Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Asher Wainwright was an imposing man when he wanted to be. He'd switched over from benevolent and helpful to straight-edged businessman in a fingersnap.

Rita reached back and touched my leg.

I relaxed and smiled down at her, and then I cleared my throat. "I have my own small publishing house."

Asher nodded. "Duality Press."

"Right." I needed to move. I made my way over to the big window behind Asher. It took up most of the office and had an impressive view of Crescent Lake since his building was four stories high.

Larsen was about to talk, but I turned and met his gaze.

Due to our long-standing friendship, he knew to let me shake out the nerves.

"We've been looking for places to publish the hard copies of the artists I employ. I've used a few small press options, but the overhead has made it difficult to work with them. The larger outfits are locked in with long, complicated schedules with the bigger publishing houses."

"I see the issue. I'm not following with how I could help. Are you looking for capital?"

"Not exactly. We're both hometown guys."

"Mmm-hmm."

"When I found out you could print a calendar, I wondered if you were capable of four-color printing on a more major level?"

"What are we talking?" Asher asked. His arms were still crossed, but there was interest lighting his dark eyes.

Larsen pulled out his bag and slid a packet across the desk. "Substantial. Those are the numbers from the last two years for the Knights of Chaos . And then the more recent numbers for Tripod , which is a webcomic that has shown extreme promise for more print collections. We also have a number of comics in progress that we are looking to establish in the new year."

Asher was silent as he looked over the packet.

I knew Larsen was the best numbers guy there was. His strength was in manufacturing engineering, but he'd really taken on a lot of the backend parts of Duality Press. Things that I didn't have the patience for.

"Not to be indelicate, but with newspaper distribution lessening, I was wondering if you might be interested in working with us to find a way to utilize the machinery you have. I didn't realize you used to do magazine work, as well."

Asher looked up from the packet. "It's been a damn long time since those machines have been operational."

"We're willing to put our money where our mouth is, so to speak. As you can see from our sales, it wouldn't be a small output. We'd make it worth your while to use the press for us. Perhaps, we could bring in more indie operations such as Rita, as well."

Rita swiveled her head to where I was pacing near the window. "Right. I hadn't thought about that. I've used print-on-demand things for my series and overseas for special editions through some crowdfunding."

"Overseas," Asher grumbled. "My printing presses are just as good as theirs."

Pouncing on that, I moved to the front of his desk. "Exactly that. I prefer to keep my printing here in the US. And if I can use my hometown—maybe even add some jobs to the town— I would much prefer that to doing backflips to get in line with the larger press operations. I have the product, I just need help with the output." At Asher's frown, I continued. "And the numbers. Hell, I have so many preorders for Ryan's Tripod collection that I'm not sure I can meet them without hunting down another place to do a second printing."

Asher folded his hands over the papers. "I need to speak with some people—more importantly, find some people who can work that offset printer again. It'll need a lot of work to get running again. You sure you can wait on that?"

"Better than the eighteen months wait I've been offered elsewhere. The only places who can print faster have overhead that is astronomical. And even then, I can't trust the work to be prime. I refuse to put out a sub par product, and it's fucking killing me."

"What he means to say is?—"

I cut off Larsen. "No, that's where I'm at. I went into this small press game to try and help artists get paid what they're worth. I refuse to be the same as my former publisher. Overhead is a fact of life, but I don't want it to be so stupidly high I can't pay my people."

"I appreciate the passion, Penn. And I confess that's what makes me want to look into this further. Wainwright Publishing Industries was built to report the news. When that changed, I started forward thinking for the future to keep us afloat. The idea of returning to my roots is intriguing."

When I opened my mouth, Asher held up a hand.

"But that means I have to crunch a hell of a lot of numbers. I have people to take care of too."

I swallowed. "I appreciate that too."

Asher stood and held out his hand. "Not how I expected today to go."

"I hope that's a good thing." I said, shaking his hand.

"Remains to be seen." Asher looked to Larsen. "These figures—if they're not inflated—are damn good."

"I lowballed them," Larsen said easily. "Our preorder numbers are far greater for Penn's ongoing series, but we'll only be able to sustain that if we have the product to back it up."

"Also, something to consider."

"All our details are in the packet." Larsen stood up.

Asher held his hand out to Larsen. "I'll be in touch." He came around the desk and stopped in front of Rita. "I should be unhappy with the ambush, but the idea of working with authors for special edition novels is just as intriguing as working with Penn. I hope you know that."

She bit her lower lip. "I'd be interested in working with you there, as well." She glanced at me. "Maybe through an imprint within Duality Press."

She could have knocked me over with that sentence.

I moved close to her and took her hand then added a squeeze. "We can definitely talk about that."

Asher walked us to the door and down to the elevators. "I'd be interested in interviewing both of you for my new podcast. With the Hometown True Crime research team, we end up reading a hell of a lot of books. I've become quite interested in authors and how they work."

"I'm always down to talk about myself."

"Ain't that the truth," Larsen said dryly.

I laughed. "We'll set something up."

"And with you going solo, Rita might be a great way to talk to your fans." Asher hit the button for the doors to open.

"I really appreciate that." Rita's grip tightened on mine.

I knew she was a little nervous to do the solo deal. As we got to know each other more, I could pick up on her tells.

Larsen stepped in the car first and we followed him. As soon as the door closed, Larsen hurled himself into my arms. "Holy fuck! I can't believe that worked."

I crashed into the cushioned wall of the elevator and laughed. "I don't know if we're at the celebration stage yet, my guy." I gripped him back and then Larsen hauled Rita in to add to the dogpile hug.

She squeaked, but then she was laughing like the two of us.

"I thought we lost him when he crossed his arms and gave us the king of the mountain look. Goddamn, he can be intimidating." Larsen gave me another thumping pat on the back, and then he moved to the other side of the car. "Sorry. But the more we talked about using what he had, the more we had him."

"That's if he can get the machines operational."

"Don't be a shit, Penn. You know he saw dollar signs as much as we did."

I shoved my fingers through my hair. "If this works, it could change everything. From the ground up."

"And that's what we're going to focus on." Larsen grinned at Rita then grabbed her and twirled her around. "Focus on the good because we all need it."

Rita's surprised giggle warmed me in spots that had been dark and cold for a damn long time. We'd been struggling with Duality Press for over half its life. I really hoped this would move us to a new level.

When we all tumbled out, the woman at the desk stood from her chair, surprised.

I waved at her. "Have a great day." I grabbed Rita's hand as we practically ran out of the lobby. "I need a drink. We all need a celebrational drink."

Rita laughed. "It's not even three in the afternoon."

"Sounds like it's time for one of those hard ciders to me. This place doesn't know how to build a good head on a lager."

"Snobby Scotsman," I muttered. "I'll pick up a six-pack and meet you at Rita's."

"Why my house?"

"Because it doesn't have a bunch of toddlers running roughshod over your living room," I said with a grin.

"Fair." She grinned. "See you in a bit, Larsen."

We made a pit stop at a liquor store near the lake. The town had been expanding a lot lately. With all the homes being sold near the lake, as well as the maze of cul de sacs being built to house the baby boom in Crescent Cove, there were stores popping up beyond the bustling Main Street.

One thing we didn't have to worry about was the lack of local brews. I decided to get a twelve-pack of variety ciders from Brothers Three Orchard, a local place just a town over from Crescent Cove. And because they were there, I snagged a bag of chips and pretzels. Rita had been busy on the other side of the store and had a box of wine bottles waiting for me on the counter.

Before I could pull out my wallet, she'd paid for the lot of it.

"Am I your kept man now?"

She grinned over her shoulder as she carried her box. "You are staying at my house." She bumped the door open with her butt and slipped out, leaving me behind. "Mind if I see if Colette can sneak away?" she asked while waiting for me to open the car.

"Absolutely not." I stashed both in the trunk and dragged her in for a quick kiss. "I love that you're making friends in town."

She linked her hands at the base of my neck. "Not sure I made friends with Colette, or she just assimilated me."

"Don't sell yourself short there. You're so fucking smart and funny." She looked down and I snaked my hand between us to lift her chin. "You are."

"I've been in hiding most of this year."

"Not hiding, healing."

She snorted. "Definitely hiding."

"Both can be true at the same time."

"I haven't written a word until I got to Crescent Cove."

"Then maybe you just needed a change of season and scenery. Nothing like Crescent Cove in autumn." The idea that I could have missed this—missed her—was something I didn't want to contemplate. "And maybe I helped a little."

"Helped me by making me crazy?" She grinned up at me.

"My mother has said similar things."

"Your mother is pretty great." She slid away. "You don't know how lucky you are." She pulled out her phone from her pocket and got in on the passenger side.

There was always a landmine or two waiting for me when it came to certain topics. I just hoped eventually she'd see just how many people were coming to care for her.

The drive to the cottage was quiet, but I caught flashes of her smile as she was texting who I figured was Colette. When we pulled into the drive, Larsen's car was waiting for us. He'd rented a house somewhere on the lake, but I hadn't been out to it as of yet. Now that I knew what it was like to have Rita asleep beside me, it seemed way more preferable to a lonely bed at my parents' house or a guest bedroom at Larsen's.

"Is Colette going to stop by?"

"She's getting one of the part-timers to come in. Said she'd bring sandwiches from someplace called Jersey Angel's?"

"Oh, man. I haven't had a meatball sub from there in an age. That's my vote. Larsen likes the chicken parm."

"Guess I didn't have to ask for a menu."

I laughed. "Nope, Jersey Angel's has been around since I was a teen. I even worked there for half a second before I discovered I was not made for working the ovens."

She pushed open her door. "And yet said you could cook for me."

I got out and hustled to the trunk before she could carry our stuff again. I stacked her box on my case of bottles. "I can cook. Angelo taught me how to cook, I just wasn't good at the fast and furious part." I shut the trunk. "I like to take my time." And leaned down to give her a slow, thorough kiss.

Her eyes were a little hazy as I pulled away. She sighed. "Okay, there is that."

Larsen got out of his car, dressed inhis version of athleisure wear—what I suspected was cashmere over a worn pair of jeans. "You two done?"

I laughed. "Grab my bag out of the car."

"Since you have both wine and hard cider in hand, I suppose I shall abide."

I rolled my eyes. "Rita's friend from the bookstore is coming with subs."

"The ever-beautiful Colette?"

"That's the one."

Larsen grinned. "Excellent." He found my duffel in the backseat and followed us inside. "Where's the horse?"

"Give him time." Rita cleared the kitchen island for the drinks and we both filled the fridge and the small wine fridge tucked into one of the cabinets.

The conversation was easy and fun as Larsen and Rita worked together to make a small plate of snacks from Rita's ever-magical fridge.

I ran upstairs with my bag to get out of my suit, leaving the two of them to tease each other about their foodie sides.

By the time I got back downstairs, Colette had been added to the party.

She raised her glass of wine to me as I entered the kitchen. "This is much more fun than doing inventory. Thanks for the invite."

"You win for the sandwiches."

"Angelo could easily put an extra twenty pounds on my ass because of his artistry." She pointed to the tinfoil wrapped packages.

The smell would have dragged me over regardless. "Goddess."

She took a sip from her glass of red. "Yes, I am." She grinned. "So, I hear congratulations are in order."

"Tentative congratulations." I ripped open the one labeled for me. "We hope that Asher can make it work."

"I have every confidence. Asher is one of those men who loves to innovate. Using the old printing presses for more than a weekly paper is probably making him salivate."

"I hope so."

She wandered over to where Larsen was in the living room. I came up behind Rita at the sink and wrapped my arms around her middle. "I kinda love that you get along so well with my best friend." I glanced over to the two of them. "And our best friends get along too."

"She's not my?—"

I lowered my mouth to her neck. "She's the first person you wanted to tell about today."

She slipped out of my arms. "It's not a big deal."

I caught her hand and pulled her back to me. I kept my voice low. "It's okay to have a best friend."

She wouldn't look at me, just stared at the dragon on my shirt. "I'm not made for friends like that."

"You are." I lowered to meet her gaze as I linked my hands at the base of her spine. "You are allowed to find a new friend. And you're allowed to be giddy to tell her about your badass moment today."

"It wasn't anything."

"It was. I bet six months ago you wouldn't even contemplate sticking it to Jenelle."

She sighed. "No. I probably wouldn't have. I wanted it to be an amicable split."

"Why? She didn't deserve one."

She lifted her gaze to mine, her green eyes so full of sorrow. "My therapist asked the same thing."

"And what did you say?"

"It's not about her, it's about our readers."

"Which is amazing and altruistic, but you matter. You matter more than anything."

She stiffened in my arms.

"It'll take awhile for you to believe it again."

"I never believe," she whispered.

"Then I'll just keep telling you until you do." I lifted her off her toes and kissed her. "Now go get a pair of those hot yoga pants on, and we'll go hang with our friends."

I got a smile this time, but it was still tentative. But she nodded and took off up the stairs.

When I turned around, I found Colette staring right at me.

"What?"

"You're so sunk, pal." She'd hunkered down on the end of the sectional with a TV tray she must have found.

"You're probably right." I shrugged. I was starting to enjoy the idea of us more and more every day.

I looked around and located the stack of tray tables, then grabbed one and my sandwich and sat down on a middle cushion.

"Where's the TV, man?" Larsen asked.

I pointed to the TV that had been unplugged and tucked behind the chair. "We kinda needed the stand for all our workshop notes. She doesn't really watch it that much."

"Sacrilege."

"Aww, you'll just have to have a conversation." Colette picked out a fat pepper from her hot steak sandwich.

"I'm very good at conversation, thank you."

She licked the tip of her thumb. "I know. You flirted shamelessly with my employee throughout the whole signing."

Larsen shrugged. "Amanda Jean is lovely."

Colette snickered. "Not her name."

"I'm going to get it."

"Doubt it. I'll be very surprised if you do."

By the time Rita came back down in her bright pink outfit from earlier today, we were in a heated discussion about which scary movie was superior.

Rita sat next to me, tucking her feet under her. She dragged over the tray I was using. " Scream wins all. Hands down."

"See, I knew we were destined to be besties." Colette sat back with her wine. "The two killers to start the series trumps all of your chainsaws, Penn."

"Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a classic."

"You're wrong," Rita and Colette said in unison.

"You're all delusional. Freddy Krueger has, by far, the bigger fear factor. Dreams? C'mon, man. It's so individualized."

Rita did a little shiver. "I'll agree there, but it got too gory for gore's sake. Same as the Chainsaw movie."

"Movies," I interjected.

" Scream all the way. We should watch it tonight."

Larsen nodded toward the unplugged television. "You are the very worst host, Rita darling."

She laughed. "This is supposed to be a work trip. It was in the way."

"Bah." Larsen rolled up his empty papers, then stood and took the rest of the leftovers away from those of us who were finished.

Rita happily tucked into her grinder as Colette and Larsen sniped at each other in the kitchen.

When I pulled out my phone, I found a long list of texts waiting for me from my brothers' text chat. We generally used it to bitch about sports and shared rude memes, but today was heavy on the Halloween decorating topic.

Travis's kid was pushing for a full-on Gideon-style extravaganza.

The Gideons were well known in the Cove for being the Halloween house to see every year. Evidently, Travis wanted to try and beat them out.

Trav:

Anyone have a big ladder?

Moose:

How big?

Trav:

To get on the roof

Moose:

On it

Trav:

Air compressor? Mine is more for a bike.

Christian:

You just want everything — use some of that big man money to buy your equipment.

Trav:

Moose:

I have one in my truck

Christian:

Of course you do

Trav:

This is why you're my favorite brother

Trav:

Now, I need bodies.

Christian:

Busy

Trav:

Wouldn't want to disappoint your niece, would you?

Christian:

Low blow

Trav:

Anything for Care Bear

Christian:

Only for her.

Trav:

I'll take it — now where is Penn?

I'd been wishing for an easy evening with my girl, not to get chased around by bees as I climbed trees. Because I always had to climb the damn trees since my other brothers were bulkier.

Dammit.

I collapsed back into the couch cushions.

How the hell could I say no while I was literally next door to Travis?

"Fuck."

Rita gave me an arched brow around a bite of crusty Italian bread.

"Travis just pulled an SOS to help decorate for Halloween."

"Have fun," she said with an unrepentant smile.

"You're a cruel woman. Sure you don't want in on the fun?"

"I'm good."

"Larsen?"

"Oh, man. I gotta go."

"And where do you need to be?" I stood and put my hands on my hips.

"Anywhere but where your brother lives."

"Next door, remember?"

Larsen tossed a towel over his shoulder. "Have fun. I'm actually going to put together a more comprehensive folio for Asher. Pesky details for the printer and see if we need to do a change to your layouts and that kind of thing."

"Always thinking ahead." I leaned down and gave Rita a kiss. "I'll be back in…I don't know. Sometime."

She laughed. "Maybe we'll set up the television for later."

"Sounds good."

At least I got out of cleanup duty.

There were a few things in the plus column today.