“You should want to make me cry, and make every reader cry,” Angie said. “That’s what creates memorable, compelling books that people remember and share and recommend. I’ll put together some thoughts about revisions and send them to you. Once those are done, I have a few editors in mind already who would love this book.”
“That sounds awesome.” Kate had to restrain herself to keep from bouncing with joy. All the time she’d been writing, she wasn’t sure how the book would turn out, or if she really had what it took to produce a novel worth publishing. Penny and Grandma had only read snippets, but Angie had seen the entire book and loved it. “I’ll make whatever changes you ask for.”
Angie picked up the printed manuscript and leafed through the pages. “I can tell that when you wrote this, you went with your instincts, rather than some predestined plot. You took risks with what you were writing, and too many authors don’t do that because they’re so afraid to step outside the box. There were a couple of times the book went left when I expected it go right, and that was awesome.”
“It was?”
“You have good instincts for story, Kate. That’s what has made you such a success as a ghostwriter. So when you see my suggestions, take them as just that, suggestions. Trust what your gut says about which changes to make and which changes won’t work. I have no doubt you’ll make this even better.”
“Thank you. I’m so excited you liked it, and I can’t wait to see it in print.” She got to her feet and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to go home and get right to work.”
“Before you go…” Angie grabbed her tablet, pulled up a page and turned it toward Kate. “I assume you’ve seen this interview?”
Below the online article for Outdoor Fun, Trent’s picture stared back at her, familiar and painful. She recognized Moulton Falls behind him and the poses Carissa had set up for the photo shoot that day. The memory shredded Kate’s heart, and she tore her gaze away. “No. I…I’ve avoided anything to do with that project.”
“Well, this one you shouldn’t avoid.” Angie slid the tablet over to Kate. “I highly suggest you read this.”
Was it going to be another speculative piece that trashed her as a writer? Or the public statement Trent had promised to make relegating her to the role of editor and consultant? Kate settled back in her chair and at first, only skimmed the article. Her jaded view began to slowly soften as the words filtered through. Kate Winslow is the sole author… Incredible writer… Knew exactly what questions to ask and how to capture my truth… Couldn’t have done it without her expertise… Team effort, with Kate pulling most of the weight… Took my scattered notes and turned them into a story I couldn’t put down.
Kate raised her gaze to Angie’s. “He said all this?”
Angie nodded. “He made it very clear that the book is your work, not his. The reporter says that later in the story.”
“But I thought…” Kate shook her head. This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t what they had agreed to say, and not what Trent had planned. “I’m just the ghostwriter.”
Angie grinned. “Not anymore. This ghost is out in full view of the public now.”
Great. No client would ever trust her with a nondisclosure agreement again. “That’ll ruin my chances of ever working on another project.”
“Actually, it’s had the opposite effect.” Angie motioned toward her desk and a stack of pink call notes sitting beside her keyboard. “My phone hasn’t stopped ringing with people looking to work with you. I’ve got several emails to return, and a bunch of voicemails to answer.”
“That all happened in the last couple of weeks? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew it would distract you from what you needed to be doing—working on your own book. Ghostwriting can be a side business, but really, you’ve put your dreams on hold long enough. This”—she hefted the manuscript Kate had worked so hard to write over the couple of weeks—“is amazing. Your voice is beautiful, and your story is rich and emotional. I want to see this on a bookshelf, not languishing in your computer.”
Kate laughed. “Okay. I get it. I’ll go home, make some revisions and start another book. You happy?”
“Delighted. I can’t wait for the world to see how Kate Winslow creates a fiction story the reader just can’t put down.”
The echo of Trent’s words in the article caused an ache in Kate’s chest. She’d ignored his calls and texts for weeks. Had he been trying to tell her he was going to tell the world she was the real author? Or had this story been just another publicity move? “I’m just so surprised Trent changed his story. I wonder why he did it.”
“You can ask him yourself in a minute.” Angie cleared her throat. “He wanted to meet with me to discuss the book and asked if there was a time anywhere close to when you would be here. Apparently, he’s been trying to reach you for a while.”
“I’ve been ignoring him.” Her landlord had turned away several flower deliveries from her building, and Kate had sent every call to voicemail. She’d deleted the messages before she’d listened to them and had a stack of unread text messages from Trent. The only email she had responded to was his short list of corrections—sending the revised book back to him indirectly.
“Maybe,” Angie said gently, “maybe it’s time you stopped being a ghost there too.”
Before Kate could answer, there was a knock at Angie’s door. The sound startled Kate. Her pulse raced, and she fought the urge to bolt before her heart got broken a third time.
“I can send him away or ask him to come back later. What do you want to do?”
Kate glanced at the tablet, at the selfless act Trent had done, saving her career over his company, over himself. He’d come clean with the truth, no matter what it cost him, because of her. The least she could do was thank him. “Let him in.”
Angie crossed to the door and opened it. “Trent, hi. Nice to see you. Kate’s already here.”
Kate’s heart stopped. She half expected Trent to turn around and leave. Instead, she heard the familiar notes of his deep voice.
“Good. I was hoping to speak to her.” He skirted past Angie and stopped in the center of the office, quiet, almost shy. His hair was a little long and brushed across his brows, almost blocking his piercing blue eyes. He had on the same fleece jacket he had given her, over a white Henley like the one she’d worn the day of the hike. She wanted to curl into him and never leave. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She got to her feet, praying he wouldn’t see how much she was shaking. Kate stood ten feet away from him, but it felt like ten thousand. “I saw the article.”