Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

"Rita?" I jogged down the hall to where she was.

She was turned away from me, her fingers limp at her side. Her phone was on the floor, and she looked like she was a minute away from falling over.

"Duchess, what's wrong?" I tried again.

"Just leave me alone," she said in barely a whisper.

"Absolutely not." I moved around to face her, crouching a little to meet her gaze. Her sunglasses were still on, blocking her eyes. Uncaring, I took them off her and my stomach dropped at how hollow her eyes seemed. "Hey." I cupped her face. "What happened? Did someone…" I was afraid to ask, leaving it open-ended.

She pushed my hand away. "Just my career crashing into the ocean while it's on fire and exploding at the same time. It's fine. What do you care? I'm just some silly romance author."

"I wish I'd never said those damn words."

They'd haunt me until the end of time, it seemed. Especially since the more I got to know her, the more it seemed like I'd been so very wrong.

"What does it matter if that's how you feel?" She straightened and I literally watched her put herself back together. The pain etched in her face smoothed back into that cool veneer I'd witnessed a few times now. "I'll figure it out."

Knowing she wasn't in a place to believe me, I changed tracks. "What happened? Maybe it'll help to talk about it."

"Not with you." She patted her pockets, then looked down to find her phone on the floor. She crouched to pick it up and shoved it in her bag, and then she brushed by me. "I should probably just go in and make my excuses and get out of here. Maybe I should just head back to the city. This was such a huge mistake."

"No, you can't."

Where the hell had that come from? But it felt right to say it. Now I just had to convince her that it was the truth.

She tipped her head back, her exasperation fully on display. Her bag slipped down to her wrist, then it plopped to the floor. "How many times do I have to tell you it doesn't matter what you want, Penn Masterson?"

"Well, first of all, the photographer pretty much kicked us all out. My brother and his ex kinda forgot where they were, I think. And that there were over a dozen people watching them."

I did not need to know that much about my brother's love life or his technique, thanks.

She tipped her head back down. "Pardon?"

"Let's just say the chemistry is still alive and well between Trav and Brig."

"I knew they had history." She crossed her arms over her middle. The lost look was now submerged under that cool facade.

"Yeah, they have a kid and everything. Everyone in my family was surprised when they split, but having a kid definitely can change a relationship.

"That's for sure."

"Look, why don't you come home with me?"

"I'm fine. I really need to go home and pack."

"Home?"

She huffed out a sigh and bent to pick up her bag. "You know what I mean. The cottage."

"Just give it a little time. If you really want to go back to the city, I'll?—"

"What? Drive me? I have a car. In fact, that's exactly where I'm going. To my car. And possibly to buy the biggest bottle of wine I can find at that little shop down the street."

"We can get the wine. It'll go perfect with my mom's lasagna. Which is for dinner tonight. You know, as long as you're not a vegetarian or something. You seemed into my shrimp scampi so…pescatarian?"

"I am a carnivore to the core."

"Nice. Me too." I flashed her a smile, then I moved down to her. "At least you can get a meal out of it. Then if you want to go home…or the city, all good. We'll figure the workshop out through email, and we'll just come back here and take care of it."

She blew out a breath. "I forgot about the workshop."

"Good thing I didn't." I took her hand and laced our fingers. "Don't go."

She frowned down at our linked hands. "Penn…"

"No excuses and we're going to throw up the white flag." I lifted our hands and held them against my chest. The urge to keep her close was as elemental as when we were naked. The hurt that had been so alive in her eyes arrowed deep inside me. "Besides, my mother has been reading self-help books by the dozen since she retired. Unless you want a mediation session with JoAnn Masterson, we'll be on our best behavior."

"I should really?—"

"I don't think you should be alone."

"What makes you think you know what I need?"

"I have a sister and an incredibly involved mother. I know when a woman needs some pampering."

"I notice you didn't mention a girlfriend."

I shrugged. "I've had a relationship or three in my time alive. I get what it means when a woman says ‘I'm fine', Rita. It means you're anything but fine."

I lowered our hands and swung them lightly. "I also will employ the Masterson stubborn streak here. I will harass you until you say yes."

"Why would your parents want me to crash dinner?"

"My mom lives for such things. Believe me. She cooks like her five kids still live at home, anyway." I started walking backwards, taking her with me. "A few hours won't make a difference if you really want to go back to…what part of the city? Brooklyn?"

"Manhattan."

I whistled. "Look at you, Big Time."

"Shut up. My apartment is the size of the kitchen and living room at the cottage."

"For Manhattan, that's definitely big. My first place was a room with two bunkbeds and three roommates. We had to share a communal bathroom down the hall. It was heinous."

She blinked. "Really?"

I nodded. "I was determined to live in the city when I got out of college. Even if that meant I bartended for tips at night while drawing all day."

She opened her mouth as if she was going to share something but closed it again as she hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder.

I wanted her to share whatever was going on in that beautiful head of hers.

We stopped at the doorway to the hotel suite. Rita craned her neck and then her cheeks went bright pink. I kept dragging her along and her gaze swung to mine. "You weren't kidding."

"Nope. Not sure Travis got the brief for what they were supposed to do for that shoot." He grinned. "I know how it feels to get carried away."

She tried to twist her hand free, but I held on tight.

She wasn't getting away from me this time. I was truly tired of her slipping away from me, especially when I wanted to know so much more about her.

I led her down the stairs and into the lobby. She caught up, until we were walking side by side through the ornate doors of the hotel. It was late afternoon, and the sun was glinting off the lake in the distance.

"Why were you here at the shoot anyway?"

I urged her along to my car, parked in the street. I'd managed a great spot when I arrived.

"Penn, I have my own car."

"I'll bring you back to it later." I circled the car, and the car unlocked as I got close to it. The beauty of a high-end car with all the bells and whistles. I opened the door for her.

She gripped the top of the door. "Why were you here?"

"Truth?"

"Would be nice."

I sighed. "I've been a cranky bastard since I left your place the other day." I moved in closer until the tips of our boots touched. "I've been annoying the hell out of my brother all morning."

"That I believe." She glanced down at my mouth before she finally met my gaze. "You annoy the crap out of me." Then she slipped inside the car.

"Feeling's mutual, Duchess." I shut the door and jogged around to my side.

She was looking around at the dials of my center console. "Fancy." She hit one that made my seat move forward. "Oops."

"Oops, my ass." I hit the button again, which was set to my specifications.

She sat back in her seat and pulled on her seatbelt. "What's with the dick mobile? I know firsthand that you don't have a small…appendage."

"Dick mobile and now you can't say cock?" I turned over the car's engine and smoothly pulled out into traffic.

Her smirk was in full effect.

"I don't know. I always wanted a Jag. It's ridiculously impractical living in the city, but I was young and dumb and had too much money versus sense."

She looked over her shoulder at the virtually nonexistent backseat. "No room for carseats in this sweet ride."

"There is no minivan in my future."

"Same." She reached for her phone and flicked it on. The good humor in her eyes slipped away as her fingers tightened around the simple black case.

I reached over and took her phone out of her hand and tossed it in the small ledge in my console. "So, tell me what happened."

"It's none of your business."

"No, but I'm neutral. I don't know anything about you or what's going on with your business."

"You didn't search me on the internet?"

I shrugged. "I looked at your website. Solid. Hell of a lot of books, Rita. Almost all of them are with your co-writer. The Date with Disaster book fills your whole front page."

She wrapped her arms around her middle. She didn't want to share anything. I was beginning to figure out her tells. She either iced me out or held herself. And I hated it.

"Ex-co-writer," she said quietly.

"Ah. I did wonder how you did that whole thing, truthfully. I couldn't imagine sharing all the shit in my head with someone else and trying to make sense of it between two people."

"You'd be surprised how easy it is when you understand one another. And we did. At least I thought we did." She sighed. "She visited me for New Year's. Jenelle, my ex-best friend and co-writer."

"Hell." I couldn't imagine losing both. If something happened between me and Larsen, I was sure it would feel like I'd had an arm lopped off. "How long had you been working together?"

"My whole career." She looked out the window toward the lake. "I've got a few books before we started writing together, but they were mostly under the radar. We hit the market at the right time, and with just the right kind of book, and we never looked back. Jenelle had more business acumen than I did, but I caught up quickly."

"I have no doubt." I stopped at the light, and she glanced over at me.

"I have all the doubt to spare."

"Is it because you haven't written alone in a long time?"

She rested her forehead against the glass. "Some. I thought it would be freeing. Jenelle was a force when it came to work, and I was usually along for the ride. Not sure she ever needed me." Her fingers fisted in her lap, and she faced forward. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"And how would you know?"

"I think I know you a little better now. You're smart and that mouth on you is full of more than sass. The way you took care of your fans?—"

"Readers."

"They're fans, Rita. There's little doubt that you touched them with your words."

"Jenelle's words too."

"You know, I saw a lot more people with a cover with the redhead and hot dude on it than the floral one. The famous one from social media."

She laughed. "Hot dude?"

I turned onto Barrow Avenue and gave her a quick grin. "I mean, I'm hotter. And my brother certainly is objectively hotter than me. You know, if you like the Adonis sort."

"I hope they do." She twisted a gold ring on her middle finger. It didn't quite match the rest of her style and made me wonder if it held sentimental ties.

I figured she was lost in thought because my joke fell fairly flat.

Partnerships were a precarious thing when it came to creativity. I'd seen plenty of writers implode on their own in the graphic novel game. Readers ran hot and cold when it came to a series. I'd known plenty of people who lost lucrative contracts because sales had dipped with disinterest.

I'd been lucky to hit the streak I had. And when I'd left the massive conglomerate who'd owned my soul for the first five years of my life, I'd been lucky that my story had still resonated with people.

Relying on my own creativity without an editor and the publishing machine behind me had been a huge gamble. When it paid off, I'd grown cocky that I could expand. I'd chosen well with my artists, but I'd failed on the mechanics of printing.

So it seemed both of us were flailing in our careers in different ways.

I pulled into my parents' driveway. The minivan was at the top of the drive and the garage was open.

" Wild Springs . From my Sara Springs series, the one I fought for when we went to court."

I turned to her, wondering just how twisted up she really was. "The series you really love?"

She nodded. "More than anything." Then she opened the door and slipped out, taking her bag with her.

I got out of my side and shut the door. She was waiting at the front of my car, her fingers worrying the straps of her bag. I stepped up beside her and unwrapped her fingers, lacing them with mine. "My parents are really nice. Nothing to worry about."

"So, not like you?"

I rolled my eyes. There was my Rita. I climbed the steep drive to the garage. My dad was puttering with his model trains in the garage, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Gotcha."

My dad jumped and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, trying to hide it under the table. "Dammit, Penn."

I laughed and pulled Rita in with me. She kept trying to pry her hand free and I held on. For some reason, I needed to hold her close. After earlier, it seemed even more important to show her that she had someone on her side even if she didn't always like me. "Pop, meet Rita Savage. Rita, this is my dad, Hank."

My dad blew the last of his smoke out to the side and put out the cigarette with the tips of his fingers before pocketing his contraband. "Sorry about that." He waved the smoke away. "Bad habit that my son perpetuates."

"Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Pop."

She swung a look at me. "You smoke?"

"No- ish ."

She wrinkled her nose. "It's not good for you."

"Neither is chocolate, and you live for it."

"Which is why I do an hour of yoga every day." She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Masterson."

"Hank." He shook her hand. "So, you're the writer that has everyone in a tizzy."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I am?"

"Yes. My wife can't stop talking about you with her friends. They've been chattering away on the phone with her all week. She's going to lose it when you go inside."

"Oh." She tried to twist her fingers out of mine again and my dad glanced down then to me with a grin.

Well, I did bring this on myself, but I didn't let her hand go.

"I'm going to break your drawing thumb in a minute if you don't let go," she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Spicy Rita is back." I brought our joined hands up to kiss hers. "I'm not letting go," I murmured.

Her brows knitted together, and those huge green eyes were wary.

My dad cleared his throat. "Will you stay for dinner, Rita?"

"That's the plan." I nipped the side of her hand before lowering our hands. "I hope Ma made enough."

"She makes enough for the whole block." He opened a drawer and sprayed something in his mouth, and then he sprayed an air freshener around him.

My mother would definitely figure out he was smoking, and I'd probably be in trouble even though I hadn't actually stolen one from my pack in days. However, I wasn't sure there would be any left since my dad was a sneaky son of a bitch when it came to them.

"Well, c'mon in. My Jo is gonna freak." He rubbed his hands.

"If you're sure." Rita smiled.

"Absolutely. We'll just get another plate out for you. Larsen is over at the rental if you're looking for him. Said he'd be around if you need anything."

"Thanks, Pop."

We followed him into the house from the garage and the punch of garlic made my stomach growl. Rita finally gave up on the tug of war as I let her go in ahead of me. She stalled before we got through the mud room to the kitchen. I peered around her to make sure the kids weren't at the house.

The rampant children could make anyone run screaming when they were in a mood.

But no, there was only the kitchen peninsula full of drawings, mail, and stacked dishes. The dining area was right off the kitchen with the massive, scarred oak table, freshly wiped down. There was a hint of oranges to the room which meant my mother had gone on one of her cleaning binges. Sure enough, the wood floor gleamed from a fresh scrub.

The living room was tidy, no hint of the kid clutter that seemed to take over the house when my mom was tapped for babysitting. In fact, I could see the vacuum patterns on the sofa from here. My dad was already stationed in his chair with baseball on the wide screen television.

Hopefully, I hadn't pissed my mom off into commencing a cleaning frenzy. She usually only went big on the cleaning when there was company or a full head of JoAnn steam. "Ma?"

"Penn?" My mom peeked from the kitchen. "Oh. You didn't tell me we were having visitors." She gave me a hard look. "Good thing I cleaned today." She wiped her hands on a towel and tucked it into her apron as she came into the dining room. Her eyes widened as she untied her sauce-splattered apron and pulled it over her head. "Penn Bartholomew Masterson, you did not bring a famous author into my house without warning me!"

"Bartholomew?" Rita pressed her lips together against a laugh.

"Ma!"

She set the apron on the counter and tucked her gray-streaked chestnut hair around her ear, then she pulled her sweater down. "What? It's your name, isn't it? And this definitely deserved your full government name, young man."

Forty was coming at me in a few short years and yet, my mother could make me feel like I was fourteen years old again. "Sorry." I tugged Rita forward and dropped a kiss on my mother's soft cheek. The familiar scent of Vanilla Fields and spices eased a few of the raw edges from the day. "JoAnn Masterson, meet Rita Savage."

My mother's eagle-eye zoned in on the linked fingers as Rita held her other hand out for a shake. Instead of a simple shake, my mother hauled her in. "I'm just so excited to meet you. I'm sorry my house is a wreck." She set Rita back and her smile couldn't have gotten any bigger unless I drew it as a caricature.

"Your house is lovely."

"It is chaos at a minimum. Hank! Can you get a bottle of the good wine out of the fridge in the garage? And if I catch you smoking out there again, you're sleeping on the couch."

"Bah! I wasn't?—"

She peeked around Rita. "Lying only makes me angrier."

"It's just a few puffs, woman," he grumbled, but he hauled himself out of his favorite recliner and lumbered into the garage.

"And I know you're the one who provided the contraband, Penn."

I sighed. "Sorry, Ma." No sense getting into any more trouble on my end. I got into it easily enough with Rita.

She hooked her arm around Rita's and eased her away from me. This time, I let her go. I could tell Rita was a little overwhelmed, but my mother had a way with settling people and she deserved to be taken care of. "Tell me there is another book coming in the Sara Springs series. I'm just dying to know Hope's story."

Rita seemed taken aback, but her smile was soft and easier than I'd ever seen. "Actually, that's what I'm working on right now."

I left them to talk books in the kitchen and went to find my father.

He was in the garage, still grumbling about being found out. Not like he was hiding it very well. If he really wanted to be sneaky about it, he'd have to go out of town.

"Hey, Pop."

"Don't ‘hey, Pop' me. Getting me in trouble."

"I think you did that all on your own, buddy. Right in the garage? C'mon." I leaned on the workbench and turned the airplane that was on a display stand toward me. The painting was excruciatingly detailed. "Didn't know you had this in you."

"You're not the only one who likes artsy-fartsy stuff, you know."

"I did not." In fact, no one in my family really had understood me through my formative years. They were supportive, but they didn't understand my graphite-stained fingers and endless supply of sketchbooks. Nor did they understand why I spent all my time at the park instead of running around with my brothers.

Character studies in Crescent Cove had taught me a whole lot about art. I watched the games from the stands and didn't care about the points scored. I only cared about how to draw the action. It had helped me be leagues ahead in art classes in college, as well.

Since Crescent Cove High was so damn small, I'd even gotten a partial scholarship. Not too many artists to compete with. College had been much different, but my competitive streak had pulled me through. Especially when Larsen had convinced me to really give the art side of me a shot.

"So, is this a meet the parents thing?"

My dad's voice was innocent enough, but it had been a damn long time since I'd brought anyone around. "Don't marry us off yet. And make sure Mom understands that too."

"Not like you to bring a girl around."

"Woman."

My dad grunted. "You know what I mean."

"She's…different."

"The one that gets you by the neck usually is."

"I wouldn't say that." I straightened and walked to the wall where more of the models were displayed. From planes to trains, they were all lovingly put together and painted with high-gloss enamel with enough detail to make my eyes cross. I worked on large panels for my final drawings so I could get detailed and not squint myself into a migraine.

"Then why were you holding her hand in a death grip? Think she's going to run?"

I turned back to him. He said it jokingly, but I couldn't help but answer honestly. "Maybe."

He set his brush in some solution then cleaned the tiny bristles. "Can't force a woman to stay, Penn. I figured you of all people would know that."

"When it comes to Rita, I'm not sure what the hell I'm doing. I say the wrong thing every five damn minutes."

"Maybe because she matters. You're not used to that. The Masterson charm only works so long."

"Tell me about it." I walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle that would go well with Italian. "I get the feeling she's been hurt a lot. I don't want to be another person who does that to her."

"Knowing that is half the battle." He set his brush in a holder and met me near the door. He gripped my shoulder. "When a woman's important, you learn to be careful with them."

"I've been fumbling a hell of a lot," I confessed.

"Then you'll do better." He nodded for me to go in first. "Your mother's lasagna is a good start."

I grinned over my shoulder. "Think she'll forgive me for springing Rita on her?"

"She'll be the talk of her book club. I think you'll be just fine. Now get in there. I'm hungry."

I sure hoped so. And I hoped Rita would open up with me after dinner.

I wasn't letting her leave without finding out what had her so twisted up.

She was becoming too damn important.