In Other Words, Love

by Shirley Jump

  “It’s, uh, nice to see you again.” She shook with him, a firm, warm grip that sparked awareness in his veins. Her demeanor never changed, as if touching him had no effect. “I’m looking forward to this project.”

  Already, a wall of distance had been bricked between them. He stood there a second, uncertain. Trent MacMillan was never uncertain. Why was he letting this woman, someone he hadn’t seen since college, unnerve him? Small talk. A little small talk will get this back on track.

  Except his mind was dancing around the edges of the memory of their first date. He couldn’t remember exactly what they’d eaten or what time he’d said goodnight, but he remembered Kate’s smile. The way she’d peeked at him beneath the swinging curtain of her hair. The soft blush in her cheeks when he’d told her she was beautiful. The way she’d folded her straw wrapper into an accordion and showed him a trick her grandmother had taught her with a drop of water that had made the accordion inch across the scarred laminate table. Such a simple thing, but it had both softened his heart and intrigued him. Kate Winslow was the kind of woman who always ordered dessert, sang along with the radio even when she was off-key, and couldn’t pass a dog or cat without stopping for a hello.

  She was also the polar opposite of him in every way. He doubted that had changed in the last decade and a half. Even if she still had the ability to make his heart skip a beat or two.

  “I didn’t know you were a ghostwriter,” he said, back to business as he pulled the non-disclosure agreement out of the folder in his hands. He had yet to sign it himself, in case he didn’t like the person. He’d never imagined it would be Kate, and now he wasn’t sure if he liked that she was someone he knew, or didn’t like the inherent familiarity and possible tension. Could she be bitter about the breakup? Would that bleed into the book? “I thought you wanted to be an author on your own. Why are you ghostwriting?”

  It was none of his business, really, but that didn’t stop him from asking the question. When they’d dated in college, every spare second she’d had she’d spent in her dorm room or at the library, writing and creating. In the beginning, that had been endearing, a trait of doggedness he could respect. He’d ask her to go on canoe trips and mountain hikes, and every time, she’d turned him down. He’d paddled alone and hiked alone and had realized that no matter how attracted he’d been to Kate’s wit, beauty, and determination, they’d wanted two different futures. Still, he’d struggled to break the connection, even after he’d graduated and she’d finished out her senior year. Then a friend had offered him and Kate two spots on a six-month backpacking tour of Europe. He’d gone to Kate, sure she’d love the idea of writing in a camp in the Alps, or at a streetside café in Belgium. Instead, a shadow had dropped over her features and before she could turn him down, Trent was breaking it off and walking away.

  “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 mo
uth 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.”

  She took the papers from him. As she skimmed over his words, Trent found himself holding his breath, waiting for her judgment. Which was insane. It was his book. Why did he care so much what Kate thought?

  “You weren’t kidding. There’s hardly anything here. Didn’t you have a plan for getting the writing done? I mean, you’ve had the contract for a year, right? What happened?”

  “I thought it would be easier.” When he’d worked out the idea with the publisher, it had sounded simple, fun. Tell some stories and sprinkle them with some advice for budding entrepreneurs. As soon as he’d sat down to write, Trent had quickly realized compiling a book was the exact opposite. He had no idea what was important, what wasn’t, what translated into interesting on the page. Given the expression on Kate’s face right now, he still didn’t know.

  Hence the procrastination, the limited amount of words, and the mess he was handing over to Kate. Hopefully she could pull something together out of that.

  She kept reading. “But…this isn’t too bad. I mean, I know you, so that helps. I think I can work with this, at least to get started.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “The writing is good,” she went on, “but the words—they’re not very…honest and truthful. I mean, isn’t that the point of the book?”

  “What do you mean?” He glanced over her shoulder. Was she reading the same pages he’d handed her? “It’s completely honest.”

  Kate pointed to a paragraph on the second page. “Right here, when you write about your childhood. You paint it as a little dark and difficult. I met your family. They’re lovely.”

  “My childhood wasn’t perfect. It had its difficulties.” He and his father had a strained relationship at best. Not that his parents had been bad parents—quite the opposite. It was just that his father had expected Trent to go in a different direction. One that led right back to Hudson Falls and working in the nursery.

  “Everyone has some difficulties in their pasts. But that’s not what makes you or your company unique, Trent.”

  It was the first time she’d said his name since the meeting had started. She had this way of extending the syllable when she spoke so that his name ended in a soft whisper. He’d always liked that. He kept getting distracted by her, his attention swiveling back to who Kate was and what made Kate tick. “And what do you think makes me and my company unique?”

  All these years apart, and he still cared what this particular smart, beautiful woman in the room thought of him. She’d been the star in English Lit, and he’d barely read the books. She’d been so brilliant with everything she’d done, so impressive. He remembered the first time they’d studied together, and he’d worried Kate would give up on him. She could read a book and find ten different kinds of meaning in a single word, while Trent had gone looking for the CliffsNotes and movie version and hoped he understood it after all that. Trent loved the outdoors, moving and running. Kate loved words and window seats.

  She got to her feet and began pacing the room, tapping her pen against her lip as she thought. Her brows furrowed, and her gaze went to someplace distant, while her mind churned through thoughts and words. He’d seen her like this before, back in college, and for a second it was like they were in their twenties again.

  “You take risks,” she said. “You don’t fit into those neat little boxes that society creates. You don’t care what people think about your image or your hairstyle or the shoes on your feet. Your clothing lines are practical and conscientious, designed with very specific uses in mind, which is, in a way, a direct juxtaposition to your risk-taker, jump-off-the-cliff personality. I find that…interesting. I think readers will too.”

  She had come to a stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. A pair of sailboats dotted the dark water with white triangles. Every time Trent came in this room, he noticed the breathtaking view.

  Every time but this one. He watched Kate think and talk, her words so insightful it was as if she’d been sitting next to him all his life. He’d always admired her smarts and how hard she worked, but this was something more. Something that made him feel as if she’d opened up his chest and peered inside at all the gears and pulleys that made up Trent MacMillan.

  The soft white light of the morning sun outlined Kate’s curves, danced off the curls of her hair, and brightened the gentle angles of her face. The years since college had made her even more beautiful, giving her a polished, charming edge that distracted him. Trent never got distracted, never let anything tear his attention away from whatever mountain he was climbing. Right now, he had a huge mountain of work and responsibilities on the twentieth floor that needed his undivided attention. He’d been doing that, until Kate had come along in his life. The first time, and again, now.

  With the stress of a company full of employees counting on him for paychecks and health insurance, a distraction could spell disaster. Maybe he should put the book on hold and find someone else, he thought for the hundredth time since he’d seen her standing in his conference room. That way he could keep his head in the game and not have his mind wandering with thoughts of Kate.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work.” He gathered up the papers and tapped them into a stack. Besides the distraction, a ghostwriter who knew him inside and out might not be such a good choice, he told himself. Especially if it meant she was going to challenge him on every single word he said. “I’ll be sure we pay you for your time today.”

  She didn’t say anything for a second, just watched him reassemble his stack of materials. She crossed her arms over her chest, and her eyes narrowed. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  He scoffed. “Honey, I’ve climbed some of the highest peaks in the world. I’m not scared of anything.” Honey? Where had that come from?

  If she heard the endearment, she didn’t show it. Kate crossed the room and put a hand on the pages he’d written last year, pushing them gently back onto the conference room table. “You’re scared to be honest. Scared to open you
rself and your life up to the world. Maybe scared it won’t be as interesting as the publisher told you it will be. Or maybe you’re still scared to be vulnerable to other people.”

  “I’ve changed since college.” Even as he said it, he knew she had a point. One of their arguments had been about how he’d kept his feelings close to his chest but lived every other part of his life out loud and by the seat of his pants. He wasn’t going to admit that now, though. He wasn’t going to let Kate know that she’d gotten to him, that her peek inside him had been like an X-ray. “I’ve been in mud slides, avalanches, raging storms. I almost had my leg torn off by an alligator in the Everglades.”

  “But when it came to me, you kept your distance. Emotionally, anyway. I always felt like you were on the other side of a hill. I could see you, but you never moved closer to my side.”

  Her voice was soft, almost sad, and he found himself wanting to apologize for breaking up with her. He’d had very good reasons for doing it back then. He’d seen the inevitable end of their relationship, years of arguments and resentments later, and had pulled the chute before she could. It had been the right decision, Trent reminded himself. Hadn’t it?

  “That’s because I was climbing those hills, and you weren’t. We had two different personalities, Kate. We wanted two different things out of life.”

  That old saying about opposites attracting had been true in every sense of his relationship with Kate. He’d thought she would balance him, or maybe complement him, but as his world had taken him farther from hers, it had become clear that the adventurer and homebody love story wasn’t going to end in a sunset and a kiss. She was “home by five, supper on the table at six.” He was “grab a backpack and head for parts unknown.”