“Do you want to–”
“Just sent it to you,” he said. “I compiled this from a few recent fundraisers mystartup friendshave done; it’s a shortlist of people most likely to open their wallets. Some of them have a connection to schools or tech literacy or the media, some of them are just indiscriminate philanthropists… and a few of them I’ve personally leaned on for a donation.” His grin was back, and once again, he looked Charlie-ish, rather than like his serious older brother. “I’m sure you have some people to add. There must be one of those authors of yours who has a fresh advance burning a hole in their pocket.”
I blinked. “Oh,” I said. “And–”
“And,” he said, his smile fading somewhat. “Yes, if you scroll way down to the bottom, you’ll see some familiar names. The New York Literary Association headquarters will be awash in embossed invitations.”
I took a deep breath and released it at once. “Thank you, Charlie.”
He nodded. “Sure. I’ve accepted my role as an accomplice to your mercenary ways.”
I scoffed. “Right. Well.”
I wasn’t going to say thank you again.
CHAPTER11
Charlie
“Aren’tyou going to ask me if I liked it?”
“Liked what?” Sam said, her dark eyes flat and unreadable. It was time to wrap up the meeting, but instead, I found myself kicking onto the back legs of my library chair again as Sam packed her things into her leather work bag. It meant I could look down my nose, rather than over at her, and I liked the feeling.
“The book.”
Her brow furrowed for a moment before clearing into the same impassive expression she so often wore. “I told you before, Charlie, I don’t care what you like and don’t like.”
“That you did,” I said with a smirk. Her asshadlooked amazing in that dress. “Unfortunately for you, I knowallabout whatyoulike.”
“Goodbye,” she responded, standing up without making eye contact. She was going to leave.
With a sinking feeling, I realized I didn’t want her to.
“Caesar salad.” It was a strange apology, but she stilled, regardless. “The color pink. Jane Austen. NotPride and Prejudice, though.Sense and Sensibility.”
“What?” she asked, and met my eye.
“Being here…” I glanced around. The chairs were new, the computers, but the smell was the same. I’d heard people say scent was the sense most closely tied to memory, and they were right. “It just reminds me. I know a lot of things you like, Sami. Or liked, at least. That’s all I meant.”
She was quiet. “That was a long time ago,” she said at last.
I nodded. “Maybe so.” But somehow, here, it was easy to see Samantha as the girl she’d been. She’d been pretty and popular, always had her pick of invitations, and anywhere she wasn’t invited, her older brother could get her in–no one dared say no to Sebastian Scott–but it was here in the library that my oldest memories of her lived, her pretty nose buried in a copy of a Jane Austen novel, her brown eyes warm as she rolled them at my interruptions, a smile on glossy pink lips, her untouched lunch sitting forgotten as she read, or tried to, at least. Sitting here, the scent of dust and paper and stale cologne in the air, I could still picture the cover of her dog-eared copy ofSense and Sensibility.Jane Austen is literature,she’d told me, but I’d read it myself. It was a romance.
I was staring.
“I need to go,” she said.
“Working tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, already turning away. She hefted her leather tote bag onto her shoulder, heading for the exit.
“Of course you are.” I told myself it was because I wanted to see her reaction that I grabbed my backpack and jogged ahead to open the door for her. “I guess you’re in demand now after Edie’s book. You know, I reallytriedto read it–to be supportive–but I’m not that interested in her and my brother’s sex life. I had to skip those scenes,” I said, standing slightly in her way so she had to brush against my chest as she passed through the doorway. “Anddamn, there were alot.” She didn’t respond, but I continued anyway. “And then what did I discover Ryan’s sweet new bride had borrowed from her friend Sam?” I blew out a disapproving breath–nevermind that I’d personally found him and Flora in much more compromising positions. “Well, let’s just say that your Jane Austen wouldfaintat some of the descriptions in there. If that’s what I was reading for work, you know…” I tipped my head to one side consideringly, following her through the wide hallways of our alma mater. “Maybe I’d be glued to my desk, too.”
We reached the double doors–she beat me to them–and it was her turn to block my path. I nearly bumped into her.
“Oh, Charlie,” she said with a sweet smile. “Glued to your desk? You may not want to read about your brother’s sex life, but I certainly don’t want to hear about your premature ejaculation problem.” Her eyes flicked down to my crotch and back, and she raised an eyebrow.
I couldn’t help the smile that broke across my face.
