“I am an author,” she said. “Just not under my own name.” Whatever he’d said had struck a nerve, because the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Kate pulled out a chair. “Shall we get started?”
So this was going to be all business. Trent should have been relieved, because he’d barely scraped together an hour for this meeting. He had a busy day, a book to produce, and an IPO to save. He shouldn’t care what Kate Winslow thought or didn’t think about him.
But as he reached for the chair opposite her, consciously avoiding the head of the table and the boss/employee situation that seat implied, he found himself searching her eyes for answers. He set the NDA down on the conference table and tried to read Kate’s features. Did she hate him? Blame him? Was she dreading this job? Or had she forgotten the details of their history?
She spoke first. “Generally, when I meet with a new client, I start with an outline, or at least an overview of what the book will be about, so I can make sure it’s something I can work with.” Kate withdrew a pad of paper and flipped to a fresh page. She clicked her pen and scribbled the title of his book across the top. “So, what was your plan for—”
“Where have you been?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Instead of sitting, he came around the table and leaned against the edge. The unsigned NDA sat on the space between them, neither of them committed yet. “Since we last saw each other. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you mean since you dumped me at college graduation?”
The sharp tone of her voice told him she hadn’t forgotten a second of that day. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you?” She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the pad of paper again. “Can we just talk about the book, please? I haven’t even decided if I’m taking the project on yet.”
That was a curveball he hadn’t expected. He’d thought her being here meant she was already all in. Maybe Kate was sizing him up as much as he was doing the same to her. “That’s okay, because I haven’t decided if I’m going to hire you yet.”
She glanced at the unsigned NDA. Irritation flashed in her eyes. “And why wouldn’t you hire me? I’m a very good ghostwriter.”
“I have no doubt you’re good at your job, Kate.” He shifted closer to her. She’d changed her perfume, he noticed, to one that reminded him of night-blooming jasmine. He liked that. Very much. “It’s more because of past history.”
Her chin jutted up and she gave him a cool, even stare. “I can ignore that if you can.”
“Can you?” A sudden, overpowering urge to kiss her surged in his chest. That would definitely not be the right way to start their professional relationship. That knowledge didn’t make the temptation to touch her disappear, though. His brain was short-circuiting all over the place, still rattled by the surprise of seeing her again.
Yeah, that’s all it was. The shock of her being in his conference room. As soon as his brain got past that, he’d stop caring if she was married or what she thought about him.
“So…True to My Nature.” She underlined the words on her pad, back to business again. “Is that your title idea?”
“It’s my company’s motto and mine, so yes, you could say the title idea was as well.” Once Trent had proposed the initial idea, Sarah had developed the book idea and structure with the publisher. He’d signed off on the project but had barely looked at it since then. For Trent, the book was a branding move, not a literary tome. Well, and something to procrastinate on doing, because he’d done a really good job of that over the last year.
“Interesting.” She sat back and clicked the pen. “Because the ‘nature’ I remember is rather…cold.”
“Me? Cold?” That was ironic, given the icy tone in her voice. Yet underneath it all, he could see a spark of the girl he remembered, the girl who’d intrigued him in American Lit class when she’d argued with the professor about the underlying meaning in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird.
“You did break up with me the second I got my degree.”
“That might be a tiny exaggeration, KitKat.” The nickname rolled off his tongue as if he’d last seen her yesterday, not years ago. All the distance between them flooded with memories. The first time he’d kissed her, the little notes inside his textbooks, the sound of her laugh. In that moment, he craved that laugh more than he’d ever craved anything.
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he seem to focus? They were over, had been over, and the only thing between them now was this book. In a few weeks, that would be done, and he wouldn’t have to see her again. That was good, right?
Except a part of him wasn’t so sure either way. Not when she was looking at him like that.
Her smile loosened and her eyes warmed, and his resolve to stick to business wavered. “No one calls me that but you.”
“I’m glad.” The idea of her dating anyone else sent a flicker of jealousy through him. They weren’t together anymore. He shouldn’t care who she dated or if she was married—
“Are you married?” The question popped out of his mouth at the same time he dropped his gaze to her left hand. No ring. Didn’t mean she wasn’t married or engaged or dating. Or that it was any of his business.
She averted her gaze. “That has nothing to do with this book.”
Okay, so she was right, but he couldn’t concede the point. Maybe because he wanted to know the answer so badly.
“I would disagree,” he said, waiting for her to look up at him again. “I should know if my ghostwriter’s attentions are divided.”
Right. That was his reason for asking.
“While we are working on this book,” Kate said, “you will be the only thing I’m thinking about.” Her cheeks flushed. “I meant your book.”
“Of course.” He’d flustered her, and a part of him was glad. He’d forgotten how the flush in her cheeks pinked, how deep the green in her eyes seemed to reach, and how much he wanted to coax a smile, a laugh, out of her.
This did not bode well for weeks of working closely together. He would be distracted, his own attention divided. He should tell her to leave, and find another ghostwriter. Just let her go…
Again.
Except Trent couldn’t seem to muster the words to do that. He stood there, staring at her like an idiot.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, so what do you have so far? My agent said you’d already started, which is great, because the deadline is so tight.”
“‘Started’ is kind of an exaggeration.” He tugged a paper-clipped, very thin pile of papers out of the file folder he’d brought. For a second, he debated showing her anything before she’d signed the NDA. Then he remembered that this was Kate, and what he’d written last year was scant, so there was little danger of her running off and writing an entire book from his scattered musings. He knew her, and he trusted her. “As for pages, I don’t have much done yet, but I do have a box of notes, an outline of sorts, and the first couple of pages. More or less.”