Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

The lush strings of the Taylor Swift song filled my head. The longing ache in the words was so evocative and perfect for the scene I was trying to write.

Except it also made me think too much.

Feel too much.

I didn't want to feel anything, which was not exactly helpful for a goddamn romance author. I was supposed to drag people into my stories with the emotions. Grip them, even make them cry sometimes.

Ugh .

I snapped the lid of my laptop closed and the words and music halted.

I flipped my over-the-ear headphones off and struggled out of the corner of the couch I'd curled into. Blankets, pillows, and a very clingy Bruce tried to hold me down, but I needed to move.

It had been three days since I'd torpedoed things with Penn.

There was no doubt I'd engaged the crash and burn this time. Actually, I'd driven us off a cliff and into the ocean, if I wanted to be honest.

He wanted me.

Wanted me . It didn't compute.

It was one thing to have sexual chemistry, quite another to be his…

I couldn't even say it in my head. I wasn't anyone's idea of a dream anything, let alone one that included the start of a relationship. Which was insanely stupid. I was only in town for a few months, and I was fairly sure he didn't live here, either.

He lives in the city. Not like that's far away from you.

I squeezed my eyes closed. No. I couldn't take that chance.

Not after…

No. I was not going down the Jenelle road. Not now.

I'd given her far too much of my life already. She didn't deserve to live in my brain after she'd cut me out like a tumor.

Discarded poison. Dead weight.

I fisted my fingers into my hair, the pain dragging me out of the quagmire of defeat and loss.

I needed to reroute my thinking, or I'd end up under the covers with Bruce for the rest of the day, and I was so tired of hiding away from everyone and everything.

"I feel happy that I'm out of the city," I whispered aloud. "I feel grateful for…for…"

The positive emotion cycle that my therapist had taught me to do didn't work when there was nothing to be grateful for.

"Colette," I said more strongly. "I feel grateful that I have a friend in Colette." I took a deep breath. "I feel hopeful that I'm going to finish this fucking book."

Swearing probably wasn't supposed to be a part of a positive emotion cycle, but I could already feel the spiral lessen. Then Bruce shoved his big head under my arm, and I hugged him to me. "I feel secure, because you are the bestest boy," I murmured against his soft ears, then kissed the top of his nose.

I hadn't had a mini meltdown in awhile. Actually, not once since I'd stepped foot in Crescent Cove. The end of summer air was just starting to ease into crispness. I went to the open back door and dragged in a deep, gulping breath.

The scent of burning leaves and the hint of water dragged me the rest of the way back. The lapping waves against the dock evened me out a little more.

Obviously, today was not going be a work day. Maybe I could convince Colette to take an early lunch. I wandered back to my makeshift desk, also known as my dining room table, and found my phone in the mess of papers, sticky notes, and notebooks.

I'd always been a chaotic first draft writer, but this was getting ridiculous.

As I lifted it, I frowned at the list of texts I'd missed from my agent.

Melissa:

Checking in. Have some news.

Hello? I swear you and your silent phone. Hope you're working. Please be working.

Look, you need to check in with me before you see something.

Melissa Missed Call

God, that wasn't good. Melissa only called me when something was really major. Then I noticed the banner at the top of my phone from my calendar app. I had to leave in an hour for the autism charity calendar reshoot.

"Crap," I muttered. I'd forgotten that was today. Thank goodness for Google Calendar.

It was the whole reason I'd ended up renting the cottage in Crescent Cove. I was lucky I didn't need to do much in the way of publicity—which, of course, would need to change—but this charity calendar was a good way to get me some visibility. I'd had photos taken during the summer shoot, but that was before our model had melted down and made us scramble to redo the cover for Date with Disaster .

It wasn't even my book anymore.

I would make sure the people who cared about the books were taken care of. Even if Jenelle had treated me with far less care.

This photoshoot would also be used to redesign the official cover, replacing the boring floral one we used in a panic. Evidently, couple covers were absolutely not lucky for us. I only hoped the new models would work for us long-term.

My agent would have to wait. I rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time. I was still sticky from a long walk, as well as an extended yoga session. I'd hoped it would clear my head to write. It had not. Lucky me, but I desperately needed a shower.

Twenty minutes later, I was blowdrying my hair, trying to catalog the dresses I had in the closet. Or maybe I should just go with the cute corduroys and one of the funky sweaters I'd found at Ladybug Treasures. I was definitely developing a problem with the consignment-slash-secondhand shop. They also had beautiful furniture on the bottom of the shop.

Thankfully, I didn't have any need for the bassinets and cribs that August Beck was becoming famous for. Their testimonials on the website were wildly positive. And from what I'd seen in the shop, I believed it. What could I say, I was ever in research mode, especially since I wrote small-town romance novels.

The whir of the blowdryer and the heat around my head let me imagine a few scenes. Sara Springs was expanding in my head when I let it, but all too often the ideas slipped away with the nerves that always seemed so close to the surface.

I flipped my hair back and decided to keep the straight look today. It was so windy any curls I added would just be blown out. I took five minutes to put on some mascara and lipgloss. And because I was crazy pale save for my freckles, I added a little blush, and then called it good.

I glanced out the back door of my bedroom and saw the trees blowing fiercely which cinched it for the corduroy pants and fuzzy angora sweater in a fun raspberry color.

I tugged on a pair of argyle socks and my vintage brown boots from Ember's place. Between Vintage December and Ladybug Treasures, I was definitely helping the local economy.

I barely had enough time to get into town and whistled for Bruce on my way down the stairs. He was well used to our schedule and followed me to my SUV.

I dropped him at Judy and Kelly's house, waving to them as I slammed the back door. "See you tomorrow, Bruce."

He gave me a side-eyed look over his shoulder and moseyed his way to his moms.

Thankfully, traffic was light since the kids were in school and most people were still at work. I'd spent so much time on Main Street, I knew right where The Sherman Inn was.

I didn't even have to fight for parking since they had their own lot. Bonus points for all the things today. Quickly, I shoved my sunglasses on top of my head then I grabbed my purse and checked my phone. Another two messages from Melissa.

I didn't need those nerves to add to the rest of the ones already brewing in my belly. Once in the lobby, I took a quick pit stop at the coffee station and made myself a cup to even me out.

Even if caffeine probably wouldn't help the jitters, I drank it as I climbed the steps to the floor where the shoot was being held. I was about to ask for directions, when I heard banging. As I got around the corner, I spotted the maze of wires taped to the carpet and the half dozen men loitering in the hallway,

I'd paid for the shoot out of my own pocket, wanting to erase the stain of our old cover and give it a good sendoff. I'd never been overly attached to the Disaster series. Jenelle wanted to chase the romantic comedy trend and what Jenelle wanted, we did. I'd never really noticed that until our partnership had fallen apart.

But she'd been right. The book had blown up and pushed our career into the stratosphere.

Now I just had to find out who I was without Jenelle and the Disaster books.

I could do this. Totally.

I lifted my chin and walked down the hall. I smiled at the guys who were blocking the doorway to the suite. "Have they started already?"

"This is a closed set," One of the rough-looking men said. He was head and shoulders taller than me, dark brows knit.

"I know. I'm one of the authors."

"Oh. Sorry." The man had the good grace to blush. "Go ahead."

Inside, there were more men setting up lights around a king-sized four poster bed. If I didn't know better, I would think this was a very different kind of shoot. The sheets were high-end white cotton, and the fluffy duvet cover gave me a hard moment.

Much like the duvet on my own bed at home.

The cottage.

Not home, Rita.

One that Penn had set me on oh so gently before he utterly destroyed me from the ground up.

I shut my eyes and drew in a steadying breath. No need to go down that lane. I was tired of Penn Masterson living inside my head. I only had room for fictional men right now.

Suddenly, a woman came out of the bathroom with a slick-looking guy. He had more rings on his fingers than I did. I glanced down at the six I wore habitually. Thin silver bands I mostly forgot about they were so much a part of me and then one gold ring with an onyx stone that was my father's. I toyed with the band on the underside of my middle finger.

Pretty much the only thing I had from either of my parents.

"Rita?"

I looked up from the dim memories and smiled. Finally, someone I knew. "Hey, Stacy." She was the head of the charity that this photoshoot was for.

"I can't believe you came in for this a second time." She gripped my hands. "I'm so sorry we had to redo everything."

I squeezed her hand back. "Not your fault. I'm just sorry things didn't work out with the previous shoot. I appreciate that Mr. Wainwright is willing to reprint the calendar."

"We lucked out on that for sure. I didn't even know it was an option until I spoke with Asher at another charity dinner. His wife, Hannah, is a big advocate for feeding senior citizens. She's always pushing Asher to give his money away. I confess that I never dissuade her."

I laughed. "Or me."

Stacy's cheeks pinked up. "You're always so generous. I can't tell you how much we appreciate it."

"I wish there had been a program like this when I was growing up. I'm just happy to help in some way."

"You are. Believe me you are. And now that we have Bridget Sheppard filling in, we're going to get so many more sales. Asher might have to do a second printing."

"That would be great for Saving Hearts."

She finally let my hands go when someone on the crew called her name. "Got to make sure everything is okay over there. Thanks for coming by. Truly."

"Wouldn't miss it." The hint of bonfire had my hackles rising. No way. No actual way.

I glanced at the door and sure enough Penn stood in the doorway, his notebook clutched against his chest, the tip of a pencil stuck out from behind his ear. He wore his usual uniform of all black, including his scuffed Doc Martens.

And he looked disgustingly sexy.

Damn him.

I pulled my sunglasses back down off my head against the blinding lights and tried to melt into the crowd of people near the water and snacks table, but he zeroed in on me as if he felt the same pull I did.

An annoying pull, no less.

His fingers tightened on his notebook as he gave me a very thorough once-over, then he met my gaze again before he followed another, taller man through the living space to where the woman from the bathroom was.

Must be the famous model.

I recognized her in that out of context way. She was usually on a glossy magazine spread or on a billboard in Times Square. As my apartment was directly above it, I'd seen her face splashed on the ever-rotating digital billboards for a famous perfume brand. Her classic beauty was the kind that stopped people in their tracks.

I even used her as inspiration for one of my books since I couldn't help but notice her daily.

Times Square could get old for people who lived in the city. We were normally annoyed with the touristy insanity, but I loved watching the different people interacting with the street artists and musicians. The wonder on their faces as they saw the iconic billboards for the first time.

Not to mention the reality of how dirty and chaotic it really was.

I loved the dichotomy and used the people watching to feed my overactive imagination. I put together wild relationships with the varied people who came to visit and was often amused by the stoic Manhattanites who never looked up from their phones.

Me?

I actually left my big window unadorned and was strangely soothed by the pulsing lights that never went out. Oddly comforted that I wasn't actually as alone as I often felt.

Interestingly, I slept like a rock at the lake. I'd thought the silence would get to me, but the sound of the water lapping against the dock had a similar effect.

"Miss?"

I blinked out of the past. "Yes?"

"If you could move over to the seating area? We have to move some furniture."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Of course."

I might as well get the meeting part over with. I wish I didn't have to deal with Penn.

My phone buzzed in my purse again. I had a specific haptic set up in my phone for my agent. Melissa was a damn pit bull. I pulled the phone out and checked the message that was coming through the voicemail. There was too much commotion and noise for me to concentrate and read. I simply tucked my phone back in my bag.

I'd make nice and call her back before she drove here from the damn city.

I wouldn't put it past her.

"You actually bought them?" Penn's delighted voice drifted my way as I got closer. He waggled his black notebook. "Working on the next one as we speak."

"Of course, gotta support our local talents. I already have it on preorder." Bridget Sheppard's voice was throaty and this side of sinful.

"Don't get a swelled head." The other man elbowed Penn.

"Too late," I said. I didn't mean to interrupt, but it flew out of my mouth.

Penn's eyes darkened, and his lips thinned.

I lowered my sunglasses to the end of my nose. "You're lucky it hasn't knocked over the lighting setup in here."

"Didn't have a problem with my head the other day, Duchess."

My stomach flipped in memory of just how thorough he'd been in the storeroom and my bedroom.

The taller man, who was stunningly attractive, smiled at me, clearing his throat. "Bridget Sheppard, I'd like to introduce you to Rita Savage. She's the incredible author of Date with Disaster . You must've seen all the press it got last year?"

Bridget seemed to have a hard time looking away from Penn's brother. Hmm, history there? "Um, sure. Sure. Ms. Savage, it's a pleasure to meet you. I actually have the book in my bag, I'm looking forward to reading it."

"Call me Rita, please." The quick jolt of pleasure had me fumbling. "Oh, you don't need to read it."

"I actually had it on my wishlist already. Scrolling social media is a given with the long wait during photoshoots." Her eyes were kind, and for once, I believed the woman wasn't actually blowing smoke. "Glad I could help with the recasting of the cover. Especially since this charity is near and dear to me."

"I was shocked when my agent told me you agreed to do it. The other cover model was pretty enough, but she ruined her career, and I didn't know what we'd do for a reshoot." I could feel my face heating. "Since the cover scene was specific and requires a level of chemistry not common for strangers."

"Honestly, it's my pleasure."

I ignored the seething Penn. Served him right for being an ass. "And you're Travis? I've heard you're the charming one, unlike your brother."

Travis also seemed to pick up on the tension as his smile faded. "Normally, he has far better manners."

"She's not into manners from me."

Before any of us could speak, Penn took off, heading away from the lush bedroom set-up to the sitting room. He dropped sullenly into a chair in the corner with his notebook and opened it, pulling a pencil out of his forest of curls.

His long, elegant fingers aggressively attacking the pages with a tool probably not meant for his tantrum. Good, hope he ripped his paper.

"Ms. Savage, I don't know what's gotten into my brother. I'll speak to him."

I glanced away from Penn and to his brother. The tension lines around his mouth made me give him an easy smile that I definitely wasn't feeling. "No, no need. I'll let you guys get to it." I touched his arm to let him know I was fine. There was a fair bit of empathy in his demeanor for a stranger which I appreciated. "Can't wait to watch your shoot."

And that was enough peopling for me. I slipped between the crew members who were discussing angles and things that were far above my head technically. Normally, I'd be watching from every angle to learn something. My brain automatically looked to add something more to my already overfull catalog of jobs to write about.

Today, not so much.

Why the hell did Penn have to be here?

I stopped at the food table for a bottle of water. Travis and Bridget were getting direction from the photographer, but they didn't really seem to be paying attention to anyone other than each other.

The heat rising between them made me regret my choice of sweater.

Then the way he dragged her close made the back of my neck prick with the memory of another moment, another firm touch. My gaze tracked to Penn and his was locked on mine.

I cracked the cap on the bottle and drank it down, but I couldn't stop staring at him. And I definitely noticed the way his Adam's apple bobbed with his hard swallow.

The low groan that came from the bed made me flush.

Then my bag buzzed with another call from Melissa. She was determined.

Now was as good as it was going to get. I dipped into my bag and grabbed my phone, taking the call. "Melissa, one sec. I'm at the shoot. Let me get out into the hall."

"Finally. I've been calling you all day."

"I know, I know." I slipped around the crew then a makeup girl who had been called from the photographer to touch up someone. It was a lot of chaos for one little shoot, but I wanted the end product to be as professional as possible.

And based on that chemistry, the cover would be amazing if the photographer could get the shots right.

I glanced at Penn on my way out the door of the hotel room which was still propped open because of all the cords and whatnot. He sat forward, poised to get up before he relaxed back into the seat.

I couldn't worry about him now. Once I got down the hall enough that I had a tiny bit of privacy, I lifted the phone to my ear, wishing for my earbuds. "What's going on? You've been blowing up my phone."

"I know. Why the hell haven't you contacted me back?"

"I was working earlier, and then I nearly forgot about the photoshoot today."

"They have these things called handsfree headsets in a car, you know." Melissa's voice was dry.

"I know, I know. A lot of things are going on."

"What kind of things?" Her voice was innocent, but there was a degree of hedging to it, as well.

"What's going on, Melissa?"

"Have you been online by chance?"

My stomach jittered. The voices increased behind me, and a half dozen people from the crew poured out of the room and down the hall toward the stairs. What the heck was going on? "No. I've been avoiding it as much as I can, honestly."

"Good."

"Why?" I wrapped an arm around my middle, uneasiness building.

"I wanted to warn you before you saw the announcement."

The noises from the men talking faded, or the nerves were getting to me. Melissa and I had a good relationship, but we weren't the chatting sort of friends. I simply didn't inspire girlfriend-type relationships. I was even worse at them now.

"Rita?"

"I'm here. Just spit it out."

"Honey, it's going to be okay."

Honey ? God, it had to be bad. I couldn't remember a time when Melissa had used any term of endearment even when I made her a bunch of money with our print deal.

"Just tell me," I whispered.

"Jenelle just signed a major deal with film rights for Date with Disaster . As well as a three-book deal for the Disaster series."

"Film rights?" I slumped against the wall, the hallway suddenly growing dim.

"She signed it 48 hours after you guys got out of court."

I tipped my head against the wall. "She what?"

"I advised you not to sign those rights over to her."

"I know. I just wanted to be done with her. I needed to be done."

My mind whirled as Melissa gave me the details of what she'd found out about the actual deal. About the money that Jenelle would be making on the book. On what we wrote together. I may not have been as invested in the book as Jenelle had been, but they were my words too.

The money was a staggering amount.

But the court settlement for the dissolution of our company and co-writing contracts had been ironclad. Jenelle had made sure of that with her lawyers, and I'd fought her on several levels, but Disaster had been her main fight.

Was this why?

"Rita?"

"How could she?" My voice broke. I was so ashamed of how broken it sounded, but it was all I had to focus on to keep myself from crumpling onto the floor.

"I can give you four million reasons why."

Hearing the actual number just made it all worse. When I opened my eyes, Penn was standing in the hall, notebook in his hand.

I turned away from him, my shoulders hunched.

"Rita?" he asked, his voice strained and low.

"I have to go, Melissa."

"C'mon, kiddo. Don't do this again."

"I won't." I tried to shore up my voice. I would not shatter again. Even if the glue wasn't completely dry, I wouldn't give Jenelle the satisfaction of breaking me again. "I just gotta go. I'm still at the shoot."

I hit disconnect then dropped my hand with the phone. I didn't even notice it clatter to the floor.

Not that I gave a hot damn about the shoot right now. A shoot I'd done in good faith to make sure Date with Disaster got a good sendoff.

That I'd close this chapter of my life with good, solid feelings.

Now that was all gone.