“Good morning, everyone. Is this a special day?”
“We decided to do up breakfast,” Gregory says. “Bacon, eggs, and…” he adds with a look to Anne.
“Choca pipcakes!” she squeals. She’s old enough now to say it properly, of course, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be having choca pipcakes in bed on her honeymoon.
“Thanks, Gregory,” I say, taking the plate of eggs and bacon he passes to me. I settle at the table between Anne and Bradley and across from Bree, who’s frowning at her phone. “Something wrong?”
“Another rejection. I’m not sure if I’m querying the wrong agents or if my writing sucks.”
“I read it, remember? It’s a long way from sucking. Damien and I both loved it. So did Jamie. Hell, she said she could see it as a movie.”
“I just want to see it as a book.”
“It’s not an easy career to break into.”
“I know.” She takes a deep breath, then repeats, “I know,” and this time, she sounds less defeated. “I knew it would be a long haul—everyone said so. I guess I just hoped I’d be the exception.”
“Everyone hopes that. Unfortunately, not everyone can be. That would defeat the whole exception thing.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but I can also tell she’s fighting a laugh. “Maybe you should ask Evelyn,” I suggest. “I don’t think she represents authors, but surely she knows agents who do.”
“I thought about it,” Bree says. “But it seemed weird. Like crossing a line.”
“I promise it would be fine,” I assure her. “But I get that you feel that way.” I take the piece of bacon Bradley offers me. “How many have you heard back from?”
“I’m sending queries out in batches of four. So far, I’ve heard back from seven. So only one is still outstanding. All the rest were no thank yous.”
“All you need is one.”
“So they say.”
“You’ll get there,” I say, feeling a bit of déjà vu from the way I kept encouraging Lara when she was learning how to do a cartwheel. “Just keep working on the next book and then one after that. That’s what I did when I was hustling phone apps,” I add. Bree knows that I now have a thriving business developing customized software for a variety of companies, from the very large to the mom-and-pop variety.
Of course, thinking about that reminds me that I owe my partner a call, plus I have an appointment at the SCF this morning, and need to get dressed.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask as I push back from the table, then give my kids kisses.
“Just feeling sorry for myself. But I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll buy your book,” Anne says. “I’ve got money in my piggybank.”
“Not enough,” Lara says. “But I still have the twenty dollars from my birthday money. We can buy it together.”
“You two are the best,” Bree says, then blows them both kisses. “But how about you both just put wishes for me under your pillows?”
“Okay, Miss Bree,” they both say, and Bree shoots me a quick glance, her hand going over her heart and her face taking on a swoon expression.
I know, I mouth, then wave goodbye to my family before changing and heading out.
Once I’m on the Coast Highway in Coop, my adorable, cherry red MINI Cooper, I call my partner Abby, who answers on the first ring. “I was just about to call you,” she says.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately going tense. This is the longest I’ve been away from work in ages, and while I trust Abby, I still can’t completely chill with her at the helm. “Something with the Greystone-Branch updates?”
Besides Stark International, Greystone-Branch is by far our largest client. And the first major client that I’d landed years ago.
“No, no. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear about the wedding. Sorry Renly and I couldn’t make it.”
“It was beautiful,” I assure her.
“That’s excellent. It means yours will be, too. I can’t wait.”
“Apparently we’re having an un-bachelorette party. Jamie will be in touch.”
“She already has been,” Abby assures me, and I realize I’m not surprised. “I’ll see you on Friday. Are you nervous?”
“About the ceremony?”
She laughs. “Hardly. About the bachelorette party.”
“With Jamie throwing it? Hell, yeah, I’m nervous.”
We both laugh, and before we end the call I remind her that even though I’m technically on vacation, she can buzz me if she needs anything at all. “You won’t be breaking some sort of partner code, and you won’t be bothering me,” I assure her.
“Shit,” she says, and my stomach immediately curdles. That’s not a work-based curse. It’s something else, and my mind leaps immediately to the note on the portrait.
“Abby? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, God, Nikki, I probably already broke a code.” She clears her throat. “You got a letter delivered this morning. An envelope. Marge opened it because, well, that’s her job, and she gave it to me. Nik, it’s creepy.”
My mouth has gone so dry it’s an effort to get out words. “Can you send me a picture?”
“No way. Not while you’re driving. Are you at the SCF yet?” she asks, referring the Stark Children’s Foundation where I volunteer in a variety of capacities, and where she knows I have a meeting this morning. “But I’m still in Malibu. Hang on, and I’ll pull over.”
I turn into Upper Crust, my favorite local bakery, and get in the line to grab a coffee for the road and a muffin for later. “Okay,” I tell her. “Send it. I promise I won’t drive off a cliff.”
“I hate this,” she says, but a moment later my phone pings, and I open to see the image she’s sent. It’s a note, and I wince at the familiar handwriting as I read the horrible words:
Do you not know how vile he is? Or do you just like being his slut? Do you really believe you’re the only one?
“You have the original?” My voice sounds raw.
“I gave it to Renly to look into,” she says, referring to her husband, a former movie and television consultant who now works for Stark Security. “I told him not to say anything to Damien yet. I figured you’d want to be the one to do that. Nikki, God, I’m really sorry. I was going to call you after you left the SCF. I knew you had meetings. I didn’t want to ruin your morning. Do you know who could have sent it?”
“No,” I tell her. “But it’s not the first.”
“What?” I hear the shock in her voice and hurry to explain.
“It’s not the first, and to be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. But call Renly. Ryan will fill him in, and you can get the scoop that way. And just in case, tell Marge to keep the office doors locked. It’s not like we get walk-ins, anyway.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I will. Nikki, I’m so sorry.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Damien and I have weathered worse.” But even as I say the words, I’m not sure if it’s true. Because as far as I know, these creepy notes are just the beginning. “Call me later if you want,” I tell her.