his voicemail, but didn’t bother with a message. Although she had vowed to wait for him to make amends, her trip had changed things. She’d already accepted that she would have to leave without talking to him first. That actually suited her just fine. When Ford told her he was going to New York for an event and his agent wanted to meet her, she had been floored, but her first thought had been, what would Peter think? Proof that she had put up with his disapproval for too long.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since the night at Cedars. She had no idea where that left them, but common courtesy and the two years they’d spent together had her phoning him to let him know about her trip.

  After several attempts at contacting him and showing up at his cottage twice, only to find it empty, she’d accepted, with little difficulty, the indeterminate state of their relationship. But it didn’t matter because she was going, with or without Peter’s blessing. With or without a boyfriend. She would fly into the city tonight with Ford—Peter be damned—have her meeting with Candy DeWitt on Monday and attend Ford’s event later that evening. Even if she didn’t earn Candy’s representation, the trip alone would open up invaluable doors.

  Andi took another piece of clothing off the mountain of garments piled on her bed. She hadn’t known what to expect for the next three days, so she’d emptied half of her closet. She would take a little bit of everything and cram as much as possible into her carry-on. Better to be prepared than not.

  She picked up a vintage black cheongsam and held it out. New York likes vintage, right?

  She carefully folded it and set it in her suitcase, then grabbed her checkered cat-eye glasses and put them inside the pocket of her bag. She glanced down at her cropped pants and Vivienne Westwood heels, which cost far too much on her meager salary. As much as she loved her clothes, maybe she should go shopping while she was there. Buy something modern? Shrugging, she grabbed the glittery Mary Janes Ford had given her—the ones she was sure cost far more than any of the other items in her closet—and placed them gently on the top of her suitcase.

  When she finished packing, she took her bag and rolled it out of her room and down the stairs. She said her goodbyes to her mother, put her suitcase in her car and found her father dow
n at the mill.

  She made her way to her car, her gaze on the ground as she walked, thinking about the trip, and imagining how everything would go. She was just getting to the part, the one where she accepted Candy DeWitt’s offer of representation, when a suspiciously familiar pair of shoes entered her line of vision.

  She glanced up to see Rachel’s tight smile.

  “Rachel?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes, her mascaraed lashes fluttering. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been over here. Did you think I forgot my way?”

  “Very funny. It’s just that you’re the last person I expected to see before I left. I thought maybe…” Andi’s voice trailed off.

  “That maybe Peter would show. Yeah, I heard all about that debacle.”

  Andi narrowed her eyes. “How?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. Did you forget where we live? Small town, remember? I guess since he arrived, Peter’s been a regular at The Windy Willow and was crying into his eggs or something.”

  Andi waved a hand in front of herself. “Wait. What? There’s no way. If he was that upset—”

  “Okay, I’m exaggerating, but someone must have asked him what was wrong and why they haven’t seen you two together all week, because he spilled the beans. You know no one keeps his mouth shut in Callaway Cove.”

  “So everyone knows,” she said, wondering if Ford had heard.

  “There ya go, detective.” Rachel cracked her gum and moved aside so Andi could get to her car.

  Andi glared at her. “So why are you here? To apologize for contributing to my stress and thus the demise of my relationship?”

  Rachel grinned. “Close.” She leaned into Andi and gave her a hug, encircling her in a cloud of floral scented perfume. Andi’s eyes widened but she hugged her back, remembering how good it felt to have her as a friend.

  “I just wanted to wish you luck. I heard about New York, and I’m proud of you,” Rachel said.

  “Does anyone in this town keep their mouth shut? And does this mean you’re done trying to run off with my job?”