“Sweetheart,” I said, wondering even as I said it if it was a step too far, “youknowI don’t have a problem with that.” A blush warmed her cold, closed expression, and if it was a step over the line, maybe it was worth it just to see that blush. Standing so close together in the doorway, I could see the golden light of sunset reflected in her brown eyes. “And,” I added, “I don’t have a problem with those books of yours, either.”
One corner of her lip quirked up. “Well,” she said, her voice soft enough that I wanted to lean closer. “I’m glad you enjoy them.” The flush still stained her cheeks, and I was struck by just how pretty she was still. Beautiful, and untouchable, except for that one– two times. I knewIstill thought of the way the heat between us had melted that frosty exterior, if only for an hour or two… When she read her submissions, working late into the night, did she think about me?
I wanted her to.
I wantedher.
Her pink lips parted softly. I stared. And then…
“Those books make me alotof money,” she said.
I blinked.
Of course.
You’re weak, Charlie.
“Right,” I said. Themoney. When I looked at her, it was so easy to forget Sam wasn’t for me–wasn’t who I wanted her to be. But she wasn’t the same girl she’d been when we were here last, pale pink cashmere and a dog-eared copy of her favorite book.
She was a decade and a half older now. We both were.
“Then I’ll let you get back to your work,” I said.
She turned, walking off through the school courtyard and leaving me staring after her, frustration twisting my stomach into that same familiar knot.
CHAPTER12
Samantha
I meantto go through my list of professional contacts, but instead I found myself staring at the screen of the computer in my living-room-turned-home-office, my arms crossed over my chest. I hadn’t added a single name.Charlie cares about this, I thought as I swiveled back and forth in my chair. I’d accused him of doing it as a means to recruit cheap interns, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that working withmewasn’t worth a few summer workers. I also couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, deep in the pit of my stomach, that he felt that way. Was I so awful?
Yes, Sam, I reminded myself.You are. You have to be, if you want anyone to take you seriously.
But the disappointed expression that had flickered over his face when I dismissed his interest in that book gnawed at me, even as I changed from my stale work clothes into my pajamas, even after I washed my face and brushed my teeth and slipped between the cool cotton sheets of my bed to read a few more manuscripts before sleeping. I caught my attention wandering one too many times during my second manuscript and surrendered, picking up my phone.
My fingers hovered over his number. I was holding my breath, I realized, and let it out, irritated at myself. It was just a stupid text message between colleagues. Friends, once. Lovers, twice, but that didn’t count.
Did you actually read the book?I typed. That wasn’t what I was wondering, but it was close enough. As close as I wanted to get.
I had half expected him not to text back, but…
Yes.My phone screen lit up with his response.I told you I did.
I couldn’t read his tone over text but my shoulders tensed, like he’d accused me of calling him a liar. He wasn’t. I knew that about him. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a liar.
Then I’m glad you liked it,I typed, then paused. I hadn’t explained myself well earlier. I hadn’t thought I cared about explaining myself, but here I was, texting Charlie Martin at–I checked the time at the top of my phone screen–11:03 at night. I traced my ring finger over the monogram embossing the back of my phone case, thinking. I deleted what I’d written and started again.The authors I represent trust me to get their books in front of the right people,I typed out.Editors and buyers like the ones your brother employs at Verity who will pay them top dollar for the right book at the right time. But more importantly, the readers. They’re the ones that matter in the end. I’m glad you liked it.
I hit send, but didn’t put my phone away. I didn’t know why I was justifying myself to him, except…Sense and Sensibility. Caesar salad. I could see into my closet from where I sat in bed, could see, tucked into the neatly hanging rows of gray and cream and navy, a ballet slipper pink silk blouse I had fallen in love with at the department store, but never pulled out of my closet, always deciding it was too girlish. Next to it hung a blush sweater, ancient and threadbare and the most comforting thing I owned.
I picked up my phone again, trying not to be disappointed that Charlie hadn’t texted back. Why would he? I didn’t even know whyIwas texting him.
What kind of books do you normally read?I asked before I could talk myself out of it. There. If he didn’t respond to a direct question, I would just turn off my lamp and go to–
Ding.
Programming manuals.
My eyes narrowed.You’re joking,I typed. Hit send.
