Trent MacMillan. Of all the people in the world she could end up working for, how had she ended up with the man who’d broke her heart?
“I know him,” Kate said, thinking it was sad she could boil a year-long relationship down to three words.
“Oh great, that should make it easier. So if you sign that—”
“No, I mean I used to date him, back in college, before he became this big CEO. He broke up with me.” Again, an encapsulated version of what they’d had. The laughs she remembered, the heartache that had followed his surprise breakup.
“Oh.” Angie’s lips pursed. “Well, that might make things awkward for a minute, but you’re both professionals. I’m sure things will be fine.”
And Kate wouldn’t get distracted by Trent’s green eyes, or his crooked smile…or the memory of his hunched shoulders as he walked away from her. She’d forget the picnics they’d had on a rocky bluff overlooking the sound, the time he’d grabbed her for an impromptu dance, or the two of them watching the fireworks cuddled on a blanket on the sand. Almost fifteen years had passed. Long enough? Or nowhere near long enough?
“I don’t know if I can take this job, Angie.”
“The money is good. I negotiated two and a half times your regular fee because of the time crunch. And it’s half down, with payment for the remaining balance on delivery of the final draft.”
All Kate could think about was seeing Trent again, and how weird and probably painful that would be. It wouldn’t be just one meeting, either. It would be dozens of meetings, like a hundred papercuts every day.
“I can’t work with him.”
Angie tapped the paper. “I want you to look at that number before you turn this down.”
Kate’s gaze dropped to the payment details.
Wow.
The numbers seemed unreal, with those zeroes she’d been missing out of that first check. Her heart stuttered, and she blinked twice, sure the amount would disappear. It didn’t. Just the first half she would get for signing the contract was more than she’d made in the last six months. The second half would be enough to cover her expenses the entire rest of the year. It was roof repair, and a new heater for her grandmother, and a fix to the plumbing. It was security and comfort and a huge lifting of stress.
“Offers aren’t exactly rushing into my office,” Angie added. “This is a hot iron, and you need to strike it, regardless of who you have to work with. Besides, how bad can Trent MacMillan be, compared to Gerard Phillips?”
The race car driver had never made her heart race. He’d never made her dream about a future with a dog and kids and a minivan in the driveway. He’d never kissed her and left her thoughts a jumble. Trent had done all those things, and then he’d gone and walked away from her.
She glanced at the fee again. Already, the back of her mind was working through the financial side, adding and spending and seeing what was left over. “It’s a lot of money.”
“You’ll be done in five weeks. That’s a little over a month. If you put up with Gerard for a year, surely you can tolerate an ex-boyfriend for a month.”
“True.” The broken half of her heart wanted to push the offer away and leave Trent to flounder with some other ghostwriter. The other half of her heart, which worried about Grandma’s furnace and her own roof, whispered logic and reason. She’d be crazy to turn this down. Who knew how long it would be until another job came along?
Kate was not a risk taker. She liked to know what was coming this month, next month, and all the months after that. Being a freelance ghostwriter was risky enough, but she only had to support herself and a cat, so the semi-regular income wasn’t too bad. She should, as her grandmother would say, keep the bird in her hand instead of looking for another one in the bush.
“I’ll take it.”
“Awesome. I’ll let them know right away and get the contracts executed.” Angie made a note on the blue paper. “Oh, I almost forgot. Trent’s assistant was asking if you could take a meeting tomorrow morning at nine. They’re anxious to get started.”
“I’ll clear my schedule.” Kate pushed a smile to her face and wondered if the corner market sold suits of armor. She was going to need something impervious if she was going to resist that man’s crooked smile.
Three
Trent laced up his running shoes, pulled on a GOA windbreaker, and darted out of his apartment building, thankful for the overcast and cool morning. After the stormy weather of the last few days, a break in the pattern meant he could sneak a couple of minutes in for a run before he had to get to work. He looped down the street, through the park and onto the Elliott Bay Trail. The paved road gave him a little over three miles in each direction, as it skirted the edge of the water and back into Olympic Sculpture Park. Greg was already there, stretching against one of the park benches.
“’Bout time you showed up for our morning runs.” Greg fell into pace beside Trent. Even though Greg was a buttoned-up lawyer and Trent was more of an adventurer, the two of them had been friends for years. They’d done a couple of climbs of Pike’s Peak together, and a marathon that had taught Trent he loved to be outdoors but not for twenty-six miles straight.
“Sorry. Work has been insane.” Trent pushed the pace a little more. Merely talking about work ratcheted up his stress level. Maybe the endorphin rush would release some of that tension crowding his shoulders. On his long runs with Greg, they could talk for hours about their lives and their jobs. Trent knew all about Greg’s wife Virginia and their two little boys, and Greg had heard dozens of stories from Trent’s college days and the startup of GOA.
“Gotta say, it’s pretty ironic that you own an outdoor apparel company and you’re barely outdoors.” Greg’s long, lean legs had no trouble matching Trent’s speed. Already, Trent’s lungs were burning and his legs were protesting. That’s what happened when he spent too much time behind his desk instead of away from it.
“And that’s only going to get worse.” Alongside the path, fishing boats dotted the serene, dark water of Elliott Bay. “I’ve got to write that book.”
“That it’s-all-about-me book you mentioned a few months ago?” Greg scoffed. “I thought that thing was done.”
“Hey, it’s a memoir, not a shrine to myself. And it’s started…sort of.” Trent’s breathing was choppy, his words staccatoed by the effort to keep up with Greg, who ran almost every day and was clearly in better shape right now. “I’m…well, I’m sort of hiring a ghostwriter to finish it.”
Greg slowed. “Wait, what?”
“I know. I know.” Trent pulled his pace back too and tried not to show how grateful he was for the break. “I’m not really sold on the idea yet, because my whole company is about being honest and transparent. This feels like I’m lying to everyone who buys the book.”