She made it through her morning appointments relatively put together, considering she was three days away from a huge TV interview and she still hadn’t heard back from Claire. Of course, Claire was on California time, so she shouldn’t get too worked up yet. Her phone rang. Claire! She grabbed her phone off her desk and then realized it was her office phone. “Hello, Sabrina Clarke speaking.”
“This is Tara Brinkman. Are you the author of ‘Goodbye Commitment-Phobe’?”
“Yes, I am. How can I help you today?”
The woman spoke with sharp bite. “You can help me by taking down your article immediately. My book, a New York Times bestseller, was also titled Goodbye Commitment-Phobe well before yours. I’m the one known as the Commitment Counselor—that’s a registered trademark, by the way—and I’d better not hear you’re using the same moniker.”
She shut her gaping mouth with a snap. “I’m not using that. I’ve never heard of you.”
“I can’t believe this was coincidental. You’re trying to represent yourself as me, riding on the coattails of my stellar reputation.”
Sabrina shoved a hand in her hair, flummoxed by the woman’s hostility. “I had no idea you wrote something with a similar name.”
“Not similar, the exact same. It’s called copyright infringement. Take it down, or I will send my lawyer after you.”
She broke out in a cold sweat. Holy crap! “I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding. There’s no need for lawyers.”
“Right. I looked you up. You’re in my area. I have an office in Manhattan and Fieldridge, Connecticut. You’re trying to poach my clients.”
She shook her head in vehement denial. “I swear this is the first I’ve heard of you. When did your book come out?”
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” Tara said ominously before hanging up.
Sabrina sat there for a minute in shock. Then she opened her laptop and looked up Tara Brinkman. It was legit. All of it—her practice, her book, her local office only a couple of towns away. Shit. Her book had come out five years ago when Sabrina was still in college. Goodbye Commitment-Phobe wouldn’t have been a book she sought out. At the time she’d been in a happily committed relationship.
She closed the laptop with trembling hands. This woman could do serious damage to Sabrina’s reputation. Sabrina didn’t have a lawyer either. She had no idea what to do. She wasn’t even sure if it was possible to take the article down now that it had been shared all over the internet.
Her office phone rang again, and she jumped, heart pounding, staring at it like it was a cobra about to strike. Calm down. It’s probably a client. She grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Sabrina Clarke?” an authoritative woman’s voice asked, scaring the crap out of her. Maybe it was a lawyer about to slap her with a lawsuit.
She hesitated before finally saying, “Yes, how can I help you?”
“This is Joyce Earley. I’m a literary agent, and I’d like to talk about you writing a book. I absolutely loved ‘Goodbye Commitment-Phobe, Hello Happiness!’”
She was so relieved it wasn’t a lawyer, she immediately confided in this complete stranger. “I was thinking of taking the article down. I just got a call from the author of a bestselling book with the same title. There might be an issue with copyright infringement.”
“Can’t copyright a title. Anyway, this thing’s got legs. Picture this, white cover with a bold red heart and the title in pink ‘Romance Rebel.’ Something that—”
“I’m not a rebel,” she said firmly, surprising herself with her clear thoughts given she was so shaken up by her morning. But she’d always been clear on her boundaries. She didn’t want the rebel label. She’d worked hard to be much more traditional than that, her own twisted rebellion against her crazy family. Sometimes she feared her wayward genes would keep her single forever. No wonder her friends had suggested she get a fake fiancé. They probably saw right through her to her family’s uncommitted roots.
Joyce went on in a cheery tone. “Doesn’t have to be that title. How about ‘A Guide to Lasting Love’? Nah, something catchier. We’ll work on that. You really touched a nerve with your article, and I think you could help millions of women around the world.”
Sabrina rested her head in her hand and stared blankly at her desk, trying to think it through. “I would like to reach more women.” So far she’d been focused mostly on couples, but she could branch out to individual therapy that helped single women work toward a fulfilling relationship by working on themselves. It would be similar to the sologamy concept—marrying yourself as a commitment to self. At least she’d done that much commitment in her life; doing a sologamy ceremony with her friends as witnesses had been awesome.
“Excellent!” Joyce exclaimed. “But we’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot! Why don’t you work up a bare-bones outline, we’ll tack your article on the front, and I’ll shop it. I’m sure we’ll go to auction for the big bucks. Of course, we’ll do a book tour, interviews, TV spots, the works. Actually, I can get you on some news shows now, which’ll only make your book that much more appealing to publishers.”
Fraud, fraud, fraud.
She broke out in a hot sweat this time, a little light-headed. Do not pass out. “Hold on.” She pulled her cardigan off and rapidly fanned her blouse against her body.
She could hear Joyce calling her, saying loudly, “Are you still there?”
She grabbed the phone. “Yes. Actually, I already have a talk show booked. I’ll be going on Sunshine America Monday morning.”
“Fantastic! I can parlay that into more national interviews. The other talk shows will be dying to have you on!”
Her grip on the phone tightened. “That sounds like a lot of spotlight.”
“First things first, Sabrina, would you like to write a book that helps millions of women all over the world?”
“Yes.” There could be only one answer to that question. She’d dedicated her life to helping others.
“Great! I’ll email you the agency contract. Look forward to working with you!”
Joyce disconnected.
Sabrina slowly lowered her head to the desk, resting her forehead on the cool surface, trying to find her calm stable center again. Things were out of control—snowballing, crazy, circus-level drama. She remained in that position for a very long time, so overwhelmed her brain stopped cranking out fraud and shifted to a dull white noise.
Someone knocked on her door, and she jerked upright, smoothing her hair. Shit. How long had she been quietly freaking out? Did she miss lunch? Was it time for her afternoon appointment already?
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Logan poked his head in. His short light brown hair and neatly trimmed beard highlighted a striking, perfectly symmetric face with warm brown eyes, a narrow nose that tilted up slightly at the end, and a killer smile. He was, by far, the best looking of the Campbell men, and they were a handsome lot. She’d heard he took after his beauty-queen mom, the masculine version of perfect fine features. He should be the one on TV.
“You free for lunch?” he asked.
She checked the time on her phone. She still had forty-five minutes. “Sure,” she managed, coming back to herself after her brief meltdown.
“Great.” He stepped inside, carrying a bag from the Chinese place and setting it on the coffee table between the beige client sofa and her matching beige counselor chair. He was tall, six feet, wiry with muscle like an athlete, but also really smart. He was the tech guy in his company. Checkin was an online service that did background checks on temporary caregivers and employees.
She remained at her desk, waiting to be sure she was steady enough to join him. This had been a hell of a day already, and it was only lunchtime. He took a seat on the sofa, casual and relaxed as always in a long-sleeved black cotton shirt, close-fitting faded jeans, and sneakers.
He lifted his head. “I got chicken and broccoli and pork lo mein, figured we co
uld share.” He flashed a smile that lit up his gorgeous face, and she felt herself flush. Even from a distance the effect was spectacular. “Got your favorite fried dumplings too.” He set out paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks he’d brought from his own office’s kitchen.
“Thanks, Logan. This is just what I needed.” She closed the distance, pleased that her legs were steady, and took the chair across from him. She crossed her legs in her charcoal gray pencil skirt and grabbed one of the bottled waters he’d brought, twisting the cap off.
She was always careful to keep a table between them. Not like she was going to throw herself at him, it just seemed easier to keep the friendship boundaries clear. It baffled her why she lusted for him so badly, even knowing how unsuitable he was for her. There was the commitment-phobe thing, though now she wasn’t so sure if he actually was that, given the recent shocking news that he still pined for his ex.
Either way—commitment-phobe or ex baggage—Logan was a bad bet. On top of that, he was a risk-taker. Sabrina had worked hard for a stable no-risk lifestyle. Just look at how he’d quit a lucrative job at his brother’s company to strike out on his own with Checkin. He’d slept on his friend’s couch for a year, barely scraping by. Okay, yes, her tolerance for risk was extremely low compared to other people, she knew that about herself, knew she needed security and stability more than the average person because of her previous relationship and her unconventional childhood, but there it was. That chance-taking streak within Logan, which might’ve been just fine for someone else, was simply too much of a risk for her.
She let out a quiet sigh. She just needed to find a risk-averse, relationship-ready man to let loose her pent-up lust.
She stared at his large masculine hands as he set the food out. Logan always remembered her favorite dishes from local restaurants. He was a very thoughtful friend, unusual in a man in her experience. Still, just a friend. They took turns paying for lunch, so it wasn’t like this was a date. She tore her gaze away from his hands and—since he was focused on the food—looked her fill at his handsome face instead. Not for the first time she wondered what his beard would feel like. Soft the way his hair looked, or rough like stubble?
She took a long drink of cooling water, wishing she could get over this embarrassing lust for her friend.
His brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “Mad tells me you want me to be your fake fiancé.”
She spewed water, her cheeks burning. When she could finally speak, she told him, “Your sister has a big mouth.”
He chuckled low and deep. “Yup. I told her it was ridiculous.”
She wiped her mouth dry with a napkin. Did he mean the two of them together were ridiculous or the concept of a fake fiancé was ridiculous? “Why exactly is it ridiculous?”
He lifted one finely formed shoulder. “All the work of pretending, none of the fun.”
Her stomach dipped. What fun did he mean exactly? Was this not as one-sided as she’d thought? She blustered on. “That was Hailey’s idea, and it’s messed up.”
He inclined his head and dug out some chicken and broccoli, put them on his plate, and pushed the container across the table to her. “Mad says you’ve got a big opportunity as a relationship expert. She sent me the link to your article. Some fierce stuff in there.”
She wasn’t sure if fierce stuff was good or bad, but just hearing “relationship expert” made her adrenaline spike—heart racing, breath short, sweat forming on her upper lip. Fraud, fraud, fraud. TV, cameras, lights, millions of people watching her say what? She had no idea what she was going to say, had no idea what they were going to ask. What if she blurted she’d become a relationship counselor because she’d been left at the altar? What if they looked into her noncommitted background? It would ruin her reputation, destroy her practice. Fraud, fraud, fraud.
What if that psycho commitment counselor started giving interviews calling Sabrina out? What if she got tangled up in a lawsuit? AHHH!!!
Logan waved a hand near her face. “You okay? You’re paler than usual.”
She blinked, refocusing on him, the insult hiding in his casual remark bringing her back to reality. Paler than usual? See? Complete lack of interest. Someone who was interested in her wouldn’t say paler than usual, they’d say something nicer, like “a little pale.” Logan didn’t care about niceties like that. He saw her like a buddy.
Which was fine.
She had standards. So what if that meant she hadn’t found anyone to get serious about since her stupid trip down the aisle.
“Sabrina?”
“What?”
“Any special reason you’re acting weird? I mean, besides the interview.”
“I’m not acting weird.” She piled some of each dish on her plate and stared at it, her appetite deserting her. She met his eyes. “I’m going on Sunshine America Monday morning. Live. So if I screw up—” she slashed a hand through the air “—that’s it.”
He raised a brow. “You’re not gonna screw up. You’re an expert. They’re just going to ask you stuff that you already know.”
She threw her hands up. “Why does everyone keep calling me an expert? I’m not an expert at all!”
He took a bite of broccoli and eyed her. Finally, he said, “The Clover Park Record called you a relationship healer.”
She waved that away. “That’s not the same thing. Besides, it’s just a local paper.”
“You have a lot of happy clients.”
“They want to do the work of a relationship. I just help them along.” Her shoulders drooped, and she stared at her untouched lunch. “I’m not an expert.”
“Okay, you’re not an expert.”
Her head jerked up. “But they think I am! I’m a complete fraud.”
His fork stopped in midair. “How exactly are you a fraud?”
“Because I’m giving all this advice on how to have a committed relationship when I don’t even have one.”
He stared at her. “Have you ever had one? That should count.”
“Yes, but it was a while ago.” She waved her hands wildly. “And then this psycho relationship counselor—”
“You mean there’s two psycho relationship counselors?” He grinned. “I thought you cornered the market.”
She threw a napkin at him. He laughed and handed it back.
She leaned forward across the table, lowering her voice. “This woman called and accused me of trying to steal her clients by copying her famous book title that I didn’t even know about. She threatened me with a lawsuit.”
His brown eyes widened. “Seriously?”
She leaned back. “Yes! She was extremely hostile. But then a literary agent called and said you can’t copyright titles. I still think I have to watch my back where that counselor is concerned. And, in other shocking news, that literary agent wants me to write a book.”
His eyes lit up with his smile. “Sabrina, that’s great!”
She found herself smiling. “Thanks, I’m actually really happy about that part.” Sharing all this stuff with Logan made her relax enough to start eating. She speared a dumpling. “She wants to call it Romance Rebel.”
He barked out a laugh. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
She chewed and swallowed. “No kidding. And she wants to do this whole book tour and publicity thing with interviews and TV spots, and…” She took a deep breath. “Omigod, that is so not me.”
He studied her for a moment. “Because you’re shy?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not shy.”
His lips curled up in a small smile. “Yeah, you are.”
“I’m perfectly fine one-on-one, I just don’t like the spotlight.”
He twirled his fork in the lo mein. “Because you’re shy.”
“I’m not shy! I’m just an indiscriminate blusher!”
“Such a shy blusher,” he teased. “I’m watching you, Wazowski,” he added in his impersonation of Roz from the movie Monsters, Inc.
A reluctant smile tug
ged at her lips. He did do funny impressions. “You don’t listen.”
“I listen. I just don’t agree.” He winked and went back to his lunch.
She glared at him, irritated that he just didn’t get that it wasn’t shyness holding her back, but he was too busy eating lunch to notice. “I don’t want to be doing all this stuff with the media. That’s not compatible with my life in any way, shape, or form.”
He tipped his bottled water up to his lips and spoke around it. “Why not?”
“Because my entire life was chaos, and I can’t even believe I’m telling you this. Let’s just say I emerged from the chaos and created my own stability.”
He tilted his head. “Are you telling me your family is nuts?”
“Yes.”
“So’s mine. So’s everyone’s.”
“No, yours is loud and happy.” She knew and loved his family—his sister, Mad, his older brothers, and his dad, a total sweetheart. Of course, they weren’t perfect. His mom had left the family when he was only four and never called or visited during his entire childhood. That could really shake a person’s belief in lasting relationships, which had made his commitment phobia understandable. Though now that she knew he was pining for a lost love, she wasn’t sure her diagnosis was correct. She knew a lot more about him than he probably realized through her friendship with Mad.
He stabbed some chicken. “Not always happy.”
“Mine is embarrassing, flashy—”
“Flashy?”
“Nobody ever stays married, no lasting commitments of any kind. Kids everywhere like they’ve never heard of birth control. Drama, drama, drama. And they love it! I barely escaped with my sanity.”
He shook his head. “I can’t picture you in that family.”
“Exactly. Not fun.”
Chance of Romance (Happy Endings Book Club, Book 8) Page 2