Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Larsen took off after breakfast to pull reports and figures together for the meeting.

Was I insane to offer up a contact to a man I barely knew?

Hadn't I learned anything from Jenelle?

The instinct had been so keen to help. Especially when I'd had to do everything by myself at the start of my career. Jenelle had been the one to hustle for contact. She'd been the one to comb over the contracts for our first print deal.

I hadn't wanted to add anything else to my plate, and now I had to nearly start over.

"What's going on in that beautiful brain of yours?"

Penn was on the opposite end of the sectional with a notebook. Bruce was stretched between us, on his back, snoring lightly. He looked up from his drawing, black-rimmed glasses perched at the end of his nose.

Why was that so ridiculously sexy?

I tucked my feet under my legs and opened my laptop. "Nothing."

He snapped his notebook closed and shoved his glasses up into his curls. "I don't believe you." He leaned forward in that way he had, his hands clasped between his knees. "You don't have to bring us with you this afternoon."

How did he always know? "No. I want to. I just…"

I didn't want to look like an idiot. Especially since it had been my idea to offer up the meeting, for God's sake. I didn't know anything about Penn's business plan. I knew I liked his product and I definitely loved Ryan's webcomic. I'd managed to snag a copy of Tripod while we were doing our signing. The quality of the cartoon was top-notch, but I knew the printing could be better.

Which was why we had decided on a major publishing house to do ours.

But Penn was brave enough to do everything on his own, even when he didn't exactly have the best path. He was brave in ways I'd never be.

He set his glasses and notebook down and stood. He gave Bruce an absent pat, then took my laptop away and closed it.

"Hey." But then he was drawing me up out of my cozy corner. I didn't have a real choice but to stand up.

"I appreciate the in with Asher, but none of this is on you. If Asher isn't interested in helping us, that's fine. If he is, that's great. I know, from my point of view, this could be a lucrative venture between us. The newspaper business is fading. There's a reason why Asher has poured a lot of his money into podcasting. He's smart and forward-thinking. I'm hoping he'll be intrigued by my offer, but that doesn't have anything to do with us."

"I know I was the one who offered it up. I think I was being reckless. Like the old me," I whispered.

He cupped my face. "I bet the old you was pretty great." Then he tugged my T-shirt down a bit to show off my tattoo. "She gave you this." He traced the lines of the intricate cameo.

"I modeled for a tattoo artist for cash."

His eyes glittered with apprehension and a bit of ice.

" She was amazing. She was trying to get her shop off the ground after her mentor ended up getting arrested."

His eyebrow winged up.

"I've got a lot of crazy stories." I laughed and twisted our fingers together. "But I didn't really think about the aftereffects of having a full chest tattoo for trying to get a job."

"You're so goddamn brave, Duchess. The more I find out about you, the more I'm amazed."

"But that girl I used to be didn't think things through all the time."

"Instinct is hard to listen to. Think I didn't shit my pants when I turned down that contract with Voldemort?"

I laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious. I flew out to see Larsen when he was living in Scotland and got blind drunk for a solid week and read that contract over and over again. I wasn't sure I could do this on my own. I had to believe in my character and my series and own a bit of what I put into my kickass soul eater's stories. I had to believe that I could walk away from less and find more."

"I've always had less, Penn. It's too hard to be brave."

"Fuck that."

I couldn't stop the laugh. "Easy for you to say."

"You're starting over what? Ten plus years into your career?"

I nodded. "Eleven, yeah."

"You knew that Disaster book wasn't you. I can't tell you any author who would walk away from a book that made that kind of money to chase after what they truly needed."

I tried to back away from him, fear a ball of lead in my belly. "Don't put me on a pedestal. I've made plenty of money on that book."

"And yeah, you have some cushion to do this your way now. Lots of zeroes to be exact, but so many people would have leaned into what was easier. You're starting over, and you'll build your brand your way."

"How do you have so much faith in me?"

"Same as you. That badass smirk as you offered to bring me and Larsen with you was all the faith I needed. I've only ever had Larsen in my corner."

I rolled my eyes. "Your parents think you hung the moon."

He laughed. "They're amazing, but they never understood this part of me. Luckily, the fact that they believed in me was enough to make me confident to chase my crazy dreams. You did it all on your own. I'm in awe of you and as careful as I'm trying to be, I'm falling hard for you, Rita Savage."

I sucked in a breath.

"I know, I know. It's fast. Just letting you know where I am on this." He cupped my face and lowered his mouth to kiss me gently. "And I'm not saying that to keep the meeting."

"I don't think that."

"Good." He kissed me again, this time, more deeply.

It was so easy to fall into him, to lean on him when I'd had so few people to prop me up. My readers had always been special, but I never let any of them get too close to me.

I preferred to stay a bit apart from people.

It was easier.

Penn just wouldn't let me.

His phone rang and he hummed into my mouth before he backed up. "That's Larsen."

"We need to get ready to go, anyway. I'm assuming you're going to put on something a bit more professional?"

He laughed. "Go get dressed, and we can stop by my folks' house."

I slipped away from him and hurried up the stairs. Falling for me?

I didn't even know what to do with that information. I wasn't sure I'd actually ever been in love with someone. I thumbed the band of my onyx ring. I had a hazy memory of my dad. Of him putting a chain around my neck when I was little and tucking the ring under my shirt.

Take care of my Rita.

Then a no-nonsense woman had taken me from the dilapidated house on that sleety night in March. I vaguely remembered blue and red lights.

I didn't know his name.

I didn't know where he went after that. He could be in jail, he could be dead. He might not have even cared where I ended up. Or maybe he couldn't take care of me.

There had been so many people who had walked away from me.

How could I believe Penn would be any different?

Faith.

The quiet voice was so small.

I raked my fingers through my hair and rushed into my bedroom to get ready. I pulled out the wide-legged black pants and a celadon-colored short-sleeved sweater from my rapidly growing closet. Then stepped into the vintage heeled Mary Janes I'd found at Ember's shop.

A little makeup and a few turns with my curling iron made me feel more put-together.

When I returned downstairs, Penn was on the couch again with Bruce laying across his lap. Penn had adjusted and used the dog's back as a desk.

I couldn't stop the laugh, and he looked up with an answering smile. "Damn, Duchess. I'm going to have to up my game to have you on my arm."

"Thanks."

Bruce melted off the couch and moseyed his way over to me. "No leans this time, pal." I scratched his head. "You ready to go?"

He nodded. "Just got a text from Larsen. He said he'd meet us at Asher's office."

I'd forgotten that my car was still at the Sherman Inn parking lot. "Can we stop for my car on the way back from the meeting?"

"You got it."

The ride to the Mastersons' place was quick. I had a nice cup of coffee with JoAnn and talked about Sara Springs for a good twenty minutes while Penn got ready. Her infectious excitement for the book actually gave me more of a spark for writing than I'd had in a good long while. I ended up making frantic notes in my phone before the ideas had a chance to dissipate.

The squeak of a foot on the stairs made me look up and my breath caught.

Penn in all black at the signing had been enough to make my heart race. Penn in Hugo Boss was a whole different thing. The jet-black suit was tailored for his long, lean form. The jacket accentuated his wide shoulders, and the charcoal dress shirt made for the perfect bit of contrast.

He'd trimmed up his beard a bit, sharply defining his jawline.

As he walked into the kitchen, he shot his cuffs and set down a duffel bag. "Pass muster?"

I stood up and crossed to him, lifting on my toes to brush a kiss over his full, distracting mouth.

He grinned down at me. "I'll take that as a yes."

Embarrassed that I'd gone right for him in front of his parents, I let him go only for him to haul me back against him and kiss me soundly.

"Now that we look very professional and kickass, shall we go?" He tucked my hair around my ear.

I reached up to rub away my lipstick.

He pulled my hand away then laced our fingers. "I don't think I'll be back, Ma."

"Presumptuous."

He grinned at me. "If you want to kick me out, I'll live."

Ignoring him, I smiled at JoAnn and Hank. "Thanks for the talk and the coffee."

"Nice to see you again, Rita. I always want to talk books."

"You were amazing. I have so many notes for Hope's backstory, thanks to you. I'll be sure to put you in the dedication."

JoAnn pinked up. "Wait til my friends hear about that." She jabbed Hank. "Did you hear that?"

"I did, Jo. Good luck at your meeting, you two."

"Thanks, Pop." He picked up his duffel bag with his other hand, and we headed back out to the car.

We still had an hour before the meeting, but my stomach was starting to twist, and I wished I'd skipped the coffee cake with JoAnn.

"You okay, Duchess?"

"Yeah. Just wondering if I'm being stupid cutting Disaster from the calendar."

He walked around the car to my side and opened the door. "Do you think she gave a shit about this calendar when she signed that deal behind your back?"

I bristled. "No."

"Then don't worry about it. I can guarantee she hasn't given it another thought."

I sighed. "You're probably right. I was always the one who reached out for any charity projects."

"Because she's a selfish prick." He dropped a kiss on my nose. "Now get that perfect ass in the car."

So surprised, I couldn't stop the laugh. Instantly, I felt better. "Perfect, huh?"

"Perfect." He reached around and palmed my butt, dragging me in for a kiss. "I'll show you just how perfect tonight."

"Angling to bring that overnight bag in my house, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." He stepped back and let me get inside before he shut the door.

The drive into town was quiet. The newspaper was on the edge of town near a candy store. At least I was pretty sure it was a candy store. The massive horror-inducing scarecrow peeking over the top of the Trick or Treat sign made me sit up. "How have I not noticed that before?"

"Not much need to come out this way. Why I was surprised the owner opened up the store out here. There was a big fire last year and they rebuilt the whole damn thing. Nolan Devereaux owns it—he was actually supposed to be one of my artists."

I tore my gaze away from the metal work pieces. "Really?"

"Yeah, his sketches for his work are just as disturbing as what comes out of his metal and blowtorch."

I laughed. "Only you would say disturbing like it's a good thing."

"Considering Nolan's sculptures go for seven figures, there's a fair bit of interest in his work. Add in an accident that almost killed him, and now he owns a haunted house on the lake…" He trailed off as if his brain was already working on an angle. "I think there's a hell of a story there. If I can convince him to work on it."

As an author myself, I knew just what it was like to get that spark of an idea out of the blue.

Considering he was suddenly quiet, I figured it was something he was going to have to work around in his mind. Me, I just wondered if there was the good kind of chocolate in the sweets shop.

"When does the shop open?"

"Halloween, I think. I have an invite for the grand reopening if you want to go."

"Depends on the level of chocolate he's got going on inside."

Penn laughed. "Knowing Nolan's wife, I bet the good stuff."

"I'm in."

I expected to feel weird about making future plans with Penn, but oddly, it just felt good.

I wasn't sure what to think about that. He made looking ahead seem so easy. I needed to have a plan for my plans with a backup plan.

And here I was freestyling a change to a calendar that had been planned months in advance.

What the hell was happening to me?

Penn parked and I climbed out of my side before he could come over to open my door. Rolling with it, he just held his hand out for mine, and we walked toward the front doors.

The school bus full of kids from the aforementioned field trip were filing out of the double doors. We were early, and we stood to the side to let the rest of the elementary-aged kids go by. While waiting, I read the placard about the history of the paper.

Built in 1893, Wainwright Publishing Industries was founded by Heathcliff Wainwright with the first printing of the Crescent Cove Daily in the same year.

It was a stately building of sandy-colored stone and iron-framed glass. It looked to be four floors, at least that showed to the outside world. I had a feeling the printing press probably took up a large portion of a basement level if the age of the building was a clue.

Another car pulled up as we were waiting. The sleek silver BMW definitely suited Penn's best friend. He climbed out in one of his killer suits. The Scotsman certainly knew how to dress. This one was a faint plaid gray suit with a sky-blue shirt and a silver tie set off his silvery blue eyes.

"Glad to see you know how to put a suit on, Penn." He said by way of greeting. "Rita, you look stunning."

The slight burr to his voice gave me a little extra boost. "Thanks."

"Get your own." Penn pulled me into his side.

I elbowed him. "You'll end up going home with that overnight bag with talk like that."

"Overnight bag?" Larsen whistled. "Getting serious."

I didn't want to think about that just now. The nerves were already starting to bubble up in my stomach. Considering I had a history of throwing up before big meetings, I needed to get my mind off it and keep moving.

Still attached to Penn by the hand, I dragged him toward the doors.

Inside Wainwright Publishing's lobby were massive, printed panels that gave a brief history of the printing press, as well as a few magazines they used to publish in the late 70s into the 80s. Another panel described the true crime podcast that Asher produced and voiced.

The lobby smelled of the sunflowers that flanked the wide stone visitor station in massive marble vases. An older woman in a navy dress and a paisley scarf manned the desk. She smiled politely. "May I help you?"

I stepped closer to the desk. "Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Wainwright."

She looked down at her slim laptop. "Ms. Savage?"

"Yes."

She glanced at Penn and Larsen. "I don't have three people listed."

"We're her business partners." Penn came forward to stand by me with a charming smile.

I resisted the urge to stomp on his shoe with my chunky heel. Business partner, my ass.

The woman narrowed her eyes.

"I've met with Mr. Wainwright before. He'll remember me."

"I know who you are, Ms. Savage." The woman leaned closer and lowered her voice. "I quite like your books."

"Oh, thanks." I hoped I wasn't too red. I was not great at the compliments.

"You're a little early, so you can sit in the waiting area or have a look at the panels in the gallery. I'll come find you in a few minutes."

"Thank you."

We wandered toward the gallery, but I was too nervous to sit. Larsen and Penn talked about their pitch, which left me to read the panels. I'd never been big on podcasts. Attention was a very hard thing with all the things going on in my brain, but there were so many interesting arms to it. The fact that it focused on small towns was both creepy and so very interesting.

"Ms. Savage? And company," she added coolly.

Penn gave me a shrug, and we followed the woman to the elevator.

She tapped a card to the panel. "Mr. Wainwright is on the fourth floor. Right through the doors and past the podcast booth."

"Thanks," I said and stepped into the elevator, followed by the two men. When the doors closed, I glanced over my shoulder at Penn. "Don't make me regret this."

He stepped up behind me and kissed the top of my head. "Don't worry. We'll throw the pitch, and if he's not into it, no harm no foul."

"So you say," I said quietly as the doors opened.

The light was incredible through the windows as the thick gray carpet swallowed the sounds of my heels. Podcast booth was an understatement. Half the floor was filled with glassed- in booths. Evidently, Asher was expanding the podcast game as well.

There was a hallway beside it and at the end, Asher Wainwright stood in navy dress pants and a white dress shirt that had seen a long day. The cuffs were rolled back to show stunning ink on his forearm. His short dark hair was a bit disheveled, and a pair of glasses dangled from his mouth by the stem. He put his glasses back on and waved us forward.

"Sorry for my current state. The elementary school children were surprisingly interested in the printing press, as well as the podcast booths. They gave me a run for my money."

"Not a problem." I held out a hand. "Nice to see you again."

He shook it firmly. "I'm surprised you wanted to come in. Did you need to see a workup of the calendar? I'm still waiting on the photographs from the shoot." He looked over my shoulder. "Penn Masterson." There was low-level delight in his voice. "I'm a huge fan." He released my hand and shook Penn's. "What can I do for you then?"

Penn ushered me inside.

"Have a seat." Asher went around his desk. "Can I get you anything?"

"We're fine, thanks." I smiled and sat in one of the leather chairs in front of his massive antique desk.

Penn stood behind me, and Larsen sat next to me. Penn gripped my shoulder lightly and I was surprised at how that small bit of comfort bolstered me.

Asher sat forward in his chair and clasped his fingers together on the paper strewn blotter. "What can I help you with?"

"I've been informed that my former co-writing partner has sold the rights to Date with Disaster this week."

"Oh, I hadn't heard that. I'm usually pretty up on publishing news. Though, I must confess, I've been more focused on the podcast world, as of late."

"I'm still interested in using Bridget and Travis's photoshoot for my book. Well, books. I've talked with their agents to see if we can do an additional photoshoot for my new book."

"I see." Asher sat back and steepled his fingers.

Nerves jittered under my skin. "I'd like to just swap out the book used. I'll pay for any additional graphic design work necessary."

He lowered his hands. "So, you want to use the shoot, just change the book used on the December page?"

"Yes."

"Not a big deal."

I slumped. "Thank you."

"I was unaware you were going solo." Asher straightened. "That must have been really difficult. I've had major turnover here in the past, and it's quite inconvenient, I can't imagine the dissolution of a business. I worked long and hard to make sure I didn't have to do that with this place."

"To be honest, it's still a work in progress. But the charity is important, so I want to make sure we go through with it. I know my name isn't quite as big alone, but?—"

"Not an issue," Asher broke in. "My wife is a big fan of your work. When she was pregnant with our third, she was on bedrest for the last month. I'm pretty sure her e-reader was smoking with all the downloads and books she read. She kept lamenting the fact that Sara Springs only had two books."

"You know the name?"

"I'm a details man, Ms. Savage. And what makes my wife happy is paramount."

"She's very lucky. And let her know that's the series I'm taking over. I'd be happy to send her an advanced copy once I finish it up."

"And then I will be a hero, so I accept." He grinned. "I'll have my graphic artist contact you for the correct cover, and we'll make sure everything is handled."

"Perfect. Thank you."

Asher leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. With his rolled-up sleeves, he actually looked every inch the publisher just then. "Now what can I do for you gentlemen?"